My mind feels sick to its stomach. Coffee would round out this feeling nicely-- if I had a few cups to go along with it, I'd be agitated. As it is, though, I'm just bummed out.
Megan keeps trying to talk to me about the future when I can barely hand the present. My once-balding car now has a comb-over and the breaks seem to be braking in the way that's counter-productive toward the end of stopping my going.
I was incredibly drunk the other night. I know this because an incoming call from an ex-girlfriend seemed like a great idea. I now know this was not a great idea because of what she said; she said the exact same thing Casey said to me via text message a mere half hour before: "Come back to Chicago." It's kind of funny how the same sentiments can produce wildly different feelings when they're voiced by two completely different people. Everything that looked promising back home now looks bleak and it's one of the worst feelings I've ever known. See, prior to that telephone conversation I filed Chicago in my folder of hopes and dreams, but now it seems to have found it's way into the "reality" pile. I suppose this is only the case because this ex-girlfriend talks to/hangs out with my mom, and even takes little Hank to Bears games. I guess I just can't imagine any scenario in which I would associate with the members of the family of someone who broke up with me.
A few years ago, for my birthday, Hank bought me this book I wanted. I had wanted it since 8th grade and I still want it now, though I've yet to read it. I do this with records all the time, too. And movies. Sometimes I want something that I know I'll get to them eventually. This is the same mindset that makes it hard for me to burn bridges. I know now that my first two real girlfriends are things of the past. I wasn't sure about that when I was 19. But maybe this ex-girlfriend and I will ripen a little more and then we'll find our way back to one another. Or maybe not. Maybe she'll be like the girl in that Richard Gere movie (that I may have just made up) that is in attendance with a melancholic look on her face while he's wedding some other girl. Maybe I'm just a self-centered, presumptuous case that should be exiled from the ones I once loved.
That's what I had in mind in coming out to Denver: exile. But the readiness which some people have in making the flight or drive out here is astounding. I can't say I don't appreciate it because I do, more than anything. It's one of the most flattering gestures for someone to spend that kind of time and money to be in my company. But it's also unexpected.
My mind is rambling. I now feel that I should delve into the personality trait I have that refuses to make the initial effort in beginning a friendship. Maybe it's an under/undeveloped skill or maybe it's rooted in stubbornness-- I can't quite say for sure. Brendan Kelly wrote an entry about how he used to admire the guy at the bar who could sit by himself and not feel the need to make conversation with people. That's me. Quite literally, I'm the guy at the bar who sits on a stool and stares into his beer, or occasionally examines the selection of liquors, or maybe watches a minute of a muted highlight of an earlier baseball game.
Oh! Here's what it might be: I've had some regrettable friendships. That sounds horrible but here's what I mean: when I first started high school I kept an open mind and kind of looked for people who would consider hanging out with me. I found one, this kid Armand, and we soon started getting lunch together every day. Well, it wasn't soon before I realized that I was, in a very real sense, using this kid. I mean, I didn't really like him. He wasn't a bad dude or anything, but I don't have the kind of personality that's meant to be friends with absolutely every person I can kind of stand. So I was using this kid because I had nothing better going for me and it didn't take long to cut all ties once I did find some people genuinely enjoyed eating lunch with. That's a pretty shitty thing to do. If I were Armand I would probably be offended. Or I'd feel used. Or maybe that's just how capitalism works-- go with the person who offers the better product at the lower rate. These new friends offered genuine fun and didn't charge any irritable feelings. So that's what I'm trying to avoid. I'd rather find the right crowd instead of settling on one and eventually upgrading. But maybe that's not a horrible thing to do-- Luke hung out with us for a while, now he doesn't. He probably found his niche elsewhere. Am I trying to take a shortcut around any hard feelings that arise? If so, I'd have to brand myself a coward. Huh.
