So I have rambled incessantly over the weeks and months -- especially since I became the Editorial Page Editor and started producing daily opinion/editorial pieces for my daily -- about how everyone seems to thrive off phoning or writing me to let me know I live in a blood red state. Each concerned citizen feels the need to either convince me of the error of my ways or attempt to convert me or, most often it seems, just wants to let me know the extent of their vocab skills.
The last occurs maybe 60 percent of the work week, the middle from every other drone -- or readers, as they so wish they were -- and the first, each and every person.
It does not go unappreciated or unnoticed. With each instance, a certain glow is provided to my day. Every time it happens, it makes me happy to be alive.
Mind you, I am wrong, even when what I write is an agreeable piece with said concerned citizen. There is a certain, as it was said to me Tuesday afternoon, subconscious, between-the-lines way in which I write, it seems. Never straight-forward and to the point, just my attempt to lead the sheep astray.
The four-letter words, the venom, the hate spewed forth by these mouth-breathers, brings a smile to my face. As my friend, Kevin, told me when I took this job, "When your voicemail is running over and your inbox crammed full, you know you have done your job when you are being attacked on all sides."
It did not take long for me to understand exactly what he meant by that.
I am a little more than two months into this job. Before that I was privy to this knowledge from the former Editorial-Opinion Writer/Editorial Page Editor and I got different, while hateful all the same, input from readers/subscribers as a former Sports Editor (hey it was all that was available -- sports -- when I first applied out of college). I took the job, because I needed the job, and rather quickly moved up the newsroom's food chain into management. But I never wanted to stay in sports long and when I was approached about transferring to the dark side of news, I leaped. I hurled myself in my current direction because of several reasons.
First, I have wanted to try my hand at opinion/editorial almost as long as I have wanted to work in print journalism (specifically, since I was about 12 or 13 years old).
Second, it was the best avenue for future advancement -- I was not moving up directly from my Sports Editor desk.
Third, the hours are much better. In sports, it is a seven-day-a-week gig. For us being an a.m. paper, it also meant working from about 2 or 3 p.m. to anywhere from midnight to 2 or 3 a.m. Seven-days-a-week, 10 hours a *night* will burn your light out rapidly. Now, I work Monday through Friday, 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. The new hours allow me to actually have a life, letting me spend that life with my 4-year-old son. I have witnessed more in his life -- every other weekend -- the last three or so months than I had in the previous three-plus years combined. I truly do believe that.
For those three primary reasons, I allow myself to be attacked -- not in a physical nature, so far. ... I am subjected to violent phone conversations; twisted, violent e-mails; and bi-polar, schizophrenic letters delivered by the postal service. I do all of this, not with dread or fear, but most times with a smile on my face. Ninety-nine percent of these kind souls do not realize the sad insanity in which they spew. The contradictions and preschool logic have moved me to tears before. Not because I am frightened or properly put in my place, but because I am laughing so hard, my tummy hurts.
So as I sit here at my home computer, researching future edits, I look forward to Wednesday.
I just wonder how many four-letter words and names I will be called? The funny thing is with it being Wednesday, some of these kind folks will attend their house of worship.
Where I live, it seems, red state equals the opposite of family values and compassion. It equals hypocrisy.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
i just don't understand
OK, so there is this story that circulated from our Montgomery correspondent in today's edition that has me scratching my head.
In the copy, our correspondent scribes about how the government, or more precisely the Federal Emergency Manangement Agency, has not paid the state for damages which occured during the Hurricane Gustav evacuation.
It appears FEMA owes the state two-year college system something like $2.25 million for damages to shelters (also known as gymnasiums to the community college basketball teams) and for things like methadone for smack addicts.
When all of this was going on, I had a friend, a close friend, who ran one of the shelters. I went there a couple of times.
I DID NOT SEE METHADONE!
I mean, seriously, the state was just handing junkies sustinance to keep them from jonesing and withdrawing in the middle of the shelter?
This shit just had my jaw on the floor.
I had heard about the rapes, assaults, robberies, thefts at Wal-Mart, vandalism, etc., but no one told me about the 24-hour methadone clinic our state was running at your local junior college.
You can read the more tame version of this and more on our Web site or in the daily edition, but I had to post here. After all, they won't let me write about methadone and I did type *shit* earlier.
