A front and a back, with lots of stuff in the middle.

I didn't go to that rock-n-roll party a couple of weekends ago that Matt and Olivia and Stephen invited me to. The car needs to be inspected, and I didn't want to drive it all the way to Argyle and risk getting pulled over. They offered to come get me, but I didn't want anyone to have to hassle with driving me home later. I hear there was a lot of drinking, so that worked out for the best.

Plus, I'm a homebody now. I think that my party days pretty much happened all throughout my 20's. It's funny though, I don't feel 'old'... I look at other people who are my age, and they seem like grown ups to me. Middle aged. Like my dad when I was a kid. When I look at myself, both in the mirror and when I'm reflecting on my life, I still see a 20 year old kid who doesn't know jack shit and who never really grew up. It's weird how I'm constantly comparing myself to everyone... it seems like they all have done more with their lives than I have. That gets me down sometimes, that I don't have a lot to show for almost half a century of existence; according to the standards and norms set by society, anyway. But then I think about how corporeal life on Earth is so short and fleeting - and compared to eternity, it's practically nonexistent - and I wonder why I place any importance at all in what is expected of me in western society. Still, it's hard to avoid recognizing the standards of success we were brought up believing to be important. For instance - in order to support a family in this day and age, certain things are required - such as a degree, a high paying job, good credit, a permanent place to live, reliable transportation, etc. Otherwise, it's just kind of impossible to be a provider for a family. Take transportation, for instance. The concept of the car. I don't want it. It's expensive and risky and just another thing to worry about that makes my head and stomach hurt and it sucks. Walking is much healthier, and there's so much more time to read. And if it's too far to walk, there's the bus. You can read on the bus too, you know. A book makes getting from point A to point B so much more pleasant. The car is more of a status symbol than a necessity, I think, but even so... for some reason it matters a lot to just about everybody that a means for transporting the family from point A to point B in a mechanical and expensive fashion, which negates the possility of reading at the same time, should be provided. Oh, and the idea that a woman could provide any or all of these necessities is just out of the question, retard. Why? I don't frikin know why! That's just the way it is. Don't ask stupid questions.

So here's the gist. In this society, starting a family is most likely out of the question. That kind of sucks; that money and social status are the prerequisites for propogating your genes responsibly. Since there isn't enough intrinsic value in the things I do have to offer, the whole enterprise would be destined to end in tears for everybody. It is funny, though... how at one time it had seemed as if none of that mattered, and that love was the only thing that was needed for anything to be possible. I wonder. I actually think that might be true, but it's hard to get people to believe in that kind of truth. Kind of like... it's hard to get people to believe in God. So even though a thing might be true, the truth isn't always enough.

And think of the kids I'm so dead set on bringing into this world if I had my way. Think of the kids, man! The tears of the children. My own tears as a child... huh. I remember now why I never cared about starting a family before. When I think back on my childhood, I remember a drunken father, a crying mother, a broken home and a shattered life. Granted, there isn't a lot of life to shatter when you're only eleven years old, but to an eleven year old, not a lot of life happens to be all the life you've ever lived, ever. I remember always being scared and uncertain and unhappy when I was a child. I remember feeling like I would never see my mother again simply because she had gone to work. I remember being afraid to make any noise when I peed because it might wake my dad and rouse his wrath. I remember the constant threat of getting the shit slapped out of me, and as a result, growing up thinking that 'slap' was a cuss word. I remember freezing in bed because we lived in such a ramshackle house with just the one wood burning stove in the living room, and my mom layering me with coats on top of my covers so that I would be warm. I remember lying awake with insomnia when I was eleven because of my constant state of anxiety and fear and uncertainty, and taking aspirin, hoping and praying that it would put me to sleep. I remember being so shy that I felt I was unable to know anybody, ever. I remember thinking that I was sick and defective, and that I needed a cure for being me. Finally, I remember realizing one day that an injustice had occurred, and that I'd been robbed of a normal childhood, and that I would be a good father some day, and that I would never put my kids through what I'd been through.

And finally, I remember considering all of those things and thinking to myself, 'Why would I want to even risk creating a new life and putting it through all of that, and damaging it and hurting it and ruining it?' And I realize now that it's not just an accident that my life happens to be what it is. Growing up after my mom and dad divorced, I swore that I would never be responsible for putting another round of innocent children through the meat grinder.  As a result of that pledge, I've been following a subconscious directive ever since then.  I now realize that I've set myself up for all of this so that I could make damn sure that a wife and kids would never be a possibility for me, thus sparing the innocent.

