Contractual Obligation

Hey hey! Today’s chapter was conceived by my clever, considerate, conservative, Christian, community-conscious creative, word-counting writing cohort… Chess Champ… and he has charged me with this topic:

The Cars.

But first! A confession. This article is a catastrophe! Not nearly concise enough! I allowed my dear comrade to dictate not just the topic but what he wanted me to do with it, and while his conditions were clever, it wasn’t quite right with regards to my experience with this particular group. I am advising you move on to D-Day! Unless you are a big Cars fan in which case… you might relate.

A good high-school buddy who lived down the road was a year older and the first of our gang to drive his own car; a compact Toyota Tercel which he zipped around town in as constantly as possible. Half the time he blasted the Doors’ Break On Through from the stereo and the rest of the time it was Let’s Go by the Cars. He was clearly making a public statement about his particular brand of coolness. A couple years later I got my own car and it was coincidentally the very same Toyota model but I was way too mature for such bombastic public broadcasting. And by that I mean my speakers were too small.

The exhilarating Let’s Go “double-edged anthem” (as described by critic Brett Milano), one of dear Ric Ocasek’s finest offerings, is the kind of epic that could rev an arena crowd into a frenzy. Personally it always brings me back to the summers of late adolescence where we were always revved up to fucking do something but with few places to actually go, and with those endeavors which could barely satisfy us being covertly plotted beneath the radar of our seemingly-clueless pain-the-butt parents.

But we survived. Our dear parents survived us, and with more than a little sadness, Ocasek has not. Though I suppose that 75 years is a pretty good run by rock star standards.

He wrote Let’s Go during the late seventies but in music-years it’s a solid eighties phenomenon and magnificently one of at least five Ocasek pop-rock or new wave masterpieces any of which, if attributed to any similar songwriter in pop history, might qualify as their best song ever written.

… In my humble opinion.

Bye Bye Love is another. Similarly anthemic, it was one of those giant songs I had to wait years to acquire while it spent some of that time at the very top of that list: that magical roster of songs which I don’t think that net-entwined youths of today have: songs you dearly wish to possess but which elude you and which prompt you to swiftly murder any loved-ones who dare open their mouth and distract you when it has suddenly, magically leapt from the radio and made your whole day.

The third of the giants is My Best Friends Girl, less frenzied but with an addictive goofy rockabilly twist. This was the piece which endeared me to the very cool but slightly nerdy and vulnerable Ocasek and the I’m gonna do whatever I want here, goofy-or-not and if you love it, fine! attitude which I perceive.

Cue 1984 and an impossible barrage of masterpiece pop and hard rock music albums including the Cars’ Heartbeat City, my apex of eighties new wave and one of my fave discs ever. It was produced by the the legendary Robert “Mutt” Lange who ran straight from its completion right into the production of Def Leppard’s epic album Hysteria!  

Here’s my Heartbeat City experience (are you still reading? I warned you not to!):

1. Hello Again: A simpler song perhaps, middle of the road by Cars standards, but the pounding energy, the rising call-and-answer, is a wake-up call. You’re in for an experience here! All my memories of this song revolve around the album itself and anticipating another full listen, perhaps with drumsticks in hand for air-drumming, likely the lights out and maybe even an illicit can of beer from my cleverly hidden cache: the bottom drawers of the basement fridge which, I found out years later, my folks knew about the whole time.

2. Looking For Love: Lyrically it’s the thematic epitome of this album’s tracks, though it might be the only perspective not in the first person (I can’t believe I noticed that. Are you finding this a torture yet?) Not one of the album’s highlights by any normal measure but a great tender, melodic tune according to my ears and a mighty big step up from the opener.

3. Magic: …And then, bang! Another huge step up, right to the top. This is, upon most recollections, my favourite Cars song ever. The chorus utterly soars and I dig the transition back to verse with the resounding straight-up guitar riffs. I am reminded of summer holidays (all these songs take me back to high school) with sunshine galore, no summer jobs yet, and no fucking school. For years I assumed this was the most popular Cars song ever and was shocked to find out years later that while it charted and proved an MTV darling, it didn’t even crack the top two of this album!

