March 11, 2013
It’s been a while.
Things have changed, since the last time we spoke, many things. Almost everything, from interactions to relationships to emotions to everything.
Everything has changed.
This is hardly different, everything is always changing, It’s what happens. It’s how this works, things staying the same never works, no matter how tightly we grip or fight or wish or try, things always change.
It’s how we react to to the change that really matters, and I, I am not one who is known for handling change particularly well. This is one of those times. But, it’s something, and like all things, if you’re following the change correctly, you’re learning from things and moving forward and so many many things you’ve heard so many many times before.
Is there much new to come from the change or is it all the same, just slightly different. None of this actually matters if we, I, us, whoever, doesn’t allow, accommodate or whatever you say, for the change.
Is it really that different, or is it more of the same? Maybe that’s a clue that the change wasn’t enough of a change, maybe more change needed to change. Maybe I’ll stop using the word change. Maybe I’ll stop starting sentences with the word maybe.
Maybe.
Here’s what I do know, the overwhelming wave of overwhelmingness that comes in and overwhelms, is, frankly, overwhelming. And it drags down, pulling with it all good ideas and thoughts and sense of humor and relationships and friends and… it seems difficult to overcome, but it really isn’t, but it is, but it really isn’t.
But it’s still there, relentlessly beating itself down, not giving a moment to be out of the moment, until you realize that this isn’t something that’s happening, it’s something that happened, and this is the new reality and this is the world you’re in now, and unless something is done to fire away the rockets to the new world, this is the way the world is, this is the world of how things are and…
This world is deep and expansive, but everything only leads down, there isn’t much sense exploring, everything leads down to and endless loop of sorrow and morosity, but the only way out is to go up, and away to where the boats are waiting, waiting to take things to better places, but the exploration of down is so inviting and comfortable in all it’s bleak and dreariness and grabbing a hold of it and pushing away is the only safe thing to do, despite the fact that it seems safer to stay in the endless wandering corridors of the unchanging, until finally..
Finally you find yourself, almost by accident, up away from the endless loops, and you find yourself on that boat, going to somewhere and I ask myself, what perspective is this written from, because you’ve changed from 1st to 3rd to second to what can now only be some kind of unknown meta dialogue with yourself about… well whatever this is about.
And like so many things before it, there’s a silliness buried in all the sadness, because everything seems, bizarre, because you realize you’ve made a reference to another planet and rockets, but also the only way out is boats, and that doesn’t really make sense because well, frankly not much of this makes sense and that’s how it’s supposed to be because it’s a crazy rambling stream of consciousness and that’s how these things tend to be sometimes and it leads you to wonder if you really wanted to do this at all or if you just really wanted to do something else and you can’t because you really had to do this and now here we are.
Because you’re not writing enough, because I’m not writing enough, and sometimes that’s really all we need, a place to put things in place and perspective and making things make more sense, because nothing really does make that much sense, it’s really a bunch of things that happen, and then you, or I, just need to be a part of those things happening, because they’re just going to keep happening, because, that’s how it works, things happen, get on, or don’t.
Distraction.
I’m not supposed to be writing this. I shouldn’t be. Especially not now. I have more important things demanding my attention currently. But, here we are.
Now, why are we here? That, is an excellent question. We are here because we are here. Although, it’s not really a we, because, really it’s just me.
So, why then, why this, why now? Because, I need to. I need this.. this, distraction, this procrastination, this avoidance, this.. this.
What is this? It’s not as simple as an examination of the word this, I feel like that would take forever. More as this as a blog, this blog.
I don’t really have a mission statement for my blog. I don’t really have a specific voice, it’s MY VOICE, certainly, but not a specific… feel to the blog..
I really don’t want a specific direction, I’m much happier with splintered paths of random, randomness, much like most everything else I do.
I think I lost the point of where I was going, I think it was to explain the existence of this blog entry. I’ve decided I’d like to try and stop using the word this.
Exciting things are on the way, it seems! I may not have a part in my own literary magazine anymore, but I have three submissions to send to various places.
The submissions mentioned, demanding much needed revision attention have nothing to do with the the existence of this particular entry. Clearly.
I have three pieces of art currently set to be on the set of the pilot episode of the forthcoming NBC Sitcom, 1600 Penn, something I still can’t wrap my head around.
I’ve started work on creating a backlog of strips for my eventually forthcoming webcomic, my goal is to have at least three extras at all times.
Three seems to be a repeating theme today. I’ve tried to structure each paragraph to be around three lines. Or course it’s only noticeable on an iPhone.
