Digging Deep, Tonight

Somehow, my body still doesn't handle hangovers very well. Maybe it was the limited sleep in a foreign bed, or maybe because, upon awaking, I was immediately thrown into my day.

Don't wanna waste my time
sitting alone in this store
and I don't need no apple--
if it'll just become a core
no, I don't want to work here anymore.
No, I don't wanna work here anymore.

I guess you'll say
we're just better off this way.

When I Fall I Fall Hard

Uh... yeah.
Today was beautiful. It still is, but I'm currently cooped up in the coffee shop. Yesterday, Will figured out how to put the top down on the Cabrio and now I can't seem to imagine driving in an enclosed automobile. Huh.
On Mondays, it seems that the earlier I wake up, the later I get to the bowling alley. John's usually late, anyways, so it's not a big deal. Today, though, I learned that PBR is only $2... in a bottle! That's good to know. So, within the first two hours of being awake, I had a really strong cup of coffee, two cigarettes, and a beer. I should start every day off like today (as should Chicago's weather, because it was gorgeous).
Anyhow, a brief note regarding that girl... the one, y'know, on my mind: I have a feeling that I'm in for a long strand of unsuccessful relationships. That's what enjoying beer and cigarettes and being in my 20s and having no real goal is supposed to be like, right? Right. So, in the midst of realizing that I have no game and that I sound extra desperate when I try to impress women through text-messages, my future was revealed. The string-of-failed-relationships one. Yeah.
I suppose my plan is to not pursue her over-actively so I can avoid looking completely ridiculous.
I guess if this has shown me anything it's that I'm not very good at reading people. Or that I'm overly doubtful of myself.
It'd be nice to have a cute girl who knows a lot of music (both familiar and unfamiliar), and speaks two languages (though I'm not sure why I find this to be a necessity), and who will stay up late with me to listen to the Clash and drink whiskey and smoke cigarettes (but doesn't have her own pack. Once again, why does this matter?). And it's nice being around someone whom I can say anything to and not feel stupid or unnecessarily crass. Maybe this is just a pipe dream, but I'll keep dreaming it in hopes that... I don't know. Well, in hopes of satisfaction, of course.
I now understand the single life in a way that I didn't before, with all the drinking and the cigarettes and the uncertainty and the coping with wandering through a wondering mind.

Let's see... thoughts... I got nothing. Well, the president's supposed to be in Chicago today, and what sounded like Marine One flew over the coffee shop. Supposedly he's still in DC, though, possibly deterred by all the children getting shot in Chicago these days.

when you get high and write your food gets cold and your writing sucks.

So there's a line in Max Payne in which some old dude who kind of looks like Jimmy Carter mixed with Wade Phillips is very sympathetically explaining his relationship with Max to Ludacris. One thing he says is something along the lines of, "[Max's wife's suicide] defines him," and I wondered... is there literally one moment in a person's life that defines them? I mean, maybe Ma Payne was just some dude until his wife killed herself and he suddenly had a purpose. Not that everyone has to witness their spouses suicide to have a legitimate goal, because the defining time in one's life could be something like... their first communion, or being touched by a church member immediately before their first communion ceremony. Or maybe someone hit a home run in their first little league baseball game and was then defined in the sense that they would dedicate their life to being a baseball player. But then, maybe that kid grew up and wasn't good enough. He could have been a success story like Rudy, but maybe he wasn't and instead is a living, breathing, completely depressed human adult because, past the age of 35 (hypothetically), it is literally impossible to realize their end. So maybe that kid grows into the functioning alcoholic father who coaches little league baseball past the age that his kids play. And maybe he pressures his kids to play sports, and they rebel and be completely drugged up, or they take his encouragement because this hypothetical son is kind of a chump, and his growth is stunted because he wasn't able to take the path of his defining moment, or maybe he was so wrapped up playing baseball that he never picked up a guitar or sat down to write about his feelings, or he was too empty to marry the right girl and witness her suicide.
I think this is a variation on the idea that the best golfer in the world may have never had the opportunity to play golf.
Or maybe some people don't have a defining point. Or maybe some people balked in their moment.

Girl is on My Mind

What happens to women? It's as if every woman has been broken by a certain age and the distance kept is convenient, but a little heart-wrenching.
I once dated a 27 year old. I called her from Champaign to see how she was and she was caught off guard, so much that she blatantly asked, almost offended, "why are you calling me?"
Chris is dating a 29 year old girl. Same deal.
I feel as if I have to learn how to deal with a whole new species. The women I've dated always expected regular phone calls and texts, and to be the last person I talked to before I went to bed.
My guess, as I said earlier, is that their spirits have been broken by promises by former boyfriends.
Anyhow, I've got my eye on someone. It's strange. In high school, I asked Bo why he wasn't friends with Earl. "You can't be friends with everyone," or something like that. I don't remember his exact words but I remember an implication that there just isn't enough time. So I've known this girl for about a year and a half but only occasionally hung out with her. Last week I came home from work and there she was, watching a movie. I didn't think much of it, past, "huh, she's cute," and, "huh, she likes the Clash. sweet." So, since I have no girlfriend and no rational aspirations, I figured I should be as much myself as possible. Y'know, just say whatever comes to mind, be crass, unleashed.
Ha!
Anyhow, she says I'm a bad influence. That brings me back. Christina credits me with teaching her to smoke cigarettes. And I tend to pressure people to stay up later and drink more than they otherwise would.