Go figure, FEMA owes the state two-plus million dollars for running a methadone clinic for five days.
Wow, and to think, I figured it would be no fun and nothing to do. Who knew I could have gotten high?
Thanks FEMA and thanks Alabama.
In the copy, our correspondent scribes about how the government, or more precisely the Federal Emergency Manangement Agency, has not paid the state for damages which occured during the Hurricane Gustav evacuation.
It appears FEMA owes the state two-year college system something like $2.25 million for damages to shelters (also known as gymnasiums to the community college basketball teams) and for things like methadone for smack addicts.
When all of this was going on, I had a friend, a close friend, who ran one of the shelters. I went there a couple of times.
I DID NOT SEE METHADONE!
I mean, seriously, the state was just handing junkies sustinance to keep them from jonesing and withdrawing in the middle of the shelter?
This shit just had my jaw on the floor.
I had heard about the rapes, assaults, robberies, thefts at Wal-Mart, vandalism, etc., but no one told me about the 24-hour methadone clinic our state was running at your local junior college.
You can read the more tame version of this and more on our Web site or in the daily edition, but I had to post here. After all, they won't let me write about methadone and I did type *shit* earlier.
Go figure, FEMA owes the state two-plus million dollars for running a methadone clinic for five days.
Wow, and to think, I figured it would be no fun and nothing to do. Who knew I could have gotten high?
Thanks FEMA and thanks Alabama.
Monday, October 20, 2008
it's all make believe
i figured something out this weekend -- nothing is real. or at least as real as i used to think things were.
i burned the oil all weekend and, well, it was way worth it.
it's kinda like the song "firecracker" -- i don't want to go on forever, i just want to burn up hot and bright. let me be your firecracker. let me be your baby tonight.
it all started about 6 p.m. friday and it just now ended (and it's 2:15 a.m. monday morning).
i have not put in a weekend like this in quite a while, but i have been to and viewed a lot of places this weekend and i stared into a lot of eyes and heard a lot of voices, while they in turn heard mine. but it still comes back to nothing being real. i mean, i went a million miles an hour for three straight days in four different counties, birmingham, and other municipalities, and it is all a blur. unreal.
maybe work will be grounded this morning. oh shite, that is in five hours.
nite!
i burned the oil all weekend and, well, it was way worth it.
it's kinda like the song "firecracker" -- i don't want to go on forever, i just want to burn up hot and bright. let me be your firecracker. let me be your baby tonight.
it all started about 6 p.m. friday and it just now ended (and it's 2:15 a.m. monday morning).
i have not put in a weekend like this in quite a while, but i have been to and viewed a lot of places this weekend and i stared into a lot of eyes and heard a lot of voices, while they in turn heard mine. but it still comes back to nothing being real. i mean, i went a million miles an hour for three straight days in four different counties, birmingham, and other municipalities, and it is all a blur. unreal.
maybe work will be grounded this morning. oh shite, that is in five hours.
nite!
Friday, October 17, 2008
i walk to you, only you
i walked to you in the still night.
you in soft slumber, so tenderly sweet
with innocent inspiration.
but i awoke too soon
to find the screen in my hopes
are not equivalent to the realities of dream,
not like the prayers of times long past.
your arms reached out
and i reached in to find
my heart beats still
and you steward my love,
but the reception
along the way
waned.
and i drifted to dreams
yet again
with wants to outlandish
to speak.
i hope you know
i will always love you.
i hope you will share
my dream again,
on a night when minds
crave change
on a night where your arms
are my goal.
i'm walking to your door,
will the light
be on
to welcome me in?
i knock and I hope
the rapping
wakes us all
so we can fall
asleep again
in the warmth
of our embrace....
you in soft slumber, so tenderly sweet
with innocent inspiration.
but i awoke too soon
to find the screen in my hopes
are not equivalent to the realities of dream,
not like the prayers of times long past.
your arms reached out
and i reached in to find
my heart beats still
and you steward my love,
but the reception
along the way
waned.
and i drifted to dreams
yet again
with wants to outlandish
to speak.
i hope you know
i will always love you.
i hope you will share
my dream again,
on a night when minds
crave change
on a night where your arms
are my goal.
i'm walking to your door,
will the light
be on
to welcome me in?
i knock and I hope
the rapping
wakes us all
so we can fall
asleep again
in the warmth
of our embrace....
