The hurt

Sometimes you have to suffer before you can write. Sometimes you have to get cut so that you can justly describe the pain. Sometimes you have to bleed to remember that you can still feel.

I didn't think it could happen again. I thought I was safely close to the shore. I thought my feet were firmly planted. But sometimes, you venture out further than you realize. And before you know it, a wave hits you like a brick wall, turns you upside down, and leaves you gasping for air.

And there's that old familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach. The emptiness and pain. It's been so long, I had forgotten how truly awful it feels.

I toss and turn all night long. Making deals with the devil to try and get some sleep. Because sleep is the only relief. But sleep doesn't come. No matter how many sleeping pills I take.

I feel like throwing up, but I can't. I feel like I should cry, but I won't. I vow I'll never let myself feel this way again. But I will.

It just hurts. And there is no cure. Except time. The slowest antidote ever created.

You win. I lose. But we both know you didn't play fair.

Not that anyone ever does.

"Make you stay wide awake. This is how a heart breaks..."

Co-ed showers

Hottest summer I can remember. Seems like it's been in the 90's every day since sometime in the spring. The highs are supposed to be near 100 here the next three days.

The heat is unrelenting. When you step outside, it envelopes you, warming every inch of your skin. It's like when you first get into a car after it's been sitting in the sun. I like to bask in it. For a minute or two. Then I'm ready for the AC. Not complaining though. I'd rather it be hot than cold.

A week ago Saturday, my AC went out at home. That night, I tossed and turned, throwing every piece of cover I had off the bed, eventually winding up much like I came into this world. Naked and whining. Someone came and fixed it Monday while I was at work.

At some point over that weekend, my computer contracted a virus. Norton wouldn't quarantine it. And by Wednesday, it had turned into like five viruses. So I had to wipe my hard drive clean and reimage it. That contributed to my lack of blogging last week. It was 10% computer problems, 90% writer's block. According to the latest Gallup poll.

Friday night, storms knocked out the power. It went off sometime after 10:00. After about an hour, I was getting really bored. But for some reason, I didn't want to go to bed until the power came back on. So I played games on my cell phone and even played my old Mattel football game. Some things are just more fun with two people.

Looking back, one might think it was not such a good week for me. Well, one would be wrong. Or maybe one would be right. Maybe I've lost my ability to be discomfited. Although by Saturday, I was beginning to wonder if I should leave the house.

In related news, the Taco Bell Corporation has seen a spike in its sales of chicken meximelts in the past week, as I have had no less than eight of the savory gustatory delights. And eight chicken meximelts a good week doth make.

Thanks to the Big Man for alerting me to the fact that I could still order them. Sadly, I never would have figured that out on my own. I had no idea chicken was so much more expensive than beef. Each specially made chicken meximelt is 60 cents more than its less tasty beef counterpart. No matter. I'm eating the extra expense and scarfing down meximelts like there's no tomorrow.

Saturday, I went to my first ever wedding shower. I thought showers were only for girls. Apparently, the new thing is to have a combined, co-ed shower. Or maybe that's just what my family decided to do. Taken out of context, those last two sentences are, um, odd.

At some point during the proceedings, my last remaining single cousin's fiancee offered to set me up with her 21-year-old college roomate. As I pondered the half-your-age-plus-seven formula, she added that said roomate is a music major.

Oh yeah, that makes a difference.

"Man, it's a hot one. Like seven inches from the midday sun..."

Safe

push you away
and slowly
you come back to me

i need your space
your indifference
it comforts me

you've never seen
my best face
never seen me shine

i could leave this
but i'll stay
think i'd miss your voice

if this is nothing
don't tell me
i'm good at fooling myself

if this is something
be careful
i'm no good at things that don't end

"That's all that I need. Yeah, someone else to cling to. Someone I can lean on until I don't need to..."

