On a little project.

So I feel like I've reached a nice little plateau. I still have my ups and downs, but the lows aren't as vastly chasmous as they have been in recent years - they're usually just exhaustion and stress-induced now, which is a pleasant level of normalcy that I can appreciate.

When I started this blog up at the beginning of 2013, it was with the intention of writing more. Sure, it was to document the bits and pieces of this particular year of my life, but its primary purpose was to get my brain back in gear when it came to putting words together. And I feel like I've made progress; Lis has always told me 'Never a day without a line', and I've got a pretty good percentage so far.

I feel like I need to take a break from spouting platitudes and babbling about the minutia of my daily life, so with the upcoming new month, I figured I'd try something different. Some of you might know that the only degree I ever got around to finishing was in Poetry (yes, feel free to laugh, I do) - it's been on my mind as of late, pursuant to recent conversations with coworkers and regulars of mine. I've always enjoyed it; good poetry does some great things with the music of language, not to mention the exercises in brevity, meaning, and wit.

And if I'm going to be shaking the dust off of my writing, I may as well get back into something I used to call myself a specialist in. So I'm going to spend the month of July writing poetry. It'll almost always just be a couplet each day, maybe a quatrain if an idea needs more expansion. Maybe I'll throw a sonnet in there for funsies if I get a day off. Shit might get crazy around here; you never know.

And I know it's short notice, but I'd love for you guys to join me, if you're so inclined. You don't have to do every day, and you sure as shit don't have to follow in my structured footsteps. Just play with your words and see what happens. C'mon, it'll be fun.

Nulla dies sine linea.

On getting ready for today.

I'm feeling properly strange today. I'm bored, but I'm too tired to do something about it. I want to write, but the right gears aren't turning. There's a lot of cleaning and organizing to be done, but I don't have the focus to get it done.

Lawn. Haircut. Litterbox. The words bounce around in my head like ping pong balls in the dryer. The dishes stare at me from the sink. You don't leave for work for another hour. What are you doing?

Fuck off, dishes. Not now.

Then when? When you get back from work? Because you're full of energy then.

Seriously, dishes, shut up.

Hot coffee was a bad idea. It's thick outside, thick with that stupid Northeast humidity and sunlight, thick with the sound of a weedwhacker three lawns over as I peer at my black car with black leather seats from my porch. It's been sitting in the sun all morning, and I know which curses I'll be muttering as I get into it.

I know what I want to do tonight, and I hate that I probably won't get to do it. I hate all the steps between me and this plan, hate the hours that span the difference stuck doing what I enjoy doing, but do nothing to bring me closer to my selfish little goal.

Hate's a strong word. Maybe not hate.

Zevran nips at my ankles, his little monkeyface begging me to stay home, to hide away from responsibility and disappointment and fatigue. All he wants is a little affection, a quiet afternoon on the couch peppered with drowse and the occasional snack. Me too, Zev. Me too.

But not today. And I trundle off upstairs, laptop in hand, wondering what I can listen to in the shower that stands a chance at improving my mood.

On an old favorite.

It's been a while since I've taken the time to leaf through my old books, but recent conversations have had me thinking about poetry. I found an old gem, something that still makes my scalp prickle every time I read it. I don't even really know why; it just always lingers in my head.

So I'm gonna feed it to you. In your face.

Lying Beneath a Maple Tree (for Pat)

Robert K. Johnson

Thirteen, I was pulled so deep

  into the countless shades of green

found in the sun-hazed leaves,

  I wanted this lush sight to mean

even more than its bountiful self.

  And it did. When we first met, I knew -

in one breath - those glistening leaves

  were a foreshadowing of you.

On a few things I've learned today.

1. There's a strong possibility that my manic behavior is a defense mechanism. Will have to collect more data on that front.