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
A Google-ly cure for a drunken heart
Jessica Mintz, an Associated Press Technology Writer, wrote an interesting story Tuesday, which I noticed on the general news wire.
She began the piece:
“Here’s the scenario: It’s Friday night, and what began as an innocent happy-hour margarita morphed into a few pitchers. After all, those tacos were salty.
“Bidding friends adieu, you jump in a cab, head home and decide a quick e-mail check is in order. And there it is: a message from your ex. Or your boss. Or that friend you’re secretly mad at.
“If you are the kind of person who types tipsy and regrets it in the morning, Google’s ‘Mail Goggles,’ a new test-phase feature in the free Gmail service, might save you some angst.”
What Mintz is writing about is a program by Google, which will ask you a few easy math problems. The “Mail Goggles” require you to answer these problems in a short amount of time before you can send your e-mail, to whoever it might be going to.
If you answer correctly, the program assumes you are logical enough to know what you are typing, eliminating the “drunk e-mail syndrome,” which is a technological advance from my younger days of “drunk calling.”
I have done that quite a few times in my life and, I assume, you have done the same. But before the Internet there were no safeguards from saying something stupid while inebriated. So there have been several people in my life who have had to endure the drunken ramblings of an idiot (I act like this does not still happen, when we all know we still do it and probably always will).
Well, Google can save those of use who prefer typing e-mails over talking on the phone. A little change of your Gmail settings and — poof! — you have “Mail Goggles.”
As I type this, I am saddened I did not read this story by Ms. Mintz last week. It might have saved one of you from hearing your phone ring on end Saturday night.
Although “Mail Goggles” would not prevent “drunk texting,” it would keep intoxicated romantics, like me, from sending you War and Peace-like e-mails.
Too bad this program does not return the same affection presented in an e-mail.
That, too, will come soon enough from those wacky Google folks. Who knows? In time, those Google people might grant me enough money to buy what we want to hear. It could happen. Twenty years ago when I was “drunk calling” you, what average person would have imagined we would have “Mail Goggles” or even the Internet.
So give it time. What else do I have?
She began the piece:
“Here’s the scenario: It’s Friday night, and what began as an innocent happy-hour margarita morphed into a few pitchers. After all, those tacos were salty.
“Bidding friends adieu, you jump in a cab, head home and decide a quick e-mail check is in order. And there it is: a message from your ex. Or your boss. Or that friend you’re secretly mad at.
“If you are the kind of person who types tipsy and regrets it in the morning, Google’s ‘Mail Goggles,’ a new test-phase feature in the free Gmail service, might save you some angst.”
What Mintz is writing about is a program by Google, which will ask you a few easy math problems. The “Mail Goggles” require you to answer these problems in a short amount of time before you can send your e-mail, to whoever it might be going to.
If you answer correctly, the program assumes you are logical enough to know what you are typing, eliminating the “drunk e-mail syndrome,” which is a technological advance from my younger days of “drunk calling.”
I have done that quite a few times in my life and, I assume, you have done the same. But before the Internet there were no safeguards from saying something stupid while inebriated. So there have been several people in my life who have had to endure the drunken ramblings of an idiot (I act like this does not still happen, when we all know we still do it and probably always will).
Well, Google can save those of use who prefer typing e-mails over talking on the phone. A little change of your Gmail settings and — poof! — you have “Mail Goggles.”
As I type this, I am saddened I did not read this story by Ms. Mintz last week. It might have saved one of you from hearing your phone ring on end Saturday night.
Although “Mail Goggles” would not prevent “drunk texting,” it would keep intoxicated romantics, like me, from sending you War and Peace-like e-mails.
Too bad this program does not return the same affection presented in an e-mail.
That, too, will come soon enough from those wacky Google folks. Who knows? In time, those Google people might grant me enough money to buy what we want to hear. It could happen. Twenty years ago when I was “drunk calling” you, what average person would have imagined we would have “Mail Goggles” or even the Internet.
So give it time. What else do I have?
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Nothing ever changes in the hood
I went out last night, thinking that the different scenery would change the pattern of thought in my tired brain. It did not happen and I have only one person to blame for that — me.
The night of social drinking and a feeble attempt at connection only exasperated my emotions and feelings.
At 1 a.m. I continued my broken promises to someone I care about deeply.