I’ve gotten this far into a stream of consciousness of nonsense (rhythmical) but I feel like I’ve done nothing to unblock the block, so to speak.
Therefore, I need to continue on with my avoiding avoidance plan in hopes of conjuring up some kind of unavoidable unblocking….
Prose Poem
I wrote this, for an asignment, and then decided to use it for another assignment. Now I’m going to share it here, maybe later I’ll share the complete document. Maybe.
I smell the rain coming down, on the cars, on the trees, on the streets. Everything is wet. Everything looks wet. And dark. This could be from my vision, blurred from the water running down my head, as if it were tears, but no, they are not tears, the tears probably came later, but perhaps they didn’t. The rain tastes heavy. Dirty. This isn’t a clean warm summer shower. This is cold fall rain. It’s dark. I can’t see you anymore, so perhaps I should go back inside, but instead, I stay longer, letting the rain soak into me further, because, you might decide to come back.
Replacement.
This is not what you’re supposed to be reading right now. This is not something I spent a month NOT writing, and then two weeks writing and re-writing.
I certainly would like this to be it, it’s just not. I ended up with something far too long, giving far too much information, and yet, not nearly enough information at the same time. I feel it’s too important, it’s something I need to say, something that needs to be told. But, it’s too personal. I’m too attached to it.
And I don’t feel it’s good enough.
I worry it’s not respectful enough to the source. I worry that it’s not what it needs to be. I don’t know why it needs to be so important to me. It’s something that no longer has any effect on my life. It’s over. Most of my friends have forgotten it even happened at all. People who seemed so interested in learning managed to slip out of my life.
I can’t give it up. It’s still there, in the back of my head haunting me. Haunting me and my thoughts.
I made something that’s too much about me, and not enough about why what happened is important to me. I want something that’s not a day by day beat by beat diary entry, I want something more… more. My problem lies in my purposeful avoidance of the topic, out of respect for everyone involved, but also out of fear of going too dark. And also fear of going too light, and not respecting what happened.
I guess we wait and see what happens.
The Writing Pact.
I started this, I don’t know, over two weeks ago, the day before the Barenaked Ladies concert, if you’re someone who keeps track of time by significant events, if you would define such things as significant events. Actually, that would make it two weeks ago, today (or as Kevin would say, “The day before the Barenaked Ladies concert until the day Brave came out”). I lost track of time somewhat, in the interim, and, I suppose I’ll get back to my point, but first, here’s what you should have seen, two weeks ago:
So, I made a writing pact, with one of my best friends, to write every day. And… I’m already 2 days behind on it. Or maybe I’m ahead, if we compare to my usual ability to stay on deadline (especially with THIS blog.. oy…). I’m doing better than my self-made pact to draw everyday.
Well, no, that’s not exactly true, I am drawing everyday, I’m just not posting a drawing on the internet everyday.
(gasp!)
Right? So, anyway, here’s my first day of writing. And, yes, my blog is absolutely filled, and overwhelmingly so, with promise after promise of regular updating. So, what makes this different?
Well, here’s my cheat: much like my self-made drawing pact, I don’t HAVE to post what I’ve written everyday. I plan on as often as I feel like it, or as often as I feel like I don’t suck (well…), whatever that means. So.. You might just get this. Or you might not. That’s ultimately, up to me to decide.
Let’s begin (uhm), so, what’s going on Kev? Well, actually, quite a lot, and yet, not a lot, all at the same time. That’s not an answer at all.
To make things more surreal (meta?), I’m going to attach a picture I took of that moment:
(Side note: The Comic Book History Of Comics? Worth it. Read it. Good.)
Anyway.
I got a little distracted after this point. Distracted by what? First, Barenaked Ladies concert, which was awesome, and probably my second favorite BNL concert. But that’s not really it. Later, I received a jury duty notification, well, actually earlier, but I went IN for my jury duty. Jury duty lasted eight whole days, eight significantly important days. Significant why? Well, I’m not actually going to talk about it now. Or ever. I don’t know yet. And I’m certainly not until I’ve worked my way down my list of people I said I would tell first (if you’re not aware that there is a list, you’re probably not on it). And, part of why I stopped writing, or why I didn’t do any writing, was because I didn’t want to write about it, because it’s the kind of thing that sometimes will just come out, because, that’s the kind of thing it was. Even now, I feel it, trying to get out in the words, trying to find a place on the page to fit..
During the course of the trial I did things to distract myself, late night volleyball, specifically talking to certain people while specifically avoiding others, and mostly working non-stop. Just so I didn’t have to spend time thinking about.. well whatever it was.
