If you had a one way ticket to anywhere in the country, where would you go? At this point, I would feel better in the company of strangers, rather than the people I know. I don't know how soon I can make it happen, but God, it has to happen.
An empty town does so little,
For a heart so full.
The calls continue to go unanswered. I only call because I am a fool and I cannot let go of anything, anymore. I hang onto the little pieces of the things I find, because all too often I am unsure if I will ever find anything else should these pieces disappear. I was told somebody would get in touch with me. You, a family member, anybody. Obviously that has not happened.
I have been left to wonder if you are still in a hospital somewhere, or if you are dead. Maybe you simply woke up one day and realized that you do not give a fuck about me anymore. Maybe there is some other possibility that my mind just won’t wrap itself around.
Eventually, this will all fade away. Maybe that is what you want. If so, there are better ways to go about this. I am not sure as to how long it will take me to feel nothing for you. Attraction, or curiosity, some form of feeling will continue to linger.
For most people, giving up is the easy thing to do. The path of least resistance.
Where to start. The beginning. My brain does not function as I wish it would. My memory is a collection of inaccurately organized, faces, places, and words. I have a hard time recalling where I was when. The days blur together seamlessly.
My family went to the island. I opted to stay home. Can't do it right now, I said, I can't do it. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I should have gone. It doesn't matter. I really do not believe I could have dealt with the isolation. The lack of all communication with the few people that manage to keep me held together. Nothing to surround me but a fog of thoughts and a blanket of water as far as the eye can see.
Six days without human contact. This still portrait of a house. I wake on the couch. My older sister has stopped by to exploit the washing machine while everyone is gone. She does not talk. I do not talk. She might as well not be real. This scene repeats three or four times throughout the week. I honestly do not know if she was there half the time she appeared to be, or if I was stuck in the gray area between sleeping and waking, where things are neither true nor are they false. Dreams or reality. Up or down. It is all the same.
The dreams are only getting worse.
I have had three hours of sleep. I have an interview with a local politician who is looking for people to help with his campaign. A friend and I drive into the city. We get lost. We arrive. We apologize for being late. We talk for two hours in a cramped room about the current state of things, what we think, and what we are willing to help with. It seems that this Fall will involve numerous projects to occupy my time.
We leave. We go to eat. It is a large, Mexican restaurant I have never been in before. The waitresses are gorgeous. We are assigned the one male server in the entire building. He is exceptionally average in his presentation. I eat my food. I stare at the baseball game while my mind wanders, I watch the girls go back and forth, tight skinned with hair shining, and all I can think about is how disappointing it is that I will never fuck them.
Home. I try to compensate for the lost sleep, but I cannot. My brain is full of an unsettling buzzing that will not allow me to rest. Fuck my head. Fuck my medication. Fuck. Lower the dosage. The evening will consist of Gatorade, hot showers, and vomiting.
I am trying to put these pieces together. This puzzle that you have left me with. Part of me is paranoid with reasonable cause. An aggravating suspicion that I can do nothing about, since I have no way to find out what you are doing, where you are, or when anything will be resolved. All I can do is wait. I have never felt more foolish in my entire life.
Love is the final frontier. Uncharted territory.
There is no map for the adventure. There is no instruction manual to adhere to.
I have two days to determine whether or not I will be joining my family on a week long island getaway. At times, I wish for nothing more than to get away from where I am. However, an isolated island on the Atlantic coast is not what I currently desire.
I hardly have any friends, yet I feel alone. How am I supposed to feel surrounded by water, without a computer, struggling to find what little cell phone service I can to attain some connection to the outside world? At least at home I have my usual comforts, and I can stick to my scheduled habits. At least I am familiar with the boredom and loneliness of this place. I am pathetic.
Why don't you ever do anything you say you will? When do I give up on you? It was not supposed to be this difficult. You said we were going to work. You promised.
I would rather not rewrite all my plans.
I would rather not cross your name off of the list.
I need you so much closer.
I need you so much closer.
I need you so much closer.
The breeze blows in from the east, whipping my already tattered hair back into my eyes. I pause, and wipe the salt and the grime off of my hands, moist with the spray dashed from the shore through the air. The balancing act of walking across these dunes is one that has been performed for hundreds of years. Giving, and taking, sliding, falling, bits, pieces, fragments of earth beneath your feet. The dunes give and take as they please, leaving you to be the dancer atop their amorphous table.
Everything is sand on a beach.
A thin mist of vapor through the air.
The girl gazing from across the way.
I will wonder if she was ever really there.
People are not good to each other. People are not good to each other.
We need to learn to spend less time wrapped up in our worry of letting ourselves become vulnerable. We should be vulnerable. To be vulnerable is to be open as a real human, and I have been searching for years, and sweet Jesus, I find less and less real humans the more I look. Too many words are left unsaid. Too many opportunities are ignored. Disregarded. Not given a second glance.
For why? Fear. Rejection. Worry. Inconvenience.
Fuck it. We are real people.
I choose Honesty over Vulnerability. I choose Love over Fear.
I have had an idea that I've wanted to put into action for some time now, and assuming there is any support and interest, I think that now is the time to do so.
I plan on conducting a series of interviews, perhaps weekly, of notable AP members. It could be staff members, prestigious members, or anyone who seems to be of particular interest on the board. Sort of a "Who's Who?" of AbsolutePunk. Personally, I have always been curious about the people behind the words and the avatars. I figure I would PM the interview question list to the subject (or over AIM or email or fucking carrier pigeons, whatever), they fill it out and fire it back, and then I could just post them on the blog here, seeing as this thing gets a surprising amount of views.
So, if you are interested in being interviewed for this miniature social experiment, let me know. If you have any suggestions for what kind of questions I should ask these people, feel free to clue me in to those as well. I already have a decent amount to ask; some serious, some ridiculous, and the rest somewhere in between.
I'd like to use this as an entertaining and unique way to contribute, even just a little, to the community.
Maybe I can give Brad Streeter a run for his money. I kid. No homo.
Any feedback is appreciated.
Other than that, I am going to pop a Lunesta and hope that my life does not completely fall apart in the next 48 hours.
Sometimes I wonder if I am expecting too much from people. I don't think I do, but maybe, maybe I do.
The headaches, the pills, the doctors, the fear, the loneliness, the apathy, the staring at ceilings, the sleepless nights, the unanswered phone calls, the side effects, the stinging eyes, the glowing screen, the feeling like you're reaching for something that you're not quite sure is there.
My evenings have dissolved into a celebration of prescription drugs and pornography, household chores and apathy. A movie here and there, some music filling the background. Anything to pass the time. Shower. Stare at the ceiling. The phone rings occasionally.
I fall asleep as the rest of the world is coming to life. The morning birds are crying. Cars begin to pass up and down the road. It is roughly 7 o'clock, and the sun is rising.