2. Corny as it sounds, sacking up and doing something is always better than whining about all the reasons you shouldn't.

3. Even tired as hell, I can make some devastatingly good corn fritters without a recipe.

4. I should really get some white plates at some point.

5. I sure as shit am not doing dishes tonight.

On a day in the future.

Today, I'm looking forward to a day in the future. A day when I explain to my grandspawn why today was such a good day, why they should ask Aunties Soo and Jana for help with their report on DOMA. How back then, back when we still had seasons and Texas was still part of the United States, 'progress' was known as 'change', and there were people who feared it as much as there were people who welcomed it with open arms.

And then I'll try to explain what handwriting was, and how it predated fonts. And I'll ask for help operating the vorpal toilet for the fiftieth time.

And that day, like today, will be a good day.

On a Raoul Day.

I just woke up from a three-hour nap, and I feel fucking fantastic.

I should clarify. I don't feel full of zest for life. I'm not bursting with energy, ready to take on the world. Quite the opposite, really - I'm groggy and sluggish, with a weird taste in my mouth and that full-body itch that's telling me I probably should have showered at some point today. But I'm calm and relaxed. I don't have that weird kink in my neck, and my old-man backache seems to have subsided.

For today, at long last, I am having a Raoul Day.

What is a Raoul Day, you ask? (I know you didn't; but I'm going to talk about it anyway, because suck it, it's my blog.) It is a day that fulfills the following criteria:

1. I have off from work.
2. I have off from work tomorrow, too.
3. There is no reason to leave the house.
4. There is no reason to interact with another human being.
5. Besides feeding the cats, there is no responsibility that needs to be addressed today.

At first glance, these qualifications seem fairly easy to attain, yes? But it's deceptive. In my line of work, meeting criteria 1 and 2 is not a weekly guarantee. 3 requires preparation; supplies must be acquired - paper towels, food, drink. A Raoul Day can be derailed with something as simple as running out of cranberry juice.

4 is important. Even though I've maintained several conversations over the course of today, they've all been via text message, Twitter, or Gchat. I've used my voice only to mutter nonsense to my cats or activate my Kinect. And 5 is a tricky thing to do. See, I have tons of stuff to take care of - a pile of writing to catch up on, a lawn that is hilariously out of control (seriously, it's kind of awesome at this point), appointments to make. Even cooking things I was planning to cook.

But the key element in all of this is this call and response:

"Do I really have to get that done today?"
"Fuck it."

Will I get everything I need to get done tomorrow? Probably not. The pragmatist in me is looking at the weather reports (ballsack hot) and the list of things to do (collards, broccoli, and chard? My ass) and knowing full well that I'm going to have to foist some of these responsibilities on future days off. But the crucial point in a proper Raoul Day is the security in knowing that even though I have to get shit done, I don't have to get shit done right now.

And that, my friends, is a powerful thing. It can unclench muscles you didn't know were tight. It can provide perspective you didn't know you needed. An entire day of guilt-free relaxation is incredibly difficult to find in this madcap existence - to the point where I've had to actually force myself to have them.

Know what my schedule is for the rest of the day?
1. Play Borderlands.
2. When I get hungry, eat something.
3. If I get bored, switch off to TV.
4. Lather, rinse, repeat.

I haven't had a Raoul Day in four weeks. And it'll be another week and a half before maybe I get another one. These days are to be treasured, cherished for their rejuvenating qualities. Call it a Recharge Day, a Mental Health Day, call it what you will. But if you don't already practice this beautiful ritual on the regular, give it a shot - don't change out of your PJs, forget where you left your keys. Because this shit is the tits.

On this weekend.

There is a satisfaction, for me at least, with the conclusion of a journey well-executed. This weekend was one of long drives and friendships, whether they were strengthened through time spent talking, acquired through alcohol and laughter, or simply basked in in the sharing of one hell of a party.

And all of this is in no way diminished by the tranquil enjoyment of where I am as I write this - sprawled out on my couch in the semi-silence of my home, cats nuzzling at my arms, my phone buzzing with texts as I flip through my tabs to catch up on Facebook and Twitter.

