Archive for the ‘ Past ’ Category

Gone, Baby, Gone

Once upon a time, I went on a vacation.  I know, you’re thinking, “Just one?”  I’m thinking of a specific incident, but it’s my memory and I’m not sharing.  Anyway, this vacation was amazing.  I didn’t want it to end.  I didn’t cope well with it ending.  It was a… turbulent time in my life.  On the way home, I kept thinking that maybe I should have missed my return flight.  Days later, I would posit that, really, I didn’t come back.  Funny how you never know what you know.

Not long ago, I was reading the latest installment in my favorite series of books.  It has a kind of esoteric look at causality and time paradox and the main character is constantly struggling with his own sense of identity.  Small wonder that I like the character so much, right?

The main character in the story is mulling over meeting himself as a kid, and how it must no longer have happened because he didn’t remember doing it as an old man.  Weird.  The conclusion was that it was someone who looked like him, who had his scars, but that it was not him.  There were also iterations of himself floating around that were each treated as distinct entities.  The book described the situation as “raining weird.”  Apt.  Now, maybe I’m reading too much into things, but I had a thought.

The world is constantly changing.  Even if something so mundane as your work-week seems like it repeats itself, the details will always be different.  One day, the power might go out.  You’ll deal with it.  One day, there will be a firing or a hiring.  You’ll deal with it.  Running with the hiring example, after that day you will not only be you; you’ll also be the person who showed the rookie where the broom closet is.  Yeah, I know not every story can be exciting, but it will still have happened.  That version of you is bound to that time and place.  Every time you go anywhere or do anything, the you you are at that moment will be overwritten.

Every time I leave, you’ll never see me again.  You might see a guy who has a face like mine, and he may tell similar terrible jokes, but I never came back.


Catch Up

My last post was nearly three months ago.  I’ve left Word documents open for weeks on end, but all they do is accumulate phone numbers for people trying to get ahold of people I used to know.

When meeting new people, one of the oft-asked questions is, “What are you into?”  My stock answer always includes writing.  I actually do love to write.  So why is it that I stopped?

I met this girl.  I meet a lot of girls.  The one in this story is an actress.  I suspect I won’t see her again, mostly because she lives in NYC and is touring with a show for the foreseeable future.  I met her in the bar, because that is the entirety of my social life now, and we went to lunch.  We talked for a couple of hours.  We talked about the etymology of words.  We made up a couple.  We talked about acting  and being afraid of bugs and skydiving.  She said she had never met anyone who described themselves as a writer before and we talked about my half-book.   Her enthusiasm for everything was dazzling.  It was a good time.

All too soon, reality intruded.  She had errands to run.  Denver’s beautiful weather had swung back to intermittent rain.  We hugged goodbye in the hotel lobby, and I hoofed it back to the parking garage.  Rather than wait for the weather to clear, I fired up my bike and shot out into the soggy day.  I listened to the roar of the wind and watched the road with a thousand-yard-stare that cut through the water droplets splattering on my visor.  I thought about writing, not out of any overt need to woo a female, but out of a desire to start again.  I don’t even remember at this point whether I came up with any interesting thoughts.  It doesn’t matter because I sure as hell didn’t transcribe them.

Maybe it’s too meta, but I paused at the end of the last paragraph to read my last post.  The last one ended with me pondering a return to the old way – drinking until words spilled from my fingertips.  I’m sober right now.  I seldom have time or a safe harbor in which I can afford to get all “wastey-faced.”

There is light on the horizon though, and I am no longer a fan of pronouncing all things doomy and gloomy.  Yeah, I know “doomy” isn’t a word.  Neither is “wastey-faced.”  Did you still understand my meaning?  Communication accomplished, then.  Moving on.  I finally made it to an SCA event after a year-long hiatus.  My fighting authorization was still in good standing, but my entry to the event and the tournament involved showing a PDF of my new Society membership.  I did my best to catch up with all the people I used to know.  I did a poor job of it, as usual, but let that go for now.  There had been discussion at one of the fighter practices about a diminished level of “magic” in the air at events, so I took care to use every proper title I knew and bow to everyone in a coronet or crown.  Something still felt different, but that may have just been in my head.