4. Drive: The Cars melodic masterpiece. A ballad. I assume this track charted highest. Deep and patient and every single word, note and moment delicious. Very oddly, it always takes me back to earlier summer vacations which happened well before this song was released. Weird, I know. I once sang this at Karaoke with a 20-year-old pal who glared at me when I sang “Nothin’s wrong differently in it’s last incantation, exactly right, the way Ben Orr (not Ocasek!) sang it. Later I left his body in the dumpster behind the pub. Wait! No I remember now. I let him live. I didn’t even mention it afterwards.

5. Stranger Eyes: Filler. But filler doesn’t get much better.

6. You Might Think: If I had to pick Ocasek’s epic six, instead of five, this would probably make it. It’s got all the hallmarks of the Cars best, charted second best after Drive, as far as I know and won MTV’s (first ever I believe) Video of the Year. So there.

7. It’s Not the Night: Hard rock filler like Stranger Eyes. And yet it hit 31 on the rock charts. Oh well. Beats me.

8. Why Can’t I Have You: Not as great or quite as slow as Drive but it’s a keeper. Melodic, tender, sincere, with the same harmonic diversity in the vocals and the electronics as the faster songs. The album’s fifth single but I don’t think it charted.

9. I Refuse: The rapid, jumping, simple track that pretty much every rock album reserves a spot for. But consistent with its peers in almost every way (Only Drive was a departure).

10. Heartbeat City: I know of very few albums besides this one, where this engaging whimsical title track couldn’t crack the top three. Musically this is the mystical magical track. It’s wondrous, wonderful and lyrically the deepest. All my memories of this track revolve around the act of deliberately absorbing the album, and its deeply satisfying conclusion.

Ee-gads. Am I done? Yep. I’m done. If you read the whole damn thing you win a prize. Something priceless like a pack of toilet paper.

M is for Middling

In the last 36 hours I have:

• Lost my wallet and $190.
• Negotiated with burdened outdoor renovation workers to access my own driveway.
• Attended the 8th or 9th annual Wafflepalooza of which I was a founding father.
• Hugged friends.
• Reminisced with my dear writer pals concerning the inspiring ascent of The Liaison, who departed oh so young on the verge of a writing career breakthrough.
• Hugged more friends.
• Tinkered with yet another indulgent mindcrack lair.
• Found the wallet!
• Barely -- barely -- endured the 45-minute torture of an ultrasound session in which the tech sweated buckets trying to push holes through me (drawing blood even but not much).
• Butted heads politely with a senior bank associate trying to smother Gramps and I in a blanket of red tape and liability paranoia leaving me exhausted and almost hopeless before a wonderful junior associate, a young black man with brilliant instincts, wisdom and kindness gave us everything we needed as soon as the former departed.
• Parked strategically so Gramps could piss in a parking lot.
• Talked about life and literature with Earth Writer and remembered how we used to be closer (I think).
• Attended Scooterville NaNo Thank God Its Over celebration.
• Won nice little prizes.
• Hugged friends I’m very glad to find are still friends.
• Sat in the car hoping that a young person I will always care for will come to understand I would never ever want to hurt his feelings and that I only want his life to be better and him to be happy. And that’s all I’ll say about that.

I’m in the middle of things.

Peace.

B is for Brocrastination

Okay that was a cheat. But B is for bed-ridden, blurry-eyed and.... Bengals.

Bengals as in Bengal tigers - as in the Jr. B lacrosse team that landed in the middle of my life about the time I disappeared from blog world, and swept me away.

An old pal - we'll call him - LaxMasterMind has quietly become an internationally elite lacrosse GM and coach in the fifteen years since we were associates with the Chiefs Jr A team. Oh wait - I blogged about this two years ago.