Happiness, I believe, is a careful balance of wants and haves. Too many haves and one becomes complacent, then bored. Too many wants and one becomes dissatisfied and angry, or worse, despondent and hopeless.

Today, I am happy. I have people in my life again, good people, funny people. I want a pizza and a good night's sleep.

I think this is a pretty good balance for now.

On your people.

Keeping it short today, as it's a certain Animal's birthday party and I have to go get drunk at an unreasonably early hour. But it's because of this incipient event that I have the topic for this post. See, last night, we had Philly, NYC, Boston, Toronto, Chicago, and DC repping hard at one little table at the bar. We laughed, we ripped on each other, we mocked poor Tom relentlessly for being Canadian.

In this day and age, we're finding more and more that 'our people' are out there, regardless of physical proximity. It's a good feeling - not just to stave off the loneliness of thinking no one out there gets us (though that's a valuable thing in and of itself), but to know that there's people out there you don't have to filter yourself for. You can just drop metaphorical trou and let it ride.

Now, this might not sound like that big of a deal. But stop and think a minute; when was the last time you could really, really just be yourself?

On a little prayer for you.

May your story be a good one.

May you know your origins, for better or for worse. May you understand where you came from; may you think about and appreciate what motivates you and why.

May the conflicts in your tale come hard and fast. Let them shake you to your core and break you down. May your decisions be difficult, may making them force you to question who you are. May you not be blind to how shitty this life can be, and let that show you just how beautiful the good moments are. And may you emerge from each battle forged stronger and wiser, one step closer to the person you were meant to be.

May your denouement be long and tranquil. May you be confident and comfortable as your adventures continue. May you have the freedom to control your tale, to get what you've always wanted from it.

And when your story ends, may there be those who know it well. May it fill the hearts and mouths of those you held dear, to be told again and again long after you're gone.

On a couple of things I've learned over the years.

A recent birthday has the gears turning. And while I still don't have the time to sit down and write a proper blog, there are a couple of things that keep showing up in recent history. Some things I've known for years, some things I'm just finding out, some things I just needed a refresher in.

1. You're never really alone. Somewhere out there, someone's gone through the same shit and someone knows exactly how you feel. The human experience is not, for the most part, original. Take comfort in that.

2. Good people are usually found in clumps.

3. A hangover is best worn on the face. It lowers expectations.

4. Almost everything you need to know about someone can be found on the internet. The operating adjective in that sentence, of course, being 'almost'.

5. The most impressive people you meet don't give a shit that they're impressive. They're too busy blowing your fucking mind.

6. It doesn't matter if you grind your fair-trade coffee in a burr grinder so your mineral water can drip through a sustainable bamboo filter, none of that shit will help you if you forget to plug in the goddamn machine.

7. The only thing that tastes better than free beer is stolen beer.

8. Unless they asked you, they probably don't care what you think.

9. People think letting someone in is like opening a door; that it's a conscious, one-time decision. But I think we're more fluid than that; if someone is there, in your life, it's only a matter of time before they bleed into you and you bleed into them.

10. It doesn't matter how many books on food science, poetry, and philosophy you have lying around; one dong on your whiteboard and you're on the same page as everyone else.

Cheers, guys. See you tomorrow.

On multitudes.

Last night I was drinking and playing Rock Band and swapping bawdy tales with my dearling coworkers.

Tonight I was drinking and talking about the possibility of getting a new school in our neighborhood and the implications it would have on local families and property values.

That I am still both of these people and much, much more fills me with a peace and satisfaction that I cannot describe.

On a little slice of my day.

Nothing motivates a good housecleaning like imminent company. So my state of affairs is a little more tired, a little more ready to hit the couch and the remote with a vengeance.

The cats are happy, the floor doesn't leave stuff stuck to my feet. Fresh litter is in the box, and my socks are in the dryer.