I suppose I should wrap this up before it gets too unruly.  I do have more on my mind, which is a good sign.  I’m getting set to hit up more SCA events this summer, starting with Crossroads.  The actress brought to light that I’ve actually accomplished two of my three New Year’s resolutions, which beats most people I know.  Even better, I just squeezed out 600 words without being drunk!


Tonight was a powerful reminder for me.  A ton of people from the last place I worked came in.  They were all super friendly and mostly well-behaved.  I was glad to see them.  For a split second, I almost missed my last job.  Fortunately, my brain was working.

I sat at the bar, enjoying my shift drink (even though I generally have more than just one).  I thought.  When was the last time anyone from that shard of my life talked to me?  I knew one, maybe two, times that it happened.

Fuck that shit.  Let go of your past.  It isn’t hanging on to you.


Last night was an absolutely brutal night.  Normally, Thursdays are pretty damn good.  I get to strap on my body armor and test my mettle against like-minded crazy people.  That part, at least, was typical.  The only blemish on an otherwise good practice was the fact that my lazy ass still hasn’t repaired my pauldrons so my dump-blocks would all result in my own sword being smashed into my left shoulder.  Fun stuff.

I rolled in to work at 10ish.  I was hoping for an easy night.  My shoulder was (and still is) quite tender.  I hadn’t even been there for half an hour when we got an ugly toss.  Some jack-off was getting belligerent over our insistence that the girl he was hitting on must leave.  My fellow security decided he had to leave too, and shit got worse.  Jack-off’s friend intercepted the other security guy, so I slipped past him and kept the pressure on to make sure Jack-off kept moving.  The usual protests ensued: “What did I do?  I’m not moving until you tell me why.”  “Why” may change, but the number of times they need it explained is always the same.  For those of you not paying attention, a drunk person needs the situation explained N+25 times, where N = the number of times I have the patience to calmly explain. 

We had had a staff meeting earlier in the day, and one of the things we talked about was improving customer service.  I tried very hard to be nicer than usual.  It got to the point where I literally begged Jack-off to keep moving.  That didn’t happen.  Surprise.  I did the usual and tried to take control of the situation.  I took him in a headlock and started pulling him out.  His friend kept yelling something about being able to calm him down.  Like that EVER works.  The guy twisted in my grip and picked me up.  I kicked us against the wall so that he had nowhere to put me.  He tried several more times.  No luck for him.  He changed tactics and tried to throw me to the ground.  I stepped in front and did some twisting of my own. I dropped him and fell on him like an undermined wall.  I braced for his inevitable struggle to get out.  He clawed at my face a few times, scratching me pretty good, but I had him.  I know I’m lucky that he couldn’t think clearly enough to start fighting really dirty, but let that go.  Finally, my boss and my other security guy got there and helped drag Jack-off out. 

I declined to swear out a complaint.  Fuck it.  He was already going to detox.  I didn’t need to make his day worse.

Maybe 20 minutes later, I watched a dude vomit on the patio.  Bounce number two.  I cleaned up the vomit.  At least the dude went easily.  His friends didn’t even seem mad.  Sometimes the silver lining is easy to find. 

Shit went on in this fashion all damn night.  Absolutely ridiculous.  Makes me wish the Broncos never win another game.

I slept awfully.  Too much adrenaline.  The standard amount of caffeine.  The screaming pain in my shoulder.  The ringing in my ears. 

Waking up wasn’t the reprieve I was hoping it would be.  A ghost from my past wants to be my friend on facebook.  All the work I’ve done, all the healing, the long fight to forgive myself and forget her – all burned to ash by a little icon on a monitor.  Why?  Why would she want to know me now?  What could I say to her?  What could she say to me?

And the stupidest part of all is that I said yes.