I don't care if I never get back

"I've always liked Atlanta. And not just for the strip clubs." - Jon Stewart

I woke up Sunday morning around 6:00, to the world's loudest alarm clock. So I've been told by others who have heard it. And since it normally takes me a good ten minutes to even hear the alarm, I'm sure my neighbors love me. I had almost forgotten there even was a 6 AM. Been awhile since I'd seen it.

It's quite remarkable how much easier it is to wake up for a road trip than it is to wake up for work. I was excited. A trip to Atlanta to see my beloved Reds. A nice drive. A city I don't visit very often anymore. And baseball. Axl arrived shortly after 7. We were on the road by 7:30.

I wore a Reds t-shirt and cap, cargo shorts, and flip-flops. I put an extra pair of flip-flops in the back of the car, because I'm always afraid of blowing out a pair and having to walk barefooted thru a restaurant in some sort of Mentos commercial gone bad. Or worse, what if I had to pee? Public restroom. Me with only one shoe? That is a germophobic nightmare. I'd have to lop off my foot.

We made it to Atlanta in about three hours. Highlights of the drive included a train of five or six police cars lined up single file along an interstate on-ramp, taking off one-by-one like airplanes on a runway to chase down speeding cars. Because we all know, one of the most serious threats to society today is speeding. And besides that, the best time to catch someone speeding or drinking and driving would be Sunday morning around 10:00 AM.

Another highlight was when we reached the part of I-20 that is so bumpy and in such bad condition, it was making the CD player in my car skip unrelentingly. That's a fun ten miles.

Upon arriving, I paid $12 to park. It was around this time that I decided an excellent investment for my retirement would be to purchase a large parking lot. We walked to the stadium and purchased tickets. Our seats were down the left field line, fourteen rows up. Not bad. And we wound up sitting around a lot of Reds fans.

To me, Turner Field is rather boring. There's no view of the city skyline beyond the outfield wall. No view of anything really. It's fairly symmetric. Not a lot of history. Nothing distinguishing about it. It was part of the Olympic stadium built for the '96 Summer Games. The rest of the Olympic stadium was torn down and turned into parking.

Still, there's nothing like a day at the ballpark. College football is, and will probably always be, my favorite sport. But there's something about a summer day or night at the old ballgame. Eating a hot dog. Hoping to catch a homerun or foul ball. The seventh inning stretch. Seeing kids standing by the fence, hoping to get an autograph from some big league player. A game seemingly as old as time.

The Reds lost the game 8-3. Our best chance came when we put two runners on, down 6-3, bringing the tying run to the plate, and Griffey pinch hitting. But alas, there was no joy in Boneville, as mighty Griffey struck out. That's OK. Another great thing about baseball, there's almost always tomorrow. 162 games a year.

After the game, we headed downtown. We ate and watched the end of the World Cup at some Irish pub. A waitress with cute glasses and a tongue ring gave me excellent directions back to the interstate. She had a sort of a if-we-were-in-college-and-studying-late-at-night-we'd-probably-end-up-making-out vibe.

We got home a little after 8:00. The drive home was nice. I didn't even mind the ten miles of bumpiness on the way back. As we were about four songs into Axl's Steve Winwood greatest hits CD, and I was well past my Winwood limit, when the player started skipping.

As Axl took out the CD, I was certain there must indeed be higher love.

"Some people call me Maurice, cos I speak the pompatus of love..."

I can't write

I can't write.

I've opened fifteen create-a-new-post windows (not all at once) and... nothing. Decided to take a break from the nothingness and fix some supper. Will blog more on the differences between and appropriate times to use "supper" and "dinner" at a later date.

I fixed Hamburger Helper. Cheeseburger Macaroni. Along with a delicious salad, composed of iceberg lettuce, chopped walnuts, dried cranberries, feta cheese, and a light raspberry vignagrette dressing.

And still, I can't write.

Imagine Pavarotti opening his mouth to sing and there being only silence. Michael Jordan taking and missing twenty jump shots in a row. Bobby Fischer forgetting the Grunfeld defense, going off into exile, forming anti-American opinions, and... Wait, scratch that last one. Bad example.

