The Metaphor

I limp, but make small progress. Each step forward towards getting better hurts. I am torn, not broken.

I have to give a great big shout-out to the Great Jedi Council, who told me things I didn't want to hear. Things I certainly needed to hear. Right now I'm my own worst enemy.

They tell me it's in my own best interest to get a clean break. They say it's either/or, and there's no middle ground: I cannot maintain a healthy ongoing relationship with my ex-girlfriend, not without a profound sense of loss, of an absence. It has to be all or nothing.

I'm not necessarily of that frame of mind, but I cannot say enough how appreciative I am of their willingness to give advice. I'll admit I still have expectations. A month ago my instincts told me we had something good. I didn't know where it was going, but right then, in those times, it was an arrow nocked to the smoothed bowstring. And my instincts are seldom wrong.

But do I have to make a choice now between maintaining a friendship characterized by loss, hurt, and desire, a relationship that matters to me, regardless of history; and maintaining my emotional well-being by making a clean break of things and keeping distance, an action that would catalyze more loss, more hurt, and more bad will?

Last night I was accused of allowing myself to be taken advantage of; I doubt that's the case. I could be more accurately accused of keeping her on a pedestal, and making special allowances in this situation. But my perspective isn't going to allow me to recognize it, if true, for a while. I take the attitude that in a situation like this, where we actually do enjoy each others' company; where we hurt but care, grieving together and grieving alone; where we can continue to count on each other for honesty and compassion; in this situation it's best to come away like a shoe, gingerly removed from an injured foot.

There will be separation. We will go different ways and meet new people. And continue, when we see each other, to be friendly and urbane. But right now, in this time, I am dashed between sorrow and joy, knowing comfort and pain in the same moment. I've never felt a more unique mix of emotions, and the force of the originality wears me out. Yet I savor the sensation. No painkillers for this kid.

You are a splendid butterfly;
It is your wings that make you beautiful.
And I could make you fly away,
But I could never make you stay.


Yep. Something's seriously wrong with my foot. I managed to hustle my shoes on, and stumbled to my car, hopped to my desk.

My left shoe is getting tight, and I cannot walk on it. At all.

I fell in the shower this morning. I think I broke my foot. Maybe I should go to the doktor.


So someone found this site by searching Google for the phrase "serial sniper shootings." Kinda strange. I only offered my thoughts on that brouhaha once, and even then it wasn't much as far as commentary. But since folks might be looking for my opinion, let me elaborate:

This is not a serial killer. Earlier I wrote that it's "too random." For clarity's sake, let me say that although the method remains the same, the victims and the circumstances aren't thematically linked. This guy isn't killing to feed some hunger. He's doing it to disrupt our daily lives.

A friend of mine maintains that it's a serial killer - he says the geographic location and weapon make it so. But a serial killer gets more specific. A serial killer wants to get to know the victim, gets some kind of relief and satisfaction from dehumanizing the victim. This sniper isn't interested in that - he wants to maintain his distance. The fact that he strikes in open areas near lots of major highways only underlines his sanity. He knows what he has to do to get away.

I still have no doubts that they'll catch this jerk, especially now that the military is involved, but only because he will continue to strike. He's compelled not to satiate a need, but to demonstrate to others the damage one man can do.

Yes. I have become a lame-ass.

But try to at least keep in mind that I've been emasculated. It will take some time for me to get back to where I once was.

I'm just a running fool. Running from the truth.

It's fun to play the game of deception and reconciliation. I'm making positive changes in my life, trying to feel better about myself, but I started it for different reasons. Should that matter? Should I persist, for the simple fact of inertia? What do ya want me to do, draw ya a picture?

Today's a better day. I went to bed early, slept well all night, and have yet to really want any kind of caffeinated beverage.

I'm storyboarding a new movie. It's for work, but still - storyboarding a movie. That's gotta count for some kind of creative enterprise. It's really exciting, actually. Especially when you can do it while listening to the bumpin' bass and dancin' drums that are OutKast.


So here's a call for suggestions:
My cousin is getting married this weekend. I have no idea what to get him and his bride.

The cuz' is a systems administrator at a medical supply company in the Twin Cities. I have no idea what she does. She has two sons from a previous marriage, and together they have a third boy (J.J., they call him. Quite a kid!)

I've been thinking, and all I can come up with is the kinds of things that are just commentary on marriage. I feel like such a bastard, but is it my fault for not having a clue about my cousin who's 400 miles away?

Maybe they're into sports. Or pr0n.

I need to sleep something like ten hours tonight.

The last many nights have run late, and I have to wake up to get to work every morning. After lunch today, after the run, I got hit with a serious case of the tireds. There's so much I need to get done today, but it will have to wait. Sleep must happen.

I have no idea about distance, in regards to the loop I run at work. I figure it's probably a mile or so. Took two laps today.

Tonight is cleaning night at the apartment, and I think it might be a good night to meditate. It's been months since I sat regularly. This is a great opportunity to begin again. They say it's easier to meditate when you roll through tough times. Maybe so.

Still not gonna say it.

Still not gonna say it.

We had a pretty good practice last night. We worked primarily on the new songs John has written. He has a talent for putting together interesting melodies. They're fun tunes to play.

After practice the male contingent of the band (minus Glenn) came over to watch "The Empire Strikes Back." The heat in the apartment came on while I was at work yesterday.

I'm really tired now, and in need of new routines. It's imperative that I begin writing again (no this blog doesn't count), continue running, get meditating again, etc, etc etc. I'm not going to say the obvious here, because I've been saying it enough for the past week.


Boo hoo, my girlfriend dumped me.

When I was a kid, I picked my scabs. I was a picker, that I was. I'm still a picker, really, working on my hangnails and the coarse black hairs that grow out of the mole on my neck. And I still like to dig at a scab here and there.

Thing is, when you keep picking at some injury, it takes forever to heal. It leaves the skin discolored and a little ripple in the once-smooth surface appears.

The morning is cold and alone, with a hard light falling through the pale curtains to the sound of a broken muffler involved with parallel parking. He wakes to this, knowing nothing of the previous six hours and how they have conspired against him. He scratches at a scab on his elbow and rolls back the blankets.

Some of these days you'll miss me, honey.

I wish I wasn't so sad.

The weekend in Milwaukee made me feel myself again. But now I'm back here, and I'm so depressed.

But John and I worked on a song last night, a melancholy song on my melodeon. I felt like I was doing something worthwhile and beautiful, a feeling I've been denied for far too long.