After that, I just went home to sleep. But that too was a feeble attempt.
I tossed and turned, thinking about the night. I wondered if others were doing the same, but I knew, deep down, that they were soundly sleeping.
My dreams are not the same as others. My goals are not shared.
I often throw darts at the board, hoping someday, just one will stick. It is futile and hopeless, but the hopeless romantic in me chooses to be blind to obvious truth.
I attempt to spark some hope so often that I miss the fire all around me.
It will probably continue, although I am getting better at keeping my mouth shut.
But that, too, makes me wonder if opening my mouth would make things different? Would throwing it all out there make a change?
I resign myself to the belief that it would not. Most likely, it would make things worse.
Like I have written before, if someone wants something, they will go and get it. But too often, I try to hand it to them and, in turn, create unnecessary pain for myself.
I tell myself, this has got to stop. But I continue on. Maybe I am into the self-torture thing? Maybe I like the pain and hurt when I cannot be with the one I love?
But if the one I love does not want to be with me, why push it? Why make things worse? Because I love her, plain and simple.
I always will.
I, again, tell myself that I will not say anything, I will not push the issue.
But tomorrow is Monday and it is the start of a new week.
I wonder what it will bring? What new revelations will come with it?
Probably more of the same — another week of me trying and another week of me hurting myself.
Hopefully, the cycle will end one day. Hopefully, I will learn my lesson.
But as long as the chance is there, I will not rest on what I had. I will press on toward the future. No matter what that day will hold.
I hope it will hold us together, but if it does not, it will not change what I hope to be and strive to be.
I just hope she is listening….
The night of social drinking and a feeble attempt at connection only exasperated my emotions and feelings.
At 1 a.m. I continued my broken promises to someone I care about deeply.
After that, I just went home to sleep. But that too was a feeble attempt.
I tossed and turned, thinking about the night. I wondered if others were doing the same, but I knew, deep down, that they were soundly sleeping.
My dreams are not the same as others. My goals are not shared.
I often throw darts at the board, hoping someday, just one will stick. It is futile and hopeless, but the hopeless romantic in me chooses to be blind to obvious truth.
I attempt to spark some hope so often that I miss the fire all around me.
It will probably continue, although I am getting better at keeping my mouth shut.
But that, too, makes me wonder if opening my mouth would make things different? Would throwing it all out there make a change?
I resign myself to the belief that it would not. Most likely, it would make things worse.
Like I have written before, if someone wants something, they will go and get it. But too often, I try to hand it to them and, in turn, create unnecessary pain for myself.
I tell myself, this has got to stop. But I continue on. Maybe I am into the self-torture thing? Maybe I like the pain and hurt when I cannot be with the one I love?
But if the one I love does not want to be with me, why push it? Why make things worse? Because I love her, plain and simple.
I always will.
I, again, tell myself that I will not say anything, I will not push the issue.
But tomorrow is Monday and it is the start of a new week.
I wonder what it will bring? What new revelations will come with it?
Probably more of the same — another week of me trying and another week of me hurting myself.
Hopefully, the cycle will end one day. Hopefully, I will learn my lesson.
But as long as the chance is there, I will not rest on what I had. I will press on toward the future. No matter what that day will hold.
I hope it will hold us together, but if it does not, it will not change what I hope to be and strive to be.
I just hope she is listening….
Saturday, October 4, 2008
what a wonderful web we weave...
I can honestly say this has been one of the most — EAR MUFFS!!! — f***ed up days I have had in ages. And I can honestly say I had nothing to do with it, which is rather surprising, considering my way of screwing things up for so many people, including myself.
It started out strange with a phone call this morning, like pre-dawn early. I am not going to name names here, but suffice it to say the call came from someone close.
Anyways, she said she was coming to town. I knew this was not a good sign. Never this early, I thought. Boy was I right.
Seems her husband, who had cheated on her a while back, had emptied his heart and soul late last night and told her how he truly feels. The two of them have children and for the sake of the kids, and also because this grrrrl really, really loves this person, the two of them had tried working things out, going to a counselor and all.
But it all boiled over last night.
This person who he had been cheating with had been sending him e-mails, texts, had been calling him and had even sent pictures of her to him. He got caught and was cornered with the news, which was news to me and everyone else that knows them. In the months since the first indiscretion, I thought things we going well between the two. Counseling had been going good, the two of them seemed happy, it basically seemed like things were back to normal.
