Hate alone is not enough to nourish. But there’s rage too.

I’m on my way back to back to Brooklyn after a weekend up North. I’m going to stop in Stamph to visit with some friends and I’d like to bring a bottle or two of wine. There’s this local wine shop on the way to the highway that has a nice selection. I’ve always had difficulty with proof at this place. Not like 151 proof, but ID proof. When I was about 26, I went there to stock up for a party, something for Kait or Beck, I think. I had cases and cases of beer and bottles of wine. Not the, I’m underage and I’m going to buy all the Natty Light or Pabst that I can. This was some premium microbrew and the such. Short story long, they wouldn’t accept my license as proof because it said dupe on it. So my dad had to come down and proof out.

Well, I go back to this place on the way back to New York. I put the two bottles on the counter and the guy asks for ID. I hand over my NY license and he asks if I have anything else from New York. I’m 31 now and I probably look young (especially with my new flowbee hair cut) but 21? Come on. Not quite understanding, I ask him what he’s looking for. “Is your car parked out front?” I told him my NY plates were out there on the van.

Ok so I drive a caravan. It’s a company car. But that’s besides the point, if I’d driven my parents car there, I’d be denied because they don’t have NY plates.

When the guy comes back in he’s got a little smirk and says “That’s you? In the van? A guy like you?”

Was he taking a shot at me?

Ok. So there’s a good chance that I’m being stalked here. I helped a few girls change a tire out in front of the building and let me tell you it by not too far the second hardest tire I’ve ever changed in my life. It got to the point where I was struggling so much with the lugs that they wielded the phone with some auto service. At this point of desperation I took immediate action to try to salvage my machismo. I placed the wrench on the lug in the most horizontal position I could and mounted it. Yep. I just hopped up on the end of the wrench and started bopping up and down. It took a good two or three bops before I heard a frightening metallic sound the assured me something irreperable had resulted. Turns out that it was just the lug losening and I was able to change the tire but that’s not my purpose here. It’s always good to start a blog with an aside.

So these three friends invited me for a beer across the street at the bar (the one they live above), to which I declined at first then acquiesced after coming up with not a single respectable excuse.

That Saturday, I found a guest check (bill from the resty across the way) with a note of interest from one of the ladies. (this has the potential to be a 10,000 word blog). This was a bit unexpected but she wanted to “get to know me better.” So I ran into her the next week and we talked a bit which prompted her to leave another rain soaked note on the windshield.

I gave her a call and we met. Had some dinner, went into the city, played some pool had an ok time. At the end of the night, there was a conversation about wanting to get involved and I explained my position. It’s pretty clear that I’m still more than slightly attached. But this isn’t half as a deterant as the fact that we live directly across the street from each other. It didn’t end up too pretty. She pushed and pushed and said something that struck me as funny. According to her, I was too confident a person for her to feel that she should even leave a note on my windshield. Hasn’t she been reading this blog? maybe I should send her the link. After I dropped her at place (litterally 150′ away) I went home to take a leak. Afterwhich I got a call from her. Basically had to get a little more stern and end the coversation.

Next morning, on my way to work after taking a walk around the car to ensure no tires are slashed, I get a call and a texty that explained how sad she was. That very night, I get a call from her inviting me to an awards show. I declined based on the mornings events and I guess that was it.

So I received a few more calls and texties to which I respond sparingly. Then I see her at the place across the street after a real long day this week. She was dizzzecked izzzout. Sweet looking suit skirt thing that was just made for her. I think to myself, remember she’s a little psycho. And she’s offering up things that I didn’t know were out there and I have to keep telling her about the proximity effect. To the point where she’s asking if I’m gay and I have to remind her again that if things go sour then we show up in this bar together and there’s some serious cringe in the air. Again, after we goodbye, I get a call with another plea.

So I get another texty the next day telling me good morning sunshine. And another today saying that there’s a Frank Sinatra photo she saw that she thought was me.

I don’t know what’s going on here. I feel like I’ve already been a bit of a dick by not returning calls and texties but how bad does this girl want to be treated? Seems like the dish towel treatment is what she’s looking for.

