pedestrian

I'm feeling exceptionally pedestrian today. As though all of my words are crude blocks of wood, my ideas noting but obvious rehashings of everyone else's.

Even this post borest the crap out of me, but I feel compelled to post it. I'm turning into the guy at the party that tells the most mundane stories, and everyone wishes he'd just shut the hell up so they can listen to the music.

words

Some days it seems like every other word is an affront to meaning and flow. Every noun, verb, adjective, conjunctive seems trite and heavy handed, like they obstruct rather than facilitate vision.

And then part of me thinks that I'll never get it right and the other part of me thinks, maybe you're just beginning to understand what writing is.

I'm tired

and I'm having to write stuff that I'm not sure works. Deadlines are a bitch, I feel like a sub.

afraid

So, what am I afraid of, not knowing the answers to the question, the complications that always arise from a simple question, or the displeasure of the people who don't like the details of my solution, or worse, if I fuck up the solution.

Probably the last.

Jesus.

doing it

R____ sent me a comment on my last post (not that anyone else is reading this, but I like to use third person for appearances sake and for my own sanity) suggesting I read a certain book to help me let/get the beast to do what it wants/what I want.

Probably a good idea, but her point got me thinking, about what it wants to do.

But then I realized, that's all the beast wants to do, is do. It just wants to get the fucking job done. Doesn't care what it is, how sensible, how gratuitious, how silly, how spiritual or how dirty, just get the fuck out of its way and let it get it done.

I remember when I was a scout, and I built a raft that was a bad design, and I pushed the damn thing forward chest deep in freezing water 'cause finishing the race was what we were supposed to do. Didn't care why, was told to do it so I did. Until the leader pointed out that this wasn't the point.

I was pissed, I didn't care about the point of it all, I was doing the thing I was supposed to do. Fuck context.

Which is interesting, I'm so used to thinking about it in terms of work, that I didn't really understand other places I was using it (and where I wasn't) including running, working out (lately) and again, work. It's just that work is so BIG compared to everything else in my life. the single biggest block of my time and effort and it supports everything else, so no surprise.

So, I guess the question is how to get the beast to switch off (so I can sleep better) or switch gears (so I can play better.)

I remember

This mind frame. I'd forgotten how hard it was, crystalline in some ways. No tolerence for myself or others.

It's a hard thing to encompass. A____ and I were driving the other day, and chatting. He was wondering why I was so, grumpy? flat? And it's this mind frame. Bitter and brittle. It was always why it cracked and I ended up indulging in pleasures that took me away from this, even when those were transient and ultimately frustrating and misleading.

so, how to be human and beast at the same time. Or at least I need to bring the beast's drives closer in line to mine. But then, they already are, it's just that it has tunnel vision. predator.

time

constantly feeling the press of time. trying to maintain focus on the task at hand while keeping all the other balls in the air.

I'm exerting myself, more than I have in a few years. Trying to stay ahead of the swell of the wave, keeping on top of all the shit that goes on in life. And I'm feeling the strain. I'm remembering now why I ended up drinking, smoking, going to the strip joints, in the first place. A desire to escape the constant sense of urgency that seems to wrap around me.

A desire for the reward that doing a good job never really brings. or perhaps I feel that there should be a sense of completion with any job done, but no job is ever really done.

But perhaps that's the problem with my perspective, I should give jobs an ending, in my mind. This is done, time for the next job, even if it builds on the last one.

Still, now that I'm finding that the old vices have little or no appeal, it's a bit easier to keep on the tasks that matter. Work, writing, health, even my marriage to some extent. Though the last one obviously requires some degree of collaboration. There are signs (as from the last post) that things may move forward, but I'm in a holding pattern on that for a while. A couple more weeks for a response I figure, then I have to push again.

I'm also somewhat frustrated, by the blog. I had a number of topics, flashes of ideas really, that I wanted to post. But no joy.

Oh, one other thing. Went out drinking on Friday, and ended up chatting with a couple of chicks at the bar (a new one, the old one's too crowded on the big nights) and didn't even really flirt. Guess I'm learning. Know when the game is worth playing, and when it's not. Some of the time anyway.