Imagine a bird grounded. Not being able to fly. Or sing. A fish not being able to swim. A cat with no purr or meow.

That's what it's like when a writer can't write.

"He says, Bill, I believe this is killing me, as a smile ran away from his face. Well I'm sure that I could be a movie star, if I could get out of this place..."

Frankenberry & chicken meximelts, where are you?

Pablo has learned a new trick. Or something. Where I live, the walls are pretty solid. I never hear voices or other noises coming from neighboring apartments. With one exception. For some reason, the sound of footsteps on the stairs carries from one apartment to the other. So I hear anytime someone is walking up or down stairs next door.

Apparently Pablo hears it, too. The other night, I was lying on the bed and he was resting in the bottom of his tank. I heard the neighbors walking on the stairs. As soon as I heard it, I noticed Pablo sprang to life and began swimming around. So I did a couple of tests when he was sleeping where I'd run up the stairs. Each time, he would be up and swimming around when I walked into the room.

I wonder if he has equated that noise to me appearing, since the first thing I do when I get home is run up the stairs and say hi to him. And I really wonder if this story deserved three paragraphs.

In other bachelor happenings, the other night at the grocery store I decided to purchase a box of Berry Lucky Charms. Since stores around here have stopped carrying my beloved Frankenberry (the only monster cereal I can find now is Count Chocula), I figured this must be General Mills replacement.

By the way, have you ever gotten a good look at that Lucky character? Take a good look at him sometime. He's freaky! If you saw him anywhere outside of a cereal commercial, you'd run for your life. But for some reason, you can get away with that look in the cereal mascot industry.

Anyway, I had my first bowl of Berry Lucky Charms yesterday. It was good. I just don't understand why they had to stop making Frankenberry. It seems they eventually end up taking away everything I love.

When I was in college, I would go to Taco Bell at least three days a week for lunch. And I'd almost always order three chicken mexi-melts. Tender chunks of chicken, three blend cheese, and fiesta salsa. Steamed and melted. Delicious! Not to mention they were less than a dollar each, which fit in well with my full-time-college-student-working-part-time budget.

So why did they stop offering them? I know they still have the capability. They still have beef meximelts. Still have chicken soft tacos. I see them on the menu. We all know they still have tortillas. I wish I had inside connections at my local Taco Bell. I bet if you knew the right people, they could still make you one.

It is this blogger's humble opinion that no matter what combinations of chicken, beef, steak, cheese, tortillas, lettuce, sour cream, refried beans, and salsa they come up with, there'll never be anything so tasty as the chicken meximelt.

Those are just two examples. There are hundreds. Or at least four or five more. And don't even get me started on TV shows. Would it kill TVLand to run a Car 54 Where Are You or Welcome Back, Kotter rerun some Saturday morning at 2 AM? I'm not even asking for a weekend marathon. Just an episode or two. Al Lewis is one of the most beloved actors in TV history. How about a little respect!

Uh... as you can see, there's not a whole lot going on in Boneville lately. Oh, except one little thing... I'm going to see the Reds play Sunday!!!

Sure we've lost six in a row. And sure it's in Atlanta rather than Great American Ballpark. And sure our bullpen sucks. Where was I going with this? Oh yeah. The main thing is, I'll be there. And we're still in second place. I think. And Arroyo is scheduled to pitch Sunday. I'm excited!

Have a great weekend! And if you feel the overwhelming need to comment, I'd be curious to know, what products do you wish they'd bring back?

"There's a holdup in the Bronx. Brooklyn's broken out in fights. There's a traffic jam in Harlem that's backed up to Jackson Heights..."

Tuesday's gone

If the names Duke Lavery and Sean Donely mean anything to you, IM me and we'll chat.