Long story short: I was dragged out of my Total Lacrosse Retreat by LMM with the news of a local Jr B team which he was basically running and which I did not even know about (this community has spawned previous junior lacrosse enterprises over the years which emigrated to nearby communities). I saw a game, was amazed at the new elevated caliber of Jr B lacrosse, felt inspired to write about it, but was at a complete loss how to do so. One: I have changed so much in the intervening years and competition, winning and losing have become so very uninspiring compared to such higher-evolved things - like creativity for instance, and generosity, which are for me important elements of lacrosse. And two: I was no longer an insider. I knew nothing of the current lacrosse community and its peoples. How would I write as an outsider?

Fast forward April 2019 and LMM speaks up again: the team is looking to fill new exec positions including Director Marketing and Media Relations. I seize on that one. It's my way back in. I take it on faith that I will find a way to write about it. And god knows I should have the time for it given the 101 important projects I've been blissfully ignoring (B is for blissful ignorance).

"I'll be your director media marketing," I type back after literally about 20 seconds of deliberation. I was intentionally bold. Take it or leave it.

He took it.

The task I took on for myself; the goal, is enormously ambitious. The work I cut out for myself is potentially endless. And I admit I don't know how to accomplish the goal, if indeed it's possible. But I trust in finding useful components and pursuing them on faith that they will be part of the final solution. More on all this some other time.

Was I crazy to take this on given I can't keep up with anything currently? Here's my weird rationalization: To take on a world of work which is unlike most of my current work in that there are tight schedules and outside stakeholders, which means I will be properly motivated to Get It Done, which may be just the thing to re-teach me a proper work ethic. When the season ends in a few months I can move my new work ethic and apply it to my own works.

Well that time is now.

So I'm back.

I say that I am here to stay. Fingers crossed.

And by here I mean blog world, yes, but I mean much more. I want to really be here. Being present again. Being productive. Making a difference. Being the person I should be instead of the loser I have been for the last year and a half.

This morning I arose after 6 hours of sleep (not bad! though sleep remains a critical Needs Improvement Area) picked up Chess Champ, met up with The Healer, journeyed to Station One former fire-house turned cafe and there met Sweetproserpina and the Ponderer for a joyful write-in. Here I am. The Ponderer's partner is beating her cancer. The Healer's mate has finally become employed again by a college where I worked for awhile. And Chess Champ has finally released some writing to the semi-public sphere. A big step. I really look forward to finally giving him a read. Given sleep and eye problems I have not really read for this year and a half. Another Needs Improvement Area.

Continuous improvement. Every day. Am I back? It would be nice if I were back.

Love Fwig

Afterimage

The Liaison, so far as I currently understand, had three basic categories of friends: Writing friends online from around the world, writing friends online who he met in person at various writing retreats and workshops, including some of the most committed and robust programs out there, and writing friends online who he also knew in person right here in Scooterville including myself, Sick Boy and Chess Champ, each of whom you might glimpse in the video below.

His dearest friend of all is the very sweet and deep-minded Cerulean Blue, a constant online companion from Europe, who has flown out here many times for extended vacations with him. She is a satellite member of our local NaNo chapter and our little year-long writing sub-group.

I sense that their companionship is of some special design of their own which they need explain to no one, and I sense that this was the only non-familial relationship of any significant intimacy in the Liaison’s living experience and I am very glad that he had it.

When Cerulean first appeared on the scene I was troubled by an email from her in which I sensed a pre-mature attachment to us and unwarranted worry over subtle interpretations of online encounters which I personally viewed as inconsequential. I thought it inappropriate that she would presume that we had some kind of deep friendship at stake when we’d never even met in person and I was not shy at the time to try to firmly inform her of this.

In the end, it appears that she was on the right track. I came to sense a special friendship between us and now I wonder why I have seen so little of her when she has spent most of her time here in Scooterville with brief returns to her home abroad, ever since November when the Liaison fell ill. The blame is surely my own.

Now that he’s gone and with her next return flight scheduled for the day after his funeral (in essence a coincidence) there remains for her a couple of free days and a couple of partly free days and no one for her to give constant care for.