And my fridge smells like truffle oil.

Yep. I'm ready for tomorrow.

On a quick life update.

I'm not gonna lie to you, I ain't doing so hot.

Working closers means I'm too washed out to cook for myself on the regular, which means I haven't gotten anything green in me for about a week. And thin on staff means I'm doing six or seven day runs at a go, which my old bones haven't been too happy about.

I can feel myself slipping. I'm forgetting things on the way out, my cheerful mien gets shaky when things don't fall into place like I want them to. I remember the hipster couple talking down to be because I work behind a counter rather than the scores of happy, smiling faces thanking me for my work.

And it's easy, so easy to slip. All it takes is a shift in your tone, a change in your facial expression, and you can make someone uncomfortable, unwelcome. You can make them feel bad for asking you for the simplest of specifications.

It annoys me that we're looked down upon, treated like the chaff of the world because we pour coffee and plate bagels. It's easy to forget that we can color a person's day with a facial expression, give them a jumpstart with a well-timed joke or ruin their mood with a slam of the register.

I'm letting the topic get away from me. It's something I've been mulling over for some time now, and something I'll get into writing sooner than later.

Until then. Head down. Power through.

On adulthood.

I know, I know. I'm long past the ideal that any one event or decision makes you an adult. Being an adult isn't something you earn. It's something you do. It doesn't happen when you buy a water/fireproof safe for your important documents. It isn't marked by your wedding or your first kid.

I've spoken before about my time as a business owner. And I have no illusions, no romantic glances back. It sucked. A lot. That level of responsibility caused a considerable amount of psychological, physiological, and financial damage to me in a very short amount of time.

But the one thing that stuck with me was the knowledge that the buck stopped with me. If I didn't get something done, there was no one to blame, no one to piss up the ladder on. It fell to me to fulfill my responsibilities with no one above me to push me or guide me. If I didn't know how to do something, I had to find out myself.

And that's what being an adult is, I think. It's about responsibility. It's about knowing that if you want something done, you have to make sure it gets done yourself. It's about rolling up your sleeves and getting in there, succeeding or failing on your own abilities. And if you fail, it isn't about finding someone or something to blame. And on the off chance you do succeed, it isn't about waving it around so everyone can pat you on the back for it. Win or lose, you shut the fuck up, shake yourself off, and get started on the next thing you have to get done.

I can't even begin to claim that I'm an adult by this definition. The list of things I should be doing is longer than the line at Ben and Jerry's on Free Ice Cream Day. But at least I know what it feels like, what I should be striving for if I want to have any degree of self-respect.

On what it's like inside my head.

Peas.
That's a lot of peas. I need to stay on top of harvesting them.
What am I going to do with all these peas?
soup
Too hot for soup. Chilled soup? (creme fraiche, mint. No, not mint. Maybe mint? Ask Meg. Pineapple sage, dill.)
Not soup. Puree. White beans, maybe. Herbs, maybe. With what? Roasted chicken.
Too easy. Lamb. Rack? Ground. Burger. Cucumbers, yogurt. Mint. Ask Meg. That'll go well.
Things are going too well with Daenerys. Something bad's going to happen. I can feel it.
thrones yeah game of thrones yeah game of throoooones
Need to post for Zoey. Maybe tonight. (Not feeling it. Maybe tomorrow.)
Need more fantasy in my life. Dragon Age 2 tonight? Borderlands. Dragon Age, Borderlands. I wonder what Ku's up to tonight.
What am I going to do with all these peas?
Puree. Right. I should shell them, freeze them. Stockpile until I have enough. A peasplosion. Peagasm.
Do I need to do laundry? No. Did that last week. Still have socks.
God, I'm tired.
Laur's tired. Is Lauren still online?
Yes.
Cool.
Blog. Shit, I have to blog today.
What? Don't feel like writing about service industry.
What do I have on the list?
No. No. No. Nope. Nuh uh.
Cat food. Do I have enough for the weekend? I'd better.
Four cats this weekend. I should set up the other litterbox.
Blog.
what
cmoncmoncmon
Peas.
I'll start with that.