Until this morning.
He told her that he "loved" this other grrrrl. That he was sorry. That he loved her, too.
Well, I have got news for him.... you cannot truly — in its purest sense — say that you love someone when you claim you love someone else.
It is called lust — look it up — not love.
So all day, there have been phone calls and the like and nothing has changed.
I am not sure if he actually realizes what he has and what he is losing. It is a shame. A downright shame.
I sit here on the computer, typing these words and I shake my head and wonder what the heck is really going on.
It has caused me to really look at life and all the things we say to one another. It makes me ponder my relationships — how few they may be — and take a close look at everything that touches my life.
As I write all the time, I am alone. I made a choice to break off a relationship I was in, because I was not happy. I tried to rekindle an old flame, to no avail.
Everything I have been told up to this point makes me hollow at times. I question all I hear and feel, because I wonder if it is really what I feel, if it is really what I want.
At this time, it does not matter. I could shout on the street corner my true feelings and it would not change a thing. It would not make a difference. And I am not sure why. I have yet to hear anything from anyone that makes sense to me.
We have all heard the words, "it's not you, it's me," "you're great, but I just want to be friends," and on and on. But when we open our hearts up to someone and that person gives back, it is the most wonderful feeling. It is indescribable.
There are times we all make mistakes. We have all been hurt, too.
Then there are those who make mistakes and that hurts, as well.
I have written and said that the object of my affection will realize one day who I am and what she has missed out on. Today, I sit here not so sure.
I talk to her — sometimes — and I exchange e-mails and texts — sometimes — and she continues to live her life. It is full and rewarding, she always has something to do and someone to do it with. She apparently has all she needs and wants and I am not part of those grand plans.
That is fine. It is her life. I do not want to be around someone I have to force to be around or with me. As much as it hurts — it really does, all the time — I have realized I am not a part of her life the way I once was, no matter how much she has told me she wants me in her life. Sometimes, actions scream louder than mere words.
So, I have to worry myself with those who need me and want me. As pathetic as I sound sometimes, I do realize what I have to give and offer. I know that I would make someone happier than they ever imagined. It is not going to be who I want it to be right now, but I do not want to her to regret. I do not want her to be sad when I am not there. I am not there now and she is not sad and thinking about me, so I doubt she will think of me then. After all, I am just a quick delete button on her cell phone away from being purged from her life anyway. So I do envision any grieving.
It is all right. It really is. I have been written off before. I have not had my phone calls or texts or e-mails returned before. It is old news from a new grrrrl. I just really do wish that she would have a chance to see what she is missing. I have totally changed, but no one will know without giving me a test drive. But like I wrote earlier, I cannot make someone do what she does not want to do.
Quite honestly, I have too much respect for myself to even try.
But today made me mad, too. It pissed me off quite honestly. While I respect myself, I am still a person. I still long to have someone to talk to, to hold, to spend time with, to grow old with, to have someone to love. And in return, I long to have someone love me, truly love me, to get lost in me and let go.
But while I have a really good job, with a really great 4-year-old son, with a great family, I am alone. I am caring, nurturing, loving, kind, funny, somewhat attractive, intelligent, loyal, down-to-earth and all that, but I still have no one. Sometimes, I feel like I am diseased and used up, like I have nothing to offer someone. I get the sense like I do not matter, at times, like if I did not exist, it would not matter, I would not be missed. And that is painful. It hurts me, at times, and it makes me often wish I was not here to have to wake up each day knowing it will end the same and that the next day will not change. But that is the life I have. It is lonely and depressing and when you do not even have “friends” that tell you they will always be there, then what do you have?
Right now, I am not sure.
But while I have my pity party, I think about today’s news. Here is someone who has a wonderful wife, someone who would go to the ends of the earth for him and he throws it away. And at the same time, here is someone so despicable that he would lust so bad that he would cheat on someone so wonderful.
Here he has two women — TWO — and I have no one.
What is wrong with this picture? Good guy is a leper; bad guy has his pick in women.
I guess I will never know. There is a chance that I am not supposed to know.
But it does add to my sadness and pain. I still do not feel wanted and loved. And I am still alone.
I just hope Sunday is a good day. Or better yet, I hope it does not come.