Yesterday those of us available took her out for the afternoon, which slipped gently into the evening. We went exploring with no urgency or real agenda, with a strong bond in our hearts and common private thoughts on our minds - of a sweet boyish man whose hard-felt absence seems to have washed away the tensions of tentative friendship between we of very sensitive, but otherwise diverse personalities.

I will see Cerulean at least two more times before she goes away. Given the pain she has endured here, I doubt she will ever come back. And my own chances of ever getting to Europe are slim. It is with significant heaviness that I consider a likely-final farewell. I wonder how her life will change now, with such a significant absence, and how comfortably she might endure a continued online relationship with us, where triggers may abound.

Today the same gang will go hiking and what-not without me but with the excellent Healer and her canine companion Doctor Snuggles.

I hope they all feel the same love which I did yesterday and which I attempted to capture here:

Swoopy FWG terrorizes an agoraphobic sociopath

I walked into this cafe; the Brown Dog Coffee Saloon and Frittery or some such name, where I’m to meet Chess Champ shortly. I found every table in the place occupied but approached the service counter with optimism, endured a short wait in line and procured a coffee and scone, warmed with butter. There were enough solo-held tables-for-four that I figured some enlightened soul would be happy to share one with me for the time being.

Immediately others filtered into the place and so I had competition for tables.

A young woman alone at a two-seater table began to pack up. I edged her way and went on alert for potential competing interlopers. As it became fairly clear she was intending to go and returned from the trash bin to grab her coat and purse, I drifted by with a friendly smile and asked “Are you finished with this table?”

“Oh you couldn’t wait thirty more seconds before swooping in eh?” she said while grabbing her gear and rushing away.

In fact, thirty seconds would almost certainly have resulted in my losing the table to someone else but I didn’t take the question literally, especially since she showed zero interest in receiving an answer.

I interpreted her question to mean: “CAN’T YOU SEE THAT I HATE PEOPLE AND NEED TO OPERATE IN A BUBBLE AND NOT BE TALKED TO BY TERRIFYING STRANGERS!”

And my answer is: No.

Generally I still approach my Scooterville neighbours with the assumption that they have not just been reluctantly dragged away from The Sims 4 or other such human-connection substitute to a place full of real people where their only coping mechanism is to imagine delusional reasons to be offended by us so to justify an irrational fear of us.

I do not yet run on the assumption that we live in a bubble-soccer world where we must pretend to be isolated in clear sound-proof barriers until such a time as the Mystical Magical Benign Industry Machine starts pumping these wonderful products out to every store.

I can see the day coming though, so don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll get your way before long.

Thorne’s Quest

I think it was five years ago, on November 30^th; the last night of National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo): it was the Liberal Theologian, Aqualad and myself remaining at the coffee pub in the aftermath of a larger celebration. I then decided I deserved a decadent dessert waffle as reward for my NaNo success. I had won the challenge, setting my personal November word count record and in doing so finished the novel I’d started the year before on November 1^st. Aqualad agreed and claimed his own such reward, making it an event. L.T. then followed suit and named our night together: Wafflepalooza.

On the same date this year, I rushed away from my late shift at the Courthouse to join the greater gang for Wafflepalooza Six where staff reported to me that twenty waffles had been served!. Most of the gang had left by the time I arrived and another few left shortly afterwards, leaving Chess Champ, the Healer and myself. We talked about the struggles and victories of this craziest NaNo in our memories.

I announced that I intended to visit the Liberal Theologian, our former NaNo Scooterville leader, before going home. (I wished to discuss with her my failing evolution which certain  NaNo struggles made very apparent this year.) The others wished to join me. At that I was surprised but pleased. The conversation would be a different one but that’s okay.

L.T. still has no gravestone but her location is easy to find. It’s right under the brightest light in the cemetery. When her stone finally arrives it will be appropriately spotlighted.