I woke up on Monday and couldn?t quite figure out why I keep doing it. Waking up every morning. Feels like it?s just a habit. I have no passion, no drive, very little will, no motivation. It sort of sucks. I told this to the tool, and somehow it got turned into whether I was honest with myself or not and then whether I connect with people or not. Turns out I probably don?t. I can?t even get angry with him. I have this fucking aversion to conflict and expressing negative feelings towards someone not necessarily because of how it?ll make them feel but because I can?t deal with the tension. And furthermore, because I don?t feel like they can accept a negative evaluation or comment. And even furthermore, the reason I don?t feel like they can deal with it is because I can?t deal with it. I project that on to them. So why is it that I can?t deal with a negative comment on me. Is it because I question the judgment of the other person? Or is it because I?m not up to the challenge that it presents? And what do I do with that evaluation that they suggest? I modify myself to make sure it doesn?t happen again. I change myself. What?s so bad about me that I have to change because someone thinks differently about me than I do (or did before they said something). I can?t be that horrible can I. Well I guess I can because I?m only human. And what?s so terrible about being horrible? Nothing if you?re ok with that. But wouldn?t that be great to tell someone that you?re mad at them or that they?ve disappointed you and you work it out and become better people, not necessarily that either one of you changed but that you discussed it openly and honestly and came to the conclusion that it no matter what you still meant a lot to each other?

I?ve had this feeling like I was a lot stronger back when I was 18. Now that?s not the way it?s supposed to go. If you make use of the years hear on Earth it shouldn?t make you weaker. At least not in my case where I haven?t had a tragic stay here so far. Maybe it?s the tragedy that makes you stronger. But it?s the only reason that I could accept getting weaker. So I started to think that maybe I?m weaker because I don?t stand my ground. This is wrong though. Standing your ground isn?t strength. Strength is found in facing the truth, evaluating and changing if you need to. That?s what I lack. I?m going to get to work on that.

I’ve got this weird reaction to just about everything except for the drink in front of me. Whereas, most people, I believe, may have a desire or a whim which they actually consider or even act on, I have developed this recoil to (or from) these ideas. I’m talking about material things mostly but it also applies to diversions, excursions, aspirations, relationships, eating, enjoyment, intraspection blah blah blah. It does not seem to apply to listening to music, playing music, inanely surfing the internet and imbibing the sweet nectre of the gods. It appears to be moderate to severe self-destructive behavior that isn’t getting me anywhere. There are a few possible explanations for this.

1) I’m just a complete loser-but unless I have an unlimited supply of wool to pull over peoples eyes then I’m going to have to trust the people that tell me I’m not.

2) I’m too afraid of living which means taking action, making mistakes, recovering and getting back on that bike and riding again. This sort of fits in with a revelation that I had a few weeks ago. I never consider a positive outcome to things. For instance if I want something there are two options that I consider. i) I go for it and don’t get it and that sucks, ii) I don’t go for it and don’t go for it and don’t get it and that’s ok. The third option that doesn’t enter my field of vision is that I go for it and get it.

Here I go again, I’m just an idiot. I can’t finish. Really should delete this but I know I have to post it.

Don’t know where to go here. I’m ending the day listening to a song that my brother really pimped to me and I’m down with it. I have a lot of stuff to post here but I’m uninspired. I probably just broke blog rule number one don’t edit what you write. Leave it to the train of thought. I just deleted a few lines because I didn’t have the courage to post them just yet. It’s a process.
I know this much. I think the IMs that I had with my brother and the conversation I had with my sister are a good start. We’ll unravel this stuff eventually, but not before a whole lot of blood, sweat and tears. We’ll come out of it stronger, wiser and more healthy. Or dead.
Anyway, since blogging isn’t real natural to me just yet, I’m going back to learning this song.

Had a real nice visit from crew belmont this weekend. Matt, Mariel and Dexter made concer(n)ted effort to get here to Brooklyn, which was much appreciated.
People keep offering to come down and give me a hand with the place but I haven’ t found the inspiration yet and when I secure a potential visitor my mind wanders to taking them out and showing them the neighb (although it’s more a ‘hood).
So when I told people that I’d be having my brother down, they suggested I put him to work. In fact, when told that he was visiting madre propositioned that we could really get some work done on the place. M-unit suggested that the realit was that Matt may not be the motivator in the home improvement area of interest.
Just as well. Blood and I were able to hang in the uninhabit(ible)ed section of the pad and pass some nectar and go over some essential shit. I know I got some shit out that I couldn’t with anyone else, even my narcoleptic tool of a therapist.
The thing about it is I’ve been able to turn to the sib for a while now and he’s provided me with a ton of guidance and support. I just hope that I’ll be able to bounce it back to him some day.
So not much to show on the home improvement front this weekend unless you count my head as my home. Which it is. And it wasn’t so much improvement cause I don’t feel all that much better. It was more like demo. Of the the notions. The fears. The hate.