I Have Seen the Darkest Part of Humanity

It would be great to grow old, so old that my body starts failing me. Hell, even the latter stages when life has hit me past the point of my knees buckling, past the point of trying to balance on my elbows, all the way to the fetus position on the kitchen floor with no visitors until a thoughtful neighbor comes calling to warn that my car is parked on the side of the street that is to be street-cleaned and if I don't move it then it will be ticketed or towed. And I won't answer the door because I'll be dying, but it will be assumed that I'm not home. And that'll be fine. And when word gets around that I died so alone, people will sigh great, big, melancholic sighs about how depressing it must have been, though I won't have cared. Why would I? I'll be old. And I'll have lived such a long, unfulfilled life because the things I believe in don't match common perceptions of success.
So what the fuck am I thinking? I could abandon all my friends and live a great big life, and I could be healthy and rear some children that I'd love and maybe even marry some girl who I might get along with. But the feeling won't go away. Once it's there, it's there to stay. It's not the kind of thing you grow out of, you know? It can only be covered with layers of distractions, like sports or music or politics, and where's the truth in that? How can the Blackhawks winning the championship be legitimately fulfilling? And why get riled up when watching a game that you have no vested interest in?
But I don't really care. There's love and beauty and a bunch of other stuff, but that gets spoiled by the people in charge. I'd probably be an asshole, too, if I was some kind of authority on something.

Learning to Fly (but i ain't got wings)

Monday evening, eh? The weather feels like autumn and I'm trying not to over-caffeinate myself.
Time for a cup of coffee and a smoke to go with Tom Petty and the end of the day.

Biomusicology

I've been having some strange dreams the past couple of nights, most involving a particular old friend/current acquaintance putting the moves on a certain former girlfriend. The dream is pretty sickening (which warrants some meditation as to why, but that's for another day) and my initial impression upon awakening is that I had just experienced a nightmare.
Last night, off some kind of "spur of the moment" idea, Aaron and I decided to drive down to Urbana. It was to be (and successfully so) a short, one night trip because I had to be at work by 3 PM today.
I arrived at Matsuo's apartment around 11:15 after dropping Aaron off with Neil. Matsuo, though, had gone to St. Louis for the night, Earl was back in Chicago for the weekend, and Woj and Tiki weren't accessible by phone. Christina was up for going out, thankfully (I was thankful, not her. Well, she may have been. I didn't ask), and we met at some bar called the White Horse. Woj and Tiki eventually met us and we all headed to Murphy's. Blah blah blah. This story has no substance and lacks a point, so I'll skip ahead.
I woke up to the sound of Hokestra's girlfriend's moaning interspersed with the steady rhythm of the mattress springs being compressed and uncompressed. I don't think I realized it at that moment, but the dream I was having earlier was quite vivid: I decided to be a good citizen of the democracy I was living in and go to the voting booth to cast my opinion. Something was strange as I didn't recognize any candidates. Then I noticed that what was up for election was actually a poll on what book was best. I wasn't familiar with any of the titles, and then I probably woke up.
So there's that: from borderline nightmares in Chicago to voting for books in Urbana.
What else?
Well, I noticed that I'm doing a very half-assed version of preparing for the future. Here's what I mean:
I eat very well (relatively, I suppose). Everyday I eat yogurt and a banana and a Clif bar and I drink lots of water and don't often overdo candy or soda or liquor. I eat pasta the night before a long day so as to have plenty of carbohydrates to burn. Uh... I drink whole milk with my cereal, with a glass of orange juice. I don't put sugar in my coffee.
Outside of my diet, I brush twice a day and floss at night. I have an exercise routine that's simple yet challenging that I get around to almost every morning. I rarely smoke cigarettes three days in a row (two is pretty rare, too) and I often take 5-10 days off between nights of chain-smoking.
I think that's all that bares mentioning.
So what's wrong with me? Am I anemic? That might explain the excessive bleeding when I get a tattoo, and the excessive cold I feel when the weather isn't even that bad. But why do I pee so often? Is that just because of the excessive intake of coffee and water? And why am I always so tired? I drink a ton of coffee, I take naps, and every night I get at least 6 hours of sleep.
So here's a solution that I have not yet fully endorsed:
Go all in. Cigarettes. Bourbon. Beef jerky. Healthy food. Getting high. Candy. Making music. Writing. Y'know, living by the whim.
Drawbacks: my attention span goes down, making reading very difficult. Writing in short spurts would be fine for music or errant ranting.
I don't know. Something needs to change. I need to be more productive. Oh, and Woj said I'm bad at women. So there's that. I guess I'll have to hone those skills. Huh.
Oh, so how's this for a strange night to prompt bad dreams?:
Thursday night I saw Steve's new band, Marshfield, play at the Spot on Broadway. I wasn't sure if anyone I knew would go as no one responded to text messages. I had drunkenly promised Steve I'd make it, though, and I try to make it a point to keep every promise, especially drunken (though a few fall through the cracks). Aaron catches me as I'm walking in, so I figured I'd have good company and a ride home, if nothing else. We made our way upstairs and to the bar where I paid $4 (+ $1 tip) for a Budweiser. Wanting to shoot myself in the face after metaphorically shooting myself in the foot, I started to turn away from the bar when my attention was caught by a guy on the other side of the bar. I gave a knowing glance and head nod before turning back to Aaron. I should mention that I didn't recognize this particular person because my vision is terrible.
Anyhow, I'm at work and I should wrap this up: the guy I didn't recognize was Dick. We got to talking and eventually went to Nick's Uptown after the show. We hung out until like 3 that morning and... yeah. That's strange, huh? Oh, and Aaron's friend Greg was there. That's weird because he was (or is) dating Teela. I probably gave him the cold shoulder more than I should have, but what was I to do? Teela's unpredictable in the sense that she could have shared her take on my entire life story with him, or he could know that she thinks I'm a great big asshole. So yeah, that was weird. Anyways, I'm going to smoke a cigarette then get back to work.