We talked about her influences on us and the strong mark she left on the NaNo community; the culture she set in motion which we strive to maintain, and how we two became close and how I came to live in her home. We talked about her liberal relationship with God and her generous relationship with religion itself; one based almost entirely upon community and charity and not about specific dogma. How she came into that specific Anglican church where she made her career; one unusually behind the times by the progressive Anglican standards of the day, where its leaders held conservative and superstitious views. But L.T. was very strong. In no time at all she had all her opposition corrected, evolved, defeated or removed and her church became an extension of her own personality: a place of legitimate generosity and inclusiveness.

I knew all this through stories about L.T. which I really love to hear. They thrill me because I did not know her in her more heroic days.but only later, when NaNo was her only time to really shine. Beyond that her disability generally got the best of her and the scope of her life and influence, as happens to all of us eventually, was in decline.

In her final two days, spent in the hospice, she was almost always in shut-down mode; unconscious or semi-conscious or withdrawn, at least at times, by intent. I spent many hours at her side while she existed in some other awareness. How strange it must be, this otherspace of the dying. Where are you Gale? I asked more than once. In hindsight I suspect that, at times at least, she was very nobly making peace with her passing. At the time though I could not see that possibility, too fixated on the apparent problems I perceived.

Where are you? I asked her. Are you riding with Thorne in your other world? I really hoped that she was.

Thorne is the girl in her fictional Thorne’s Quest world. To what degree she and Thorne were the same person, I have to wonder. She wrote an eight book series about her; a very significant fantasy series with a robust imaginary culture and history. Five novels were self-published and had a following. The remainders still need editing which was not accomplished before the end.

The daughter was her editing partner and knows of specific changes L.T. desired beyond the obvious copy editing and continuity checks. Dog Whisperer was a beta reader and technical assistant and also knew the epic story well.

When it became apparent that L.T. would not survive long enough to finish this project but that she wished not to abandon her faithful readers, it was decided that the Daughter, Dog Whisperer and myself would form a committee to finish the job as best we could. I knew the least about the project but I saw that as useful in terms of a certain role I could play. I promised her that at the very least, I would be the impetus to make sure it happens. I promised her. And it has not happened.

The daughter is the official owner of this intellectual property. I broached the subject once with her and she couldn’t talk about it. It is not easy for her to deal with her mother’s absence.  Many things have been put off for a long time.

As we stood gathered around the lamp-lit unmarked hillock, I shared this heavy concern about Thorne’s Quest with Champ and Healer. They warned me that attempting to take on the project all by myself, if Daughter would only release the materials to me and be done with it, would be a very large and lengthy undertaking. But I assured them I could do it if necessary. I could sink myself into it and see it done. I am motivated enough.

I once began reading the first book of the series which I’d bought online when I barely knew L.T. I abandoned it though, temporarily, when I realized I’d been tripping on the unusual conventions of given names in this imaginary culture. I was mixing up characters. I needed to restart the book while taking notes on the character roster and their similar names.

I now realize that it’s time for me to finally do that. I finally realized that step one in getting this editing dilemma resolved is for me to read the books, and then try talking to Daughter again when I can better gauge the scope of the project.

What will I find, Gale? Will I recognize Thorne? Will I find you there? 

Three Ghosts

I feel like the guy from the Dickens A Christmas Carol story who was visited by three ghosts in order to get him to wake the hell up to the joyful realities of life. I have had three extremely meaningful conversations in the last two days:

The Ghosts of NaNo Future

After an out-of-town National Novel Writing Month write-in, The Healer, Chess Champ and I pooled back to Scooterville and the Healer’s good-energy house of books, humans, dog, and cats where we embarked on an impromptu conversation about the glory days of our NaNo region, the dangers in romanticising them or down-playing it’s current level of success; the hurdles in managing it today, the very sober interpretations of dear Liaison’s health prospects, and the great challenge of keeping this region alive and healthy in 2018 and beyond which include some rather perilous politics. The conversation was emotional; everyone’s eyes became glossy at some point or another. Chess Champ surprised me with his level of transparency and emotion and I joyfully sensed that his relationship/friendship with the Healer was possibly beginning to mature - as it had between he and I earlier this November. The Troll was a prominent conversation piece and I wonder am I going to have to credit him with providing a useful “common enemy” to draw us together? I say this half-seriously.

