But I will never be your stepping stone-- take it all or leave me alone.
When last we left our dear hero, fatigue had taken her over and the walls were closing in! There was drama! Mystery! Action! ... Well, not so much action! Intrigue! And a dangerous hint of mystery!
And now it seems anticlimactic to actually tell my tale of five months gone without much word.
I've been tired. I've been sick, I've been working, I've been fucking around, I've been here, there, everywhere. I've been home, but not felt at home. I've been very drunk, and I've been very sober. I've been on a rollercoaster, yet I haven't really moved.
But that's all too surreal and pretentious above. I'm not a poet; let's get to the main points of disinterest.
I've been helping my father with his search for a job for nearly four months now-- driving the 25-mile-or-so drive both ways, driving him around, putting in online applications, faxing this, emailing that, &c. It's eaten up my money through gas, eaten up my sleep, and worn me down more than I care to admit to anyone, especially to him. But finally, he landed a job last Friday-- things are starting to look up now.
I've been working hard, if not hardly working, at my job at O'Charley's-- and in little over eight days, on the seventh of this coming month, I'll have been doing so for a year. A year. It still feels as though I just started there yesterday, but the shiny anniversary lapel pin says otherwise as it stares at me from the sewing machine/table/makeshift night-stand next to me. Let's see how much longer it will be before another of these lapel pins-- which, in a way, serve much the same purpose as military rank pins-- comes my way.
I've been introduced to my mother's newest boyfriend, the 'Gary' who has frequently come up in conversations I was not meant to hear. I was torn in two about meeting him when it was first suggested-- on the one hand, God knows just how long he'll last, if he lasts at all. On the other, it's something of an obligation as the eldest to meet-- and promptly judge-- this supposed 'greatest man ever'. Age unknown (late thirties, if not early forties), owner of a trucking company, part-time bassist in a band, two children, an ex-wife soon to be remarried, and a fondness for printed button-downs and earrings. I don't hate him, but I don't like him-- I'm not allowing myself any attachment.
I found a deep bond I've wanted for a long time. Trouble is, it's complicated-- it will never happen. Though there was never any chance at full reciprocation as what a relationship would entail, I still laid myself on the line and confessed. I don't know if it's better that it's reciprocated emotionally or if it's worse. I've been so loyal that I refuse opportunities that lead to dates, suppress the odd crush that begins to grow inside me, and give my thoughts more to the situation between the harbour of my affections and myself. It may be an obsession now. But I control myself-- it's not an obsession that will consume me entirely. I love her, but I understand that I will have to let her go eventually. I've hinted before that I'm content in watching from afar and that I want nothing but happiness for her; that desire is stronger now than it was when I first realised it.
I've felt lonely. Many times. There's something about being alone in silence for protracted amounts of time that makes that particular old wound re-open and sting with pain. It's entirely my own doing-- I can't compromise with people, therefore I can't get too close. I must have my way, or there is no point. I do as I please, I think as I please, and I talk as I please; I have no room to think of how it would affect others's plans, emotions, or thoughts of me. I'm rather selfish-- and I'm fine with that. We all are to some degree, so it's useless in denying it. My problem is self-induced, so it seems silly to complain about it to others when it cannot be helped. I'm done being the self-indulgent, helpless whiner. No one else really can solve my problems, anyway-- that's my job. But that only poses another question: is this a form of social isolation? Of course it is. And so this is my burden to bear; it's nothing new if you're a loner by nature. But it gets too lonely for a loner out there sometimes, when the moon is the only light out there.
But I'll trudge on through this foggy swamp somehow. I just hope the light I'm following isn't a will-o'-the-wisp.
And now it seems anticlimactic to actually tell my tale of five months gone without much word.
I've been tired. I've been sick, I've been working, I've been fucking around, I've been here, there, everywhere. I've been home, but not felt at home. I've been very drunk, and I've been very sober. I've been on a rollercoaster, yet I haven't really moved.
But that's all too surreal and pretentious above. I'm not a poet; let's get to the main points of disinterest.
I've been helping my father with his search for a job for nearly four months now-- driving the 25-mile-or-so drive both ways, driving him around, putting in online applications, faxing this, emailing that, &c. It's eaten up my money through gas, eaten up my sleep, and worn me down more than I care to admit to anyone, especially to him. But finally, he landed a job last Friday-- things are starting to look up now.
I've been working hard, if not hardly working, at my job at O'Charley's-- and in little over eight days, on the seventh of this coming month, I'll have been doing so for a year. A year. It still feels as though I just started there yesterday, but the shiny anniversary lapel pin says otherwise as it stares at me from the sewing machine/table/makeshift night-stand next to me. Let's see how much longer it will be before another of these lapel pins-- which, in a way, serve much the same purpose as military rank pins-- comes my way.
I've been introduced to my mother's newest boyfriend, the 'Gary' who has frequently come up in conversations I was not meant to hear. I was torn in two about meeting him when it was first suggested-- on the one hand, God knows just how long he'll last, if he lasts at all. On the other, it's something of an obligation as the eldest to meet-- and promptly judge-- this supposed 'greatest man ever'. Age unknown (late thirties, if not early forties), owner of a trucking company, part-time bassist in a band, two children, an ex-wife soon to be remarried, and a fondness for printed button-downs and earrings. I don't hate him, but I don't like him-- I'm not allowing myself any attachment.
I found a deep bond I've wanted for a long time. Trouble is, it's complicated-- it will never happen. Though there was never any chance at full reciprocation as what a relationship would entail, I still laid myself on the line and confessed. I don't know if it's better that it's reciprocated emotionally or if it's worse. I've been so loyal that I refuse opportunities that lead to dates, suppress the odd crush that begins to grow inside me, and give my thoughts more to the situation between the harbour of my affections and myself. It may be an obsession now. But I control myself-- it's not an obsession that will consume me entirely. I love her, but I understand that I will have to let her go eventually. I've hinted before that I'm content in watching from afar and that I want nothing but happiness for her; that desire is stronger now than it was when I first realised it.
I've felt lonely. Many times. There's something about being alone in silence for protracted amounts of time that makes that particular old wound re-open and sting with pain. It's entirely my own doing-- I can't compromise with people, therefore I can't get too close. I must have my way, or there is no point. I do as I please, I think as I please, and I talk as I please; I have no room to think of how it would affect others's plans, emotions, or thoughts of me. I'm rather selfish-- and I'm fine with that. We all are to some degree, so it's useless in denying it. My problem is self-induced, so it seems silly to complain about it to others when it cannot be helped. I'm done being the self-indulgent, helpless whiner. No one else really can solve my problems, anyway-- that's my job. But that only poses another question: is this a form of social isolation? Of course it is. And so this is my burden to bear; it's nothing new if you're a loner by nature. But it gets too lonely for a loner out there sometimes, when the moon is the only light out there.
But I'll trudge on through this foggy swamp somehow. I just hope the light I'm following isn't a will-o'-the-wisp.