It started out strange with a phone call this morning, like pre-dawn early. I am not going to name names here, but suffice it to say the call came from someone close.
Anyways, she said she was coming to town. I knew this was not a good sign. Never this early, I thought. Boy was I right.
Seems her husband, who had cheated on her a while back, had emptied his heart and soul late last night and told her how he truly feels. The two of them have children and for the sake of the kids, and also because this grrrrl really, really loves this person, the two of them had tried working things out, going to a counselor and all.
But it all boiled over last night.
This person who he had been cheating with had been sending him e-mails, texts, had been calling him and had even sent pictures of her to him. He got caught and was cornered with the news, which was news to me and everyone else that knows them. In the months since the first indiscretion, I thought things we going well between the two. Counseling had been going good, the two of them seemed happy, it basically seemed like things were back to normal.
Until this morning.
He told her that he "loved" this other grrrrl. That he was sorry. That he loved her, too.
Well, I have got news for him.... you cannot truly — in its purest sense — say that you love someone when you claim you love someone else.
It is called lust — look it up — not love.
So all day, there have been phone calls and the like and nothing has changed.
I am not sure if he actually realizes what he has and what he is losing. It is a shame. A downright shame.
I sit here on the computer, typing these words and I shake my head and wonder what the heck is really going on.
It has caused me to really look at life and all the things we say to one another. It makes me ponder my relationships — how few they may be — and take a close look at everything that touches my life.
As I write all the time, I am alone. I made a choice to break off a relationship I was in, because I was not happy. I tried to rekindle an old flame, to no avail.
Everything I have been told up to this point makes me hollow at times. I question all I hear and feel, because I wonder if it is really what I feel, if it is really what I want.
At this time, it does not matter. I could shout on the street corner my true feelings and it would not change a thing. It would not make a difference. And I am not sure why. I have yet to hear anything from anyone that makes sense to me.
We have all heard the words, "it's not you, it's me," "you're great, but I just want to be friends," and on and on. But when we open our hearts up to someone and that person gives back, it is the most wonderful feeling. It is indescribable.
There are times we all make mistakes. We have all been hurt, too.
Then there are those who make mistakes and that hurts, as well.
I have written and said that the object of my affection will realize one day who I am and what she has missed out on. Today, I sit here not so sure.
I talk to her — sometimes — and I exchange e-mails and texts — sometimes — and she continues to live her life. It is full and rewarding, she always has something to do and someone to do it with. She apparently has all she needs and wants and I am not part of those grand plans.
That is fine. It is her life. I do not want to be around someone I have to force to be around or with me. As much as it hurts — it really does, all the time — I have realized I am not a part of her life the way I once was, no matter how much she has told me she wants me in her life. Sometimes, actions scream louder than mere words.
So, I have to worry myself with those who need me and want me. As pathetic as I sound sometimes, I do realize what I have to give and offer. I know that I would make someone happier than they ever imagined. It is not going to be who I want it to be right now, but I do not want to her to regret. I do not want her to be sad when I am not there. I am not there now and she is not sad and thinking about me, so I doubt she will think of me then. After all, I am just a quick delete button on her cell phone away from being purged from her life anyway. So I do envision any grieving.
It is all right. It really is. I have been written off before. I have not had my phone calls or texts or e-mails returned before. It is old news from a new grrrrl. I just really do wish that she would have a chance to see what she is missing. I have totally changed, but no one will know without giving me a test drive. But like I wrote earlier, I cannot make someone do what she does not want to do.
Quite honestly, I have too much respect for myself to even try.
But today made me mad, too. It pissed me off quite honestly. While I respect myself, I am still a person. I still long to have someone to talk to, to hold, to spend time with, to grow old with, to have someone to love. And in return, I long to have someone love me, truly love me, to get lost in me and let go.
But while I have a really good job, with a really great 4-year-old son, with a great family, I am alone. I am caring, nurturing, loving, kind, funny, somewhat attractive, intelligent, loyal, down-to-earth and all that, but I still have no one. Sometimes, I feel like I am diseased and used up, like I have nothing to offer someone. I get the sense like I do not matter, at times, like if I did not exist, it would not matter, I would not be missed. And that is painful. It hurts me, at times, and it makes me often wish I was not here to have to wake up each day knowing it will end the same and that the next day will not change. But that is the life I have. It is lonely and depressing and when you do not even have “friends” that tell you they will always be there, then what do you have?