Of special relevance I spoke of my own ridiculous falling apart and my sudden willingness to take on some degree of leadership contribution next year, if necessary, in the special (diplomatic) areas where I’m likely to have the most available aptitude - assuming I get my shit together. That’s kind of a big step. After going through my journey years ago I found it very useful to step down from my traditional habit for formal leadership roles and I found that change very rewarding. But if I perceive the community needs me…

The Ghost of Parenthood Past

Then yesterday I had breakfast with a dear friend who I can’t pseudo-name just now for privacy sake; though perhaps that’s not even a concern? Most significantly she reiterated the opinion that her parenting methods or circumstances may not have been the most… useful ever, in her challenging past and that she is apparently paying a very dear price for that, as one of her own sons has basically said - stay away.

This is hauntingly similar to my own emotional circumstance and neither of us, to our credit, attempted to imply that our own loss was any more significant than the other’s. At one point I wept deeply but briefly. I cried for both of us. I don’t know if she perceived that.

The Ghost of Presence

And then I had dinner with Aqualad and he was very brave and told me as best he could about all the emotional weight he currently carries. Some of it broke my heart.

He seems very open to accepting an attempt at help from me. It means I will have to be really on the ball because in turning to the poetic process for guidance here (I have done the math to some almost-successful degree tonight on the night shift despite being outrageously tired) for there is a tremendous volume of material which is relevant to his issues. A tremendous volume. But no worries. We will mostly communicate online probably; and it will take the form, not of me lecturing, but me posing the useful questions so to continuously nudge him toward finding the most useful available answers for himself. The good thing here is that he can set the pace by answering each question whenever he’s ready or has time.

I am very motivated at this time to get my shit together. I’ve been surrounded by a whole lot of love these last two days.

How doth the city sit solitary…

…that was once full of people.

I remember many occasions sitting in my Streetsville apartment looking out the big window, contemplating at great length and seeing all these structures and machinations of society: I had never felt so alone; so utterly alien. At the time I regarded this with some degree of emotional peril; not as much as you’d expect, but more than I later would. My yawning separateness was to some degree just another observation; another new important revelation in a long roster of them. It was then that I found some comfort in that opening line from the book of Leviticus and then that I began reading the Christian bible for the first time since grade school, and then that I began finding wisdom instead of nonsense; wisdom which few priests would, so far as I imagined, ever interpret much the same way I was. It was then that I began to sense that much of this “religious” material must have been borrowed from other sources and that much of it was not intended at its roots to be a tool of Christian doctrine at all.

That alien feeling persisted for a long time, varying in intensity.

I remember a long night wide awake in my attic eyrie which I rented from Long Time Companion; the friend formerly known in blog space as Peter Pan. I’m pleased to say that he has come a long way, finding some peace, and considering that when we were breaking up years prior to this rental arrangement and I’d threatened to murder him (and possibly meant it) in a fit of outrageous jealousy - I guess I’ve come a long way too.

That night I’d felt the weight of this threshold; this decision; this gateway to… what? Enlightenment? This reckoning that I’d found no one yet who was willing to take my hand and proceed with me.

It was that night when I strummed the guitar and the song The Line came out: a simple three-chord ditty in which I tried to voice this conundrum; this great step in evolution (or so it seemed to me then) and my concern that I was becoming too alien from everyone around me and that I was losing the capacity to relate and thus to communicate and thus the potential to teach or to guide.

I did not want my learning; these immensely powerful and useful understandings to benefit me alone!

What I don’t remember is any conscious decision; any intention to back away from that threshold, but indeed that is what I did; not ready to give up on others; and not feeling any confidence that I’d ever be able to reach anyone again if I took this step and launched too far into another realm.