On taking the long way.

I got sad this morning listening to Question. Not one of those stabbing, painful sadnesses, just a quiet, immersive melancholy, the kind that stills you, pulls your breath in deep and unfocuses your eyes.

And I wondered why, why this song could reach so deep and tug at strings long buried. (After all, those of you that know me should know by now that I'm not the best at accessing and understanding what goes on in my own head.) So I did what I usually do; I brought it up to the Animal. And she felt the same, felt like the song spoke of a beauty in our lives that's come and gone.

"Someday somebody's gonna ask you
A question that you should say 'yes' to
Once in your life."

I had that moment, after a steak dinner and a walk on the beach, on one knee in our shitty third-floor walkup in Ocean City, a quizzical Alistair in my hands as I asked a woman to marry me. A month later we were married in a gazebo in the park, the ink of Pavel's signature drying on the certificate, her mother holding up her cell phone with her father on the line so he could be there.

A year later was our wedding. My nearest and dearest on the beach between First and St. James, Pericles officiating in his black robe, Pavel with the rings. It was a day of laughter and joy, of a happiness I'd store in my mind palace for the rest of my days. There was a finality to it, a peace in knowing that a part of my life was complete. One less thing to worry about.

But things don't always turn out the way you'd hope. Life doesn't always happen the way the songs and movies tell you it should. Situations change. And just like that, that storybook moment is gone, never to be claimed again.

And one day, with any luck, I'll ask a woman the same question I'd asked before. And my friends and family will swing in from the four corners again, smiles on their faces and chuckles in their breath, saying I throw a good wedding. And it won't be the same. Whatever eldritch shine there is won't beat in my blood like it did. Because it didn't happen just once in my life.

I don't regret anything. I'd do it all the same again if I had to. And I'd be right back here, smiling as I listened to a silly old song, maybe a little down that things didn't work out the way I wanted it to, and happy for those who still have that chance.

On rain.

There's something about it. Something that makes me stop and stare out the window and smile, knowing that I'm not going to leave the house unless there's a really good reason for it.

Something that puts me at ease as I curl up on my couch, watching Alistair and Zevran wrestle in the dim light of my living room. Something in the percussive patter that eases that crick in my neck and the dull ache in my knee.

It's probably my laziness blooming in the fading guilt, reveling in the loss of choice to go outside. But whatever. I'll enjoy it while it lasts. I've got two days before I have to show my face at work again and the streets of Kirkwall and the plains of Pandora to keep me company until then.

On these short posts.

I know, it might seem like I'm slacking. But the truth is...

Well, I'm slacking.

See, I've made the mistake of starting to hang out with people again. Reintegrating myself back into society. And who knows? Maybe I'll start talking about things of meaning. Sharing experiences. Making real friends.

Crazy talk, I know.

But anyway. I'll have more meaningful things to say a little later in the week, when I actually have days off to collect myself. Promise.

On an aspiration.

One day, I hope to have more penises drawn on my whiteboards than things on my To Do list. It's looking grim at the moment, despite a friend's best efforts. But I have hope.

And isn't hope what life is all about?

On anger.

An old coworker of mine once said of me that I didn't have a fuse so much as I had a detonator. I laughed it off, took the appropriate amount of offense, and carried on with my day.

But he was correct. One second I'm smiling, cheerful, happily going about my business; the next I'm snarling, shoving things off the bar to clatter to the floor because they're in my way. I've struggled with anger issues my entire life; I could trace it back to all kinds of excuses - being bullied, not having a proper outlet, being taught from a young age that expressing extreme emotions was a sign of weakness. But the end result is the same.