It seems the older I get, the less time I get to spend with aunts and uncles and cousins. The less I see certain friends. The difference may be ever so slight sometimes. But still, I recognize it. So these days, when I do get to see them, I cherish those times.

Lil' Bootay was home from South Carolina for the 4th. It was good to hang out with her Saturday night. The evening's activities included dinner and bowling with friends. And for some unbeknownst reason, me doing my best Joey Gladstone impression, making funny noises whenever I passed the ketchup, salt, and sundry other condiments and amenities to anyone.

Got to spend a lot of time with family the past few days. Saw my Dad on Saturday. Driving home, I realized that since I've moved, I only see him maybe once a month. And then, it's usually just meeting at a restaurant to eat. My parents aren't old, but... I feel like I need to make more of an effort to see him.

Overall, the weekend (meaning Friday thru Tuesday, even though I had to work Monday) was filled with much good food, multiple cookouts, and finally, last night, fireworks. Mom called and said some family was getting together at my fave aunt's house to shoot fireworks and that my uncle from Galveston was supposed to be there. I realized I had not seen any fireworks yet, and wanted to see my uncle, so I put on my pants and went.

I don't know how it is where you live, but here we put on our own fireworks displays. We know all the major fireworks by name. And what most of them do. We also know there has never been a firework created that you can't hold and/or throw, no matter what the warning label may say. Those labels are for children. Not wise, experienced pyrotechnicians like ourselves.

Some may say that's dangerous. I say, you haven't lived until a firecracker has gone off in your hand. Until you've accidentally caught a field, tree, or some structure on fire. Until you've driven down a country road and had bottle rockets shot at your vehicle by some future fireworks aficionado.

It has been my experience that these displays involve the males--I would differentiate here between men and kids, but when it comes to fireworks, the difference is negligible--picking out and lighting the fireworks. While the females sit in the yard or on the porch and watch. They may also occasionally applaud. Or maybe that's just my family.

As I was driving to my aunt's last night, there were many of these homemade displays along the way. When I arrived, I chose to sit and watch rather than participate in the re-creation of the discovery of fire with the other males.

As they shot the final fireworks of the night, the grand finale as it were, I turned to watch my seven-year-old cousin. She watched in wide-eyed amazement at the loud, colorful displays. All the fireworks in the world couldn't compare to the look in her eyes.

It was a perfect way to wind down the holiday. Although I ended up missing my uncle by seconds, according to everyone there. My last remaining single cousin, who is getting married next month, was there with his fiancee. She is the sweetest thing. As much as I hate to be the last single cousin, he could not possibly have done any better.

They had been to New York recently. My cousin told me they ate at the diner that Monk's on Seinfeld is modeled after and he thought of me. I like that I'm the biggest Seinfeld fan that any of my friends or family know. Really like it. Probably more than I should.

Driving home last night with the radio up and the sunroof open, I just wanted to keep driving. Take a detour and put in another CD and just keep going. To somewhere. Anywhere. But it was already 11:30. And I had to work this morning. Nights like that, I wish would never end.

But they always do.

"Are you alone? Can you talk to an old friend? Right or wrong, I had to hear your voice again. Unwritten law, protocol, says to leave the past alone..."

Independence Day

"I'm fed up to the ears with old men dreaming up wars for young men to die in." ~ George McGovern

This morning
We woke up in a soft, warm bed
We slept in late because we were off work
They woke up in a place we can't imagine
A million miles from home
That is, if they slept at all

This afternoon
While we're eating more than we should
Laughing and talking with family and friends
They'll only be risking their lives
Like every other day
Just so we can

This evening
When we watch the sky for fireworks
And ooo and ahh at the explosions
They'll be watching, too
Praying they don't see any
Thankful to survive one more day

Tonight
Before we go to sleep
Our family safe and secure
Our biggest worry dreading work tomorrow
Will we think about them
Even for a second

We could never thank them enough
But let us never not thank them

Please come home soon

"If you ever think of me, think of all your liberties and recall, some gave all..."