I remember being surprised to so easily embrace a reverse-pretentiousness, how easy it was for me to “play dumb” in a way, to reveal no insights in day to day circumstances where I was wise in relevant terms but wise enough, also, to know that what I had to say would not be understood or not be embraced and so I remained quiet and nodded like some very simple man. I was surprised how easily I could keep my ego in check.

I remember feeling lonely at times because I had no one I could be completely myself with. I literally had no secrets. This is a huge statement to make. I doubt it can rarely ever be honestly said. I had no secrets but yet I had to keep quiet about some things, not for shame (I could admit any flaw or fault I was aware of) but for other people’s comfort. I had no energy or any mandate to challenge everyone’s illusions all day every day.

When I met Neo and observed what astounding mental freedoms he possessed, I knew he was very special and that I had to make myself available to him. And with the brainstorming of excellent associate JazzLion, I began writing a novel in which I tried to plant all my most important and relevant understandings, with the thought that if he read it (along with others if it got published) and was of the kind of mind I had been crediting him with, then as an adult he might unearth that book and look me up. I did not indulge in any romantic notions about such an encounter but in essence I could imagine him saying, “Dude! Remember me? I understand what you’re saying here! And I thought we should talk I don’t imagine you’ve been expecting many people to get it…”

Instead Neo took such an immediate interest in me that we became associates when grade school graduation should have otherwise separated us.

In hindsight, maybe that was all for the worse. Another regret? Should I have finished the damn book instead, and put it in his hands and said goodbye?

One of the joys in our association; call it friendship; call it mentorship, whatever, was that I had someone I could be one hundred per cent myself with. I regarded him as completely trustworthy. Not trustworthy in that I could trust him with my secrets (because I felt I had none) but trustworthy in that I trusted him to be able to handle the truth; to be able to handle the things I had to say.

For the first time in quite a while I had someone I did not feel alien with.

This is the crux of my broken-heartedness.

Imagine being a human but growing up on some far away planet where everyone is wildly different than you and finally you meet another human; the only other human on the planet, and you just feel so at home finally, and your friendship blossoms and then after eight years he just says, yeah I can’t do this anymore bye. 

Sometimes these days I think surely we’ll get back together again. Surely he’ll come to his senses.

But sitting here, trying to be a little present; a little wakeful, I think: How carefully have I monitored this alien issue over the last eight years?

Am I sure that no one else is capable of letting me be me, without me having to be concerned about scaring them off?

I know that the Ponderer and Skeeter Willis are frequent readers of this blog (god knows why; it is so scattered and indulgent) and I must ask with honesty; not to flatter, are they not willing and capable?

I wonder too, about Dog Whisperer and Earth Writer and Aqua Lad. I barely knew them eight years ago. Have we not developed an almost familial bond?

On that note what about my mother and my brother?

Surely JazzLion and Renaissance Kid and Global Citizen; though they live rather out of the way to varying degrees, so to rely on them regularly would be difficult.

And the Earnest Chef too. And The Healer. Thinking about them now, are they not slam dunks? Have I not already felt free with them and just not done the accounting?

Perhaps even the Thoughtful Educator. Haven’t all these relationships broadened and solidified over these years? Have I failed to give some special people fair credit?

And then there’s Dr. Lock of course. I’m surprised as I think about this now - how many friends I am able to consider in this regard

Perhaps I need to sample the waters; open up to more people the same way I did to Neo and see how it goes; if they are comfortable or not.

It would help, I’m sure, if I could be my gentler self with them. Which would happen naturally I’m sure if I could bring myself to be more present; more mindful. I might not be ready though. Let me cradle myself in the writing for now.

With regards to that evolution, I suppose this is another regret: When Neo asked, But why wouldn’t you want to embrace enlightenment if you could? Why ever choose otherwise? For some reason I gave him a cryptic answer that was more about my remaining addictions; my susceptibility to identity, instead of a straight answer. God knows why. It just happened.

I should have told Neo the more simple and sincere perspective: that I was waiting until he was ready to go there with me.