I've spent years learning to suppress it, countless hours exercising restraint and relaxation, broadening my understanding of people to be forgiving to a fault. But now and then, one stupid little thing stacks upon another with no respite, and I lose it. Admittedly, nowadays, me losing it is far from dynamic; I'll usually find some way to inflict pain upon myself to override the feeling (usually by punching something I shouldn't; brick walls are my favorite) and shake it off. Gone are the days when I would want to fight, to yell.

But it stains the rest of my day. My face becomes stern, my voice sharp, my comments curt. My displeasure emanates from me like a cloud; I can darken a room with a look.

I suppose it's just the way I am now. I've improved greatly from my younger years; standard advice has been given to me thousands of times, evaluated, attempted, et cetera. And I've been mellowing with age; each passing year brings a little more tranquility, a little more patience.

We all have our demons to wrestle with. I suppose mine could be far worse.

On a very important event today.

Meg put radishes in her salad.

That is all.

On a lack of passion.

There was a time in my life when I felt like fire. I needed to get out and consume, to devour everything in my path and leave ashes in my wake. I wanted to have all of the fun, meet all of the people, do all of the things. And I did have fun (from what I remember). I met some incredible people. I've forgotten more stories than some will ever acquire. I also inflicted a fair amount of collateral damage, both physical and emotional, to the people and places in my life.

But it's quiet now. I can't really put a finger on what broke me. Maybe it was my dad, maybe it was trying to run a business long before I was ready. Maybe it was the failed marriage, or the substance problem I've cultivated in recent years. Maybe it's just age. But whatever it is, I don't have that spark I remember having. I've lost the desire to put myself out there because I know how exhausting it is. Even new things I learn are just systems I already know in different contexts and combinations.

Now, I don't want you guys to think this is some kind of cry for help. I'm actually quite content, if a little bored. My life is easy and pleasant. The few times I do get out of the house, I relish greatly. Things that used to outrage me, that would blind me with fury, now just induce a calm sadness or mild irritation.

But is this the way it's supposed to be? Am I just this now? Will there be no more bursts of furious, crazy passion? This is what makes me uneasy; the question of whether or not this quiet life is what is to span the rest of my days. And if it is not, what must I do to recapture it? Will I remember what it's like?

On last night's episode of Game of Thrones. (very minor spoilers)

Can we talk about how awesome Grey Worm's spearfighting is?

No? Still stuck on that one thing, are we?

Fair enough.

On a little nugget of wisdom.

Ants may love sugar, but they love protein more.

On aging relationships.

So the Animal and I went to go see Alkaline Trio recently, a band I've been listening to since 1999 or so. The venue was large and shiny, the crowd young and... well, shiny. I could tell immediately I was one of the oldest members of the audience.

I could feel a familiar excitement build in me as Matt Skiba took the stage; it had been a long time since I'd been to a concert, much less seen Alkaline Trio live. It was like seeing an old friend I hadn't seen in years.

More so than I anticipated, in fact. In the entire set, I recognized three of the songs. And it wasn't that they were playing all songs off their new album - with each intro, the crowd came alive, screaming every word along with them as they played. These were old standards, songs that have been out for years. Songs I'd never heard before because I didn't keep up.

I felt old. I felt betrayed, angry that they'd moved ahead without me. Where was the loyalty? Where was the respect for the old school fans?

Luckily, it didn't take me long to realize what a selfish and douchey standpoint that was. Relationships work both ways. If I wanted to feel included, I should have kept up with them. It wasn't their responsibility to play the songs I wanted to hear. Maybe I was there to support them towards the beginning, but this concert was now, for the kids in the pit, for the ones who knew the words.

And I sat back, happy that a band I loved kept moving forward, making music, and finding people who love their songs today like I did back in my shitty apartment in New Brunswick. Like watching an old friend laugh and chat with the people in their life now from across the room, glad to just be.

(And then they played Radio for the encore, Lauren and I screamed the lyrics to each other at the top of our lungs, and all was right with the world.)