Now it’s over, I don’t really know what to say.. There’s an emptiness, a void, and I’m not really sure if it’s from the loss of the event, or just the event itself. Either way, there it is, or rather, there it is not.
Just write something.
I wrote this about eight months ago, and haven’t really known what to do with it. I’m not really sure how I feel about it, it comes off a little too personal than I really like to share, but, I feel like I need to do something with it. So here, I present it, in it’s original unaltered form.
And hey, it beats talking about what’s really bothering me!
So, here we go:
You do realize you’re going to need to write something now, don’t you?
I hear those words echoing in my brain, ever since they were told to me. Constantly. Unending. Write something. Sure I can do that. Of course I can. I love to do that. I write all the time.
Except, the second it’s for something important I freeze up. Freeze up, put it off, ignore it. Leave it until, either inspiration comes, or the deadline buzz comes in and saves me. But what if there is no deadline? What if it’s not really that important? But what if it’s so important that it NEEDS to be done? Well, then, I’ll probably end up putting it off, finding an excuse and never finishing it.
Because, here’s the thing, if there’s no deadline, or no ACTUAL deadline, no ticking countdown clock above my desk (I really should get one of those), I’m never going to allow my indecisive brain to take it seriously. Or rather, my indecisive brain, will never allow me.
My next step is to go on defense, It NEEDS to be done, so I’m going to tell EVERYONE in my support system. I’m going to make them badger me, and bug me, until I irritatedly throw my hands in the air and yell FINE! I need to tell all of them, because if I leave it up to one, or just two, well, they’ve got lives outside of keeping me from wandering off (brain-wise, or actually wandering off, it’s known to happen), and simply being my friend (God bless them if they sign on for a close friend position) is enough of a headache by itself, I mean, do you see all the parentheticals, that’s how I am ALL the time, but with talking.
So, my first suggestion comes back:
“Kevin needs to write about glitter, hugs, unicorns and rainbows.”
I began to think about this. I could possibly work with this. I could…..
….I had to stop here. Life gets in the way. Things change. Life happens. The usual. You know how it goes.
I ended up in an ER, waiting room with my mom. Waiting. It’s a not too uncommon place for me to be, I’ve gotten fairly used to it. I spent my whole life waiting (I practically grew up in?) in hospital waiting rooms, and ERs, and doctors offices, and clinics, and.. well, you get the idea. That’s what happens when your mom is sick. Not sick all the time, one time, that just affected her, and by default me, as well as my entire family, for the rest of, well, everything.
It’s 9:45. I try to concentrate back on writing. Get back to where I left off.
The next suggestion given to me (by the same person):
“Write a Princess story, so it can be animated.”
Most people would be offended. I’m hardly offended. I’m well known as being the princess guy, although really, it’s more than that, I’m the DISNEY GUY, the Disney Animation guy, but that’s a story for another day.
I’ve thought about the suggestion ever since it was given to me. I’ve thought about it for a while. I thought about it while sitting in an uncomfortable chair, listening to a woman bellow at her children. Restless. Climbing over their seats. Climbing over her.
“Why do we have to be here still?” The boy asks.
“Because, WE”RE FAMILY, THAT”S WHAT WE DO!” She roars back.
The little girl drops her DS with a thud.
I go back to my notes. Why would anybody want me to write about an awkward princess with social anxiety issues? Well, possibly, maybe. I give it a try:
Ugh. Sun. I do NOT need this today.
“Rise and shine, duckling, we’ve got a busy day ahead of us!”
Handmaiden! Gluh! I threw the pillow back over my face, “Tell them I died!”
“Yes, dear.” Her cheery voice dropping rapidly to stern, “I’m sure that will go over wonderfully.”
Something like that, I suppose? Or better. I can’t guarantee better. It’s an interesting start. Perhaps for a later time. I’m much better at the interpersonal, introspective, I think. I’d need to find a real “hook” to really draw me in.
Something personal.
I’m just not in the headspace to do this right now. As I write this, I sit and I look around, the very very backed up ER. I don’t see any, ‘Noah Wylie’ type emergencies, but what do I know. We’ve been here an hour? More?
I’m getting pretty good at trying to figure out the plotlines of the USA Dramas silently playing on the television mounted to the wall beyond me. It took me a while to realize that I was watching a completely different series now. I’m calling this one, “Hottie-Milfs and Aging B-List Character Actors.” There’s a dude from Gilmore Girls on it. Cool.
I find myself more interested in the fact that there’s a hashtag logo in the corner of the screen, meaning as I assume, they are trying to entice people to “tweet” about this series on Twitter, and mark each tweet with a hashtag, in order to tack them. Interesting idea, I guess.