But really, wtf, girls talking to guys at bars? Their supposed to travel in groups and avoid guys drinking alone. It's odd to see the rules change like this.

two days two surprises

And here I thought I knew my wife's reactions down cold. When I brought up the fact that I was still looking at finding a counsellor, and wanted her to look at who I thought might be good her response was "Are you still planning on leaving me?" I may have the actual words a little off, it could have been less definite than that, but geez, I didn't know that I'd been that negative in tone when we spoke about this last.

I guess she knows the extent of my feeling on this, though it doesn't seem affect our relationship in any overt way. I don't really get it. In any case it should make it interesting in seeing where she goes when counselling starts. It's been a while since my wife's surprised me like that.

The second thing was her comment today about something trivial - we were bickering (not arguing, just joking around) about where we keep some stuff in the kitchen, and she asked me if it was something that the counsellor would help us with.

A joke. About counselling.

Does this mean that she's accepted it? Is trying to come to terms with it? or was it just a joke?

my mind is whirling with over analysis

procrastination

I'm trying to figure this out. I've been pretty focussed the last couple of weeks, keeping my nose to the grindstone and all that. But still, I'm struggling to keep up. And I'm not really succeeding. Not to the extent I'd like anyway.

But I guess I'm still dealing with a back log of issues, including the personal ones. I haven't pushed forward on the counselling yet, though I have compiled some options. Now I just have to share these with my wife and see what she thinks.

what fun.

advantages

One of the advantages, is that it means I have no excuse not to hammer out two thousand words in an afternoon.

That's somewhat gratifying, but now I have to make it fit in seamlessly.

sigh

stalking

So I really want to talk to r______ but it all seems rather pointless. I yearn to hear her voice , whisper obscenities into her ear while causing her pain and pleasure.

but there's no point. I can't/won't be there and so she's moving on like any sane individual. Fleeing a dysfunctional relationshipe regardless of how it had functioned in the past. So I'm reduced to stalking her profile on her social networking site, looking at the profiles of all of her new friends, dreaming up scenarios of their conversations, e-mails and, god forbid, physical interactions.

But what else can I do, until I act in my own life, then all else is naught.

Of course I know that in all likelihood that she'll eventually read this post, and I could have been more civilized and simply sent an e-mail, but that's too much like real communication. And thus inherently frustrating.

Now I return to my regularly scheduled life, the 4,532nd edit of my short story while i sit in my local.

to do

Okay, at mid-life, I finally think I've managed to figure out how I can use 'to do' lists. It's not (for me) a matter of going from top to bottom, but rather a matter of choosing what I feel like doing at that particular time.

As long as I'm careful with the list, and the urgent priorities, it should be cool. And it keeps me in a better psychological space. I get to pretend I have freedom. Oh joy oh bliss. Oh rapture unforeseen.

writing

I'm finding that it evokes desires in me. My characters are real enough to me now (or enough of me is in them) that I yearn for what they yearn.

It's odd, my sense of impatience is increased as I write. I want to be in the experience, have it appear on the page as though I was reading it, or living it, not writing it. I am always afraid that the slow pace of my writing may leach some of the ideas whirling through my head before I get them down. Though often the slower pace allows me to get a lovely expression or idea.

It's an odd process.

It's why I get so frustrated with A____ when he never finishes anything - he doesn't really understand writing unless he's actually writing.

The whole process is weird.

impatience

impatience is a false guide but a true gauge

writing

I'm in the bar, writing. Getting ready for a critique session, and, based on the last session, I think I've gotten in a really good scene. Of course I'm worried about the quality of the prose, since I'm hammering it out. but I think it's good overall.

And I'm missing R____. being here, thinking of her. Thinking of how it could be, but how it's not.

I've been chatting with the other R, and it's nice, because it is all so relaxed between us. A bit of flirtation, but no real tension. I wouldn't go so far to say it's harmless, but we are well away from the cliff's edge.

And on another note:
Everything seems so far away, the path is so long that it somehow almost seems pointless to walk it. But I must begin somewhere, but I still need to prepare. But if I take to long, well, then I fear I may never start. So perhaps a bungled start is better than none at all.

work

Right now I'm thinking that all of this stuff. My desires, my anguish is nothing other than an attempt to avoid work.

Or at least distract me from the inevitability of it.

