Being of a fairly nerdy inclination, I can’t help but look with amusement on dates that are binary in representation. It makes me want to do something really significant on 10/11/11 or 11/11/11 or 10/10/11… etc
I look back upon this past weekend with incredible fondness. Laura and I hung around my place but in the grand scheme of things we didn’t really DO much of anything. No hilarious and uproarious parties. No amazing events. Not even any pictures. Yet I feel like we really had a lot of fun with each other just talking and connecting. All too often I think that people date one another and use the events that they share to judge their relationship. “I had a great time with John in the Rockies skiing!” or “We really enjoyed going to Linda’s birthday party!” they’ll say. All that is garbage. You can have a fantastic time with anyone if you’re in the right environment. Parties, vacations, events… those are the easy things. It’s the quiet times that count. Those times when you’re just sitting in a room together, the cable is out, there’s no outside input… those are the times that really determine if you are a good couple or just good friends. I remember a night not too long ago when we just sat and talked. We wiled away the hours and before we knew it, it was time for bed. On the other side, I remember driving through the deserts of Arizona, lost beyond all recognition, driving down roads not meant at all for the car we had rented, laughing at our own situation. This is what relationships are about. Smiling and loving and laughing whether the whole world beckons outside your door or whether it’s just the two of you. It’s easy to lose yourself in the bright lights of the social world, but ultimately, true happiness is derived from the mind and soul of the person you’re with.
The other night Netflix graced us with two movies that I’m fairly certain don’t apply to the female soul. “Watchmen” and “Ironman 2” arrived simultaneously in the mail and I politely excused Laura from the necessity of watching either of them. Surprisingly, Watchmen actually worked for me. I expected utter fluff but I was amused. Between the 1950s noir film references and the amusing historical context (this is the second reference I’ve seen to wartime lesbianism) I found it rather intriguing. I was amused. I returned “Ironman 2” unwatched.
I’ve become supremely conscious of the fact that people find me to be… “gruff”. This is doubtless the wrong word, but I was recently told that people perceive me as anything but friendly. On one hand I find this unsurprising. In many ways I cultivate this view. I do tend to be very … well…. Demanding of people… in a way. On a professional level, if you come to me with a need I’m likely to dissect you in twelve different ways. Not because I don’t value your opinion but because I want you to think things through and get the most out of your request. Truth be told though, I’ll do anything for anyone, even to my own detriment. I’m the guy who will do whatever you ask for once it’s established that it actually makes sense to do so. I am, as the old adage says, an old softy. In many ways, I’m paranoid of being taken advantage of, but realize that even if I knew that was to happen, I wouldn’t object because I would theorize that any loss to me would be more than compensated for by the gain made by other people. Ultimately, I believe it’s better to do harm to yourself as long as it benefits the greater good. Somewhat sad but true.
Lately I’ve become vastly obsessed with the idea of getting a tattoo. On one hand, I’m delighted at the prospect of expressing myself. On the other hand, I’m terrified at the idea of expressing myself. I know myself well enough to know that once I break through the barrier, it will become obsessive. I’m not the kind of person to get one tattoo, but instead the type that gets dozens. I am simultaneously terrified and excited at the prospect of showing people who I am. I yearn for the freedom that disclosure will bring and at the same time cower, terrified, of the potential for non-acceptance. The terror paralyzes me, as it has for most of my life, yet my soul yearns to break free. To push beyond my fear towards what I really want.
Perhaps it’s time to conclude. As I look back on my blog entries from the past several years, I see that they’re honest beyond all potential for sanity. Here I describe my darkest hours and my most brilliant moments. I have to wonder what quiet impression this makes on the people that know me. Perhaps they think me a psychopath. Perhaps they think me the most heart-wrenchingly honest person they know. I don’t pull any punches. In here I am exactly what I am whether I am in pain or I am in love. Who among you can say this? Who can say that they are so honest both with themselves and with the world at large? Perhaps it is a character flaw, but it is who I am. All I know is that I look forward to tomorrow. I hope to be a positive influence on the world around me in whatever small way I can. Until tomorrow…
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