I choose not to update my Twitter. I feel weird posting where I am on Twitter, in this situation. I do let my friend know. I met her because of Twitter. It’s almost the same thing.
I’m starting to get antsy, myself. I leave the waiting room to go find coffee. I find a “Wolfgang Puck Gourmet Coffee Machine,” I’m not really sure how I feel about this.
I go back and I sit. And I notice and I wonder, how many days, how much of my time have I spent in waiting rooms? Medical offices.
Sometime after, I have a conversation with my friend.
“You’d think with all of this time spent in all of these medical places, I’d have the desire to go into a field of some sort, or at least, have the desire to learn more about this,” I tell her.
“No,” she tells me, “Why would you?”
Of course it makes sense, so much of this, has occupied so much of my life, of my time, why would I want it to take up more my headspace?
The waiting room is filled with people, lost souls, hopeless cases. I try not to look. Honestly, this is one of the least worrisome times I’ve waited with her. I can think of a million worse times, but I won’t. I shouldn’t. And I won’t. For the same reason I won’t make eye contact with the woman, who has one arm. Or the very old man in the wheelchair, whose face is bleeding.
They finally call us back. It’s probably close to 1 AM now. We get an observation room. I get a nametag. It says “Kevin.” We sit. There is more waiting. My ex-sister-in-law works here (for simplicities sake, we’ll leave it at that), not in the ER, but Ironically in the Neurology Department, but not the same section we usually attend. She isn’t working tonight, however.
I tell my mom.
“Oh, that’s too bad,” she says, “She was really nice last time.”
There is more waiting.
“It’s probably ok for you if you got a new girlfriend,” my mom tells me. “But, I understand If you don’t feel like you want one yet.”
“yes… Thank you.. I’ll see what I can do,” was my reply.
The first doctor comes in. She’s actually just a student, from France. With a very thick accent. I find her adorable. My mother asks her about her lab coat, which hospital she came from. She tells us she’s been in the country for a week and she understands English very well, but people have a hard time with her accent.
Don’t worry about it, I think to myself, it’s fascinating. I choose not to say it out loud. I pick up a slight antagonistic animosity between the French Student and the blonde nurse. The nurse’s tone is sharper with her, it’s subtle but I notice it.
The one thing that does seem to be lost in translation is my mother’s sense of humor, her dry sarcasm is lost on her. Lost on all the other Doctors, too, apparently. Either that, or they’re politely ignoring it. Something I’m very familiar with.
The doctors never seem perplexed by mom’s condition.
“Are you still receiving cancer treatments here?”
“no, not for a long time, like 17 years”
“why does she see a Neurologist here, then?”
“because,” I say dryly, “the radiation treatments 17 years ago”
“wait? Seventeen years? OH….”
And on and on, it’s the same with every doctor, every nurse, ever specialist, every time.
Now it’s closing in on Four AM. My First notebook is filled.
My phone has died. It doesn’t really matter. Anyone who I would talk to is long asleep. Those who I chose to tell. I honestly didn’t want to tell anyone. I didn’t want people to think I was fishing for sympathy. It’s also the reason why I don’t really tell people about my Mom, most of the time, anyway. I deliberately decided against telling specific people about tonight. I don’t want them to worry. It’s my burden to carry, and it always has been. I know I’m going to catch hell for it from some people (I did).
My phone died. It doesn’t matter. I’d run out of Facebook updates (Or Twitter, same diff, really) saying, “It feels like I’ve been here my whole life,” or something like that. I can’t post things like that. It goes against my not letting people know. It seems like I’m reaching for attention. I don’t even want my family to find out that way, have them worry, overreact, or somehow find a way to make me feel bad for this (believe me, I spend the second 3 hours running the ways it could possibly be my fault through my brain).
My phone died. It doesn’t matter. My eyes are blurring too badly, I can’t concentrate on any of these Disney animation blogs. I start falling asleep.
“Can you please get him some coffee? It’s no use if you guys fix me just for him to fall asleep driving me home.” I hear my mom tell the nurse. My Wolfgang Puck Gorment Coffee is long gone.
In a weird way, it’s the most quality time I’ve spent with my mom in a long time. Time we don’t really get to spend together anymore. In a strange way it’s a very familiar, routine, nostalgic, sentimental even, and strangely comfortable. As odd as that seems. It’s closing in on 5AM when I finally get home. I go to my computer, the first draft is sitting there, untouched from when I left, incomplete, vague, searching for the next line, waiting for me to write something.