But it's probably not

drinking and nature

Was out for drinks with L____ on Friday. She's been doing the internet dating thing with some moderate success and she told me about that. I told her about what's been going on with R____ lately, barring the news I received on Saturday.

Anyway, I was talking about counselling with the wife, and how I had to decide what I'd be willing to live with. I thought I could accept simple and sincere passion and desire. L____'s comment? "And you can continue to deny your nature."

ouch.

So what is my nature. I want to spend time discovering this, but it seems a waste of time, since there are other 'more' important things to do, work, writing, reading. and when I do say to myself, 'okay, now' i'm just fucking tired. Part of my subconciousness' plan I guess. Maybe the counselling will help, if I ever get that off the ground

irritation

It's also difficult for me to keep my mood in control. I know that r____ says I should just feel it, but it's difficult to feel something and not express it - especially when that would be self destructive in many ways.

And later, I'm just tired.

Oh well, perhaps it will all cycle around so I'm feeling more in control. If/when I get on top of things. I will have to watch and see what I do when I get that break, to see if I use that time well. That's the real challenge I guess, using the free time to get ahead rather than fuck the dog.

work, engagement, life

So I guess the challenge of fully immersed in your life is to still maintain some sort of perspective when everyone/thing is pulling you to focus on individual details at all times. Which you need to do, but it's hard to keep sight of the forest for all the damn trees.

Ache

That seems to be what I'm feeling today. Not really a pain, but just that ache of longing. Non specific, and completely untreatable in my present state. Long term solutions do exist, of course, but not today.

Part of it is withdrawal, we've seen each other so recently, with one really, really good scene and two days of chatting (and fucking). But now, nothing. Mostly at my request. R____ is still sending me stuff, just to stay in touch, and feel a sense of communication, but I can't respond without getting drawn into conversation, so I'm avoiding responses (except this one).

Still, it's my own damn fault, listening to the CD she sent me (one of the earlier ones).

And life feels a bit intense right now. B___ is struggling with her own motivation for her hobbies, and with life in general. I think that she's got breathing room right now and she's a bit at a loss for how to deal with it.

Me, I'm heading (somewhat) in the opposite direction. Trying to fully engage in all aspects. To successfully juggle my life. Deciding where I let some things go to focus on others. All in all though, it's a bit intense. I'm not used to this and my usual vices kind of suck. So now I'm back to a really old one, video games. I have a new gaming system, so I'm escaping there for hours at a time. But at least it doesn't take money, and allows me to chip away at some of the other things I should be doing in my study.

Memory

I'd forgotten how angry and depressed I would get when I didn't have any distractions from the day to day reality of my life. back before I could afford booze and hadn't taken up smoking.

I'm just remembering those long and involved, non-specific, angst-jags I'd go on when I was in school. And that was 20 years ago. 'course it's proof that self-medication works. Sort of. 

I thought exercise was supposed to help with this problem.

joy and confusion

The two seem to be linked for me. She came into town last week, and I thought that we were going to try and take our relationship to a new level. A simpler, platonic, perhaps collegial level. Then she asked me if I was going to kiss her and I there really was only one response to that.

Three days of surprising joy (I'm using that word a lot lately) and subsequent confusion (with little sprinkles of an amazing variety of guilts). 

I feel the need for some sort of resolution. And oddly, this time it seems to be staying with me. Perhaps it's the multiple days of sobriety.

what's in it for me

This is the question that's been on my mind lately. It seems to me that I'm doing all the things I need to do to maintain my place in society (work, marriage, respectable behaviour). And I'm wondering what the balance point is. What reward?

I do what I'm supposed to do, and it seems that the only reward is that people aren't offended. They think I'm a perfectly nice guy and what? That's it. Wow, you're a real sweetheart is supposed to compensate for the suppressed rage and worse, mind and soul numbing boredom. 

But what to do, guilt rules my life.

writing

It's good to be back at the local - working on a story. Reading some porn at the same time. Of course, the best porn doesn't really read like porn does it.

odd.

just back from overseas.

It was nice to be there, saw some sites (sights?), ate some food, all the usual stuff when I wasn't working. But I wasn't as aggressive as I have been in the past in exploring the city. Partly it was some tiredness, the days at the conference were rather long, and partly it was a certain apathy. I didn't feel like exploring the city alone. I wanted a lover with me, but none was to be had. Someone to share my jokes and create a sense of pure physical enjoyment that a new environment can bring. This lack drained me of a desire to explore the city completely - to search out the new experiences. 