Right now, I am not sure.
But while I have my pity party, I think about today’s news. Here is someone who has a wonderful wife, someone who would go to the ends of the earth for him and he throws it away. And at the same time, here is someone so despicable that he would lust so bad that he would cheat on someone so wonderful.
Here he has two women — TWO — and I have no one.
What is wrong with this picture? Good guy is a leper; bad guy has his pick in women.
I guess I will never know. There is a chance that I am not supposed to know.
But it does add to my sadness and pain. I still do not feel wanted and loved. And I am still alone.
I just hope Sunday is a good day. Or better yet, I hope it does not come.
Friday, October 3, 2008
how big of a loser am i?
please don't answer that. i already know the response.
but as i sit here -- alone -- for like the billionth friday in a row, i have decided to watch "the ex list" on cbs.
i read a review of the show on The New York Times Web site this morning, and i figured since i would be so busy tonight i would never have a chance to watch it.
wow! was i so wrong.
friday night got here and all my wonderful plans fell through. all my phone calls. my texts. my e-mails. everything gone. vanished into thin air.
all the beautiful people who i thought would be spending their evening with me must have gotten sick. like hospital-sick, cause no one could stand to pass up a chance to spend time with me unless they had a really bad case of rickets or scurvy.
so i figured i would watch this show since it is so heterosexual and all.
well it is coming on.
i hope all of you get well soon...
but as i sit here -- alone -- for like the billionth friday in a row, i have decided to watch "the ex list" on cbs.
i read a review of the show on The New York Times Web site this morning, and i figured since i would be so busy tonight i would never have a chance to watch it.
wow! was i so wrong.
friday night got here and all my wonderful plans fell through. all my phone calls. my texts. my e-mails. everything gone. vanished into thin air.
all the beautiful people who i thought would be spending their evening with me must have gotten sick. like hospital-sick, cause no one could stand to pass up a chance to spend time with me unless they had a really bad case of rickets or scurvy.
so i figured i would watch this show since it is so heterosexual and all.
well it is coming on.
i hope all of you get well soon...
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
A song, a game, a blind date and a lifetime of broken hearts
"My heart is broken,
My love is gone.
I lay without you,
Your pillow cold.
I am forsaken,
I can't go on.
My heart is broken,
My love is gone. ..."
-- Ryan Adams
All day today I could not get that song -- the one I included the opening lyrics to above -- out of my head today. All day.
I walked around, wrote my editorial, took a couple of phone calls, sent a few texts and went to lunch, but even though I was occupied for most of the day, that song haunted me from the moment I woke this morning, around 7 a.m., to as I type this.
I did not get off work until well after 6 p.m., probably closer to 7 actually, and after work I met up with someone.
I had never met this person before, but someone yesterday asked me if I wanted to meet this grrrrl. I told her I was not sure. I have never been on a blind date, although this was not what I would consider a date by any stretch of the imagination. But I told her that I guess I could, I did not have anything better to do.
I wanted to watch the Cubs game, which came on at 5, but I had already agreed to meet her before I found out what time the Cubs-Dodgers game started.
Oh well, my Cubbies got beat and I did get to watch almost all of the game anyway.
But even while I sat at a table and talked to this grrrrl, I could not get the sad, drunken lyrics out of my head.
The line about the pillow being cold, sends chills down my spine every single time I hear that song, and there is no telling how many times I have heard it considering the album, "Jacksonville City Nights" is right at three years old now.
Used to be all I ever listened to was Ryan Adams for quite a while, and before that his old band, Whiskeytown. I about came near wearing out my catalog of discs. I have seen him in concert about 15-20 times solo, and double that on Whiskeytown shows back in the middle 90s. Those were sweet, sweet times.
I had not listened to that song in quite a while before today and I have not figured out why that particular one got stuck in my head. I did not sleep with the radio or tele on last night, so I do not know how that song got planted in my noggin. But it was, from the moment I entered the shower this morning.
And I could not, for the life of me, shake it outta my brain.
Well, by this evening, I figured the distraction of meeting someone new would break me of it. No such luck.
She was nice and all, we had a good time. But all I kept doing was thinking about that song.