Arguably it could be that it is simply a desire that displaces all others, leaving them hollow, or perhaps I'm just getting old.

I need a little resolve (if I may paraphrase)

I'm not sure what I should use it for though. I feel a breaking point coming - something to drive me to stat my desires (or at least some of them) to the one person that is supposed to be responsive to these. I haven't done this yet, but I'm hoping to reach a perfect point of crisis - where I have the will and passion to address the situation, but am not so crazed that I do it poorly.

wish me luck 

succumb

So while it was necessary to succumb to various temptations (strippers, prostitutes), once I had an affair (of the heart I must add) it became impossible to scratch that itch with the older vices. I tried again today, and even had a really good dancer but I'm in the same boat, just a good deal poorer.

I need contact, real contact, heart mind body. But how do build that back into my life when I have realized that like any monster I've managed to destroy all constructs of that nature in my life. How do you build when your inherent mode of expression is insult, sarcasm or a flaying sort of analytical view.

"r" has given me some tools, but they feel clumsy in my hands and truly, neither I nor my partner really trust them. And how much damage will I cause as I learn to use a tool I don't really understand?

 

pining

So I've been pining for her the last few days. I'm not sure if that desire is the cause of or consequence of my general sense of ennui. In any case, it seems to have passed and I may (fingers crossed) be experiencing some degree of rehabilitated ambition for the rest of my life.

Still, I've been listening to the CDs she made me and been filled with the desire to just talk to her. Of course it isn't like that, if I spoke to her today, I'd not be able to say "well, I'll chat with you in a couple of months". It's like any drug, once you have a little that's good, you want more. But with relationships it's worse sometimes, cause even if it's bad you want more because you're convinced it can be better, better than it ever was when it was good. And the damn thing is, is that that's true. But I think it's as much the work you do as the digging deeper. Are the two things any different.

I miss you baby, not that that sentiment helps either of us. 

catharsis

I'm feeling the need for some. Though I don't know how to get it. All of my old vices have lost their lustre - assuming that they've ever helped me recharge. I don't think that they did in any positive way, but the guilt and frustration at my lack of self control  was a source of energy to drive me to do the day-to-day necessary things.

Now though, I only have the satisfaction of staying on top of my chores at home and work and a thin gruel it is. Oh to be sure the lack of stress  of seeing the line of credit total rise as steadily as a boat in the tide is a bonus, but it all feels so damn abstract.  I want something that I can feel.

But my only options are drink (which both concerns and bores me), masturbation (since my wife hasn't seen fit to forgive or forget), and masturbation is damn unsatisfying though it does keep me from going crazy and cigarettes, which also alarm me.

Keeping on top of things at work means more work (and theoretically more money) but I just don't care....

I try to care but it really doesn't work. I care about the writing, but it's hard to write at home, what with all the reminders of things I should be doing both at home and at work. Exercise is, well exercise. Good for my back and a drain on my will.

What do I do for real sensation? 

reaching out

So I seem to have managed to avoid many of my vices. I've dropped the one vice that wasn't really a vice anymore, but rather a whole other relationship.

Now I'm exactly where I was, but... not. Many of the things that I've felt compelled to do have lost their appeal, indeed, they only now have an appeal for their ability to distract. Which, I'm sure, is what they were before, but I was so caught up in the covering that I didn't realize what the true appeal was. And how it related to my more fundamental desires.

how's that for obtuse.

So I'm here looking for context, connection, comment and some sort of outlet since all my other outlets seem to require so much effort. Here I can be marginally coherent and thus fit in with the lower half of blogland.

angst

existential angst sucks. I sit here and listen to blue train and it's 1:19 am and I'm feeling the lack of sensation in my life. I'm constantly torn between the appeal of the written word and the actuality of living.

Reading is easier.

But I'm older now and the sensations of my youth no longer suffice. Don't I have this backwards? Am I not supposed to be more comfortable with the idea of adventure as I get older, rather than the reality of it. Or is it simply that I don't know what real adventure is?

Probably the latter, since I lack the _______ to change certain aspects of my life.