Then it hit me -- it is cathartic. It is my heart, soul, body and mind purging me of my past. It is cleansing me of the wrongs I have done and the regrets I have, still. It is a way of purifying me of the dark things, erasing me of what I wish I could take back, the things I wish I could do over, it is making me anew.
I know I must walk straight ahead. I can't look back anymore. What is done is done and I must move on. There will be new beginnings. There will be starting over. But I will never be able to reproduce what is gone and I can't bring back what is dead.
There is a lightness to my head now that is peaceful. The noise I once had, that loud, rumbling sound was just my wants, my lusting, my desires.
It is gone now. I can't have that, I can't get what I want. It might be down the road, it might never return, too, but I can't do anything about that. All I can do is control me and live my life from this day forward.
That song has been replaced by a different tune now. A more "positive" song. I can hear it in my head. There is no noise anymore. Just a soft, lush melody and good memories of who I used to be and who I am again....
Oh, by the way, I will not be going out with this grrrrl. We had a good time, like I said, but she is not my type. And I got the sense I was not her type either.
Oh well, it was worth a shot.
Now if I can just pull my Cubbies through Game 2 tonight it will all be good.
My love is gone.
I lay without you,
Your pillow cold.
I am forsaken,
I can't go on.
My heart is broken,
My love is gone. ..."
-- Ryan Adams
All day today I could not get that song -- the one I included the opening lyrics to above -- out of my head today. All day.
I walked around, wrote my editorial, took a couple of phone calls, sent a few texts and went to lunch, but even though I was occupied for most of the day, that song haunted me from the moment I woke this morning, around 7 a.m., to as I type this.
I did not get off work until well after 6 p.m., probably closer to 7 actually, and after work I met up with someone.
I had never met this person before, but someone yesterday asked me if I wanted to meet this grrrrl. I told her I was not sure. I have never been on a blind date, although this was not what I would consider a date by any stretch of the imagination. But I told her that I guess I could, I did not have anything better to do.
I wanted to watch the Cubs game, which came on at 5, but I had already agreed to meet her before I found out what time the Cubs-Dodgers game started.
Oh well, my Cubbies got beat and I did get to watch almost all of the game anyway.
But even while I sat at a table and talked to this grrrrl, I could not get the sad, drunken lyrics out of my head.
The line about the pillow being cold, sends chills down my spine every single time I hear that song, and there is no telling how many times I have heard it considering the album, "Jacksonville City Nights" is right at three years old now.
Used to be all I ever listened to was Ryan Adams for quite a while, and before that his old band, Whiskeytown. I about came near wearing out my catalog of discs. I have seen him in concert about 15-20 times solo, and double that on Whiskeytown shows back in the middle 90s. Those were sweet, sweet times.
I had not listened to that song in quite a while before today and I have not figured out why that particular one got stuck in my head. I did not sleep with the radio or tele on last night, so I do not know how that song got planted in my noggin. But it was, from the moment I entered the shower this morning.
And I could not, for the life of me, shake it outta my brain.
Well, by this evening, I figured the distraction of meeting someone new would break me of it. No such luck.
She was nice and all, we had a good time. But all I kept doing was thinking about that song.
Then it hit me -- it is cathartic. It is my heart, soul, body and mind purging me of my past. It is cleansing me of the wrongs I have done and the regrets I have, still. It is a way of purifying me of the dark things, erasing me of what I wish I could take back, the things I wish I could do over, it is making me anew.
I know I must walk straight ahead. I can't look back anymore. What is done is done and I must move on. There will be new beginnings. There will be starting over. But I will never be able to reproduce what is gone and I can't bring back what is dead.
There is a lightness to my head now that is peaceful. The noise I once had, that loud, rumbling sound was just my wants, my lusting, my desires.
It is gone now. I can't have that, I can't get what I want. It might be down the road, it might never return, too, but I can't do anything about that. All I can do is control me and live my life from this day forward.
That song has been replaced by a different tune now. A more "positive" song. I can hear it in my head. There is no noise anymore. Just a soft, lush melody and good memories of who I used to be and who I am again....
Oh, by the way, I will not be going out with this grrrrl. We had a good time, like I said, but she is not my type. And I got the sense I was not her type either.
Oh well, it was worth a shot.
Now if I can just pull my Cubbies through Game 2 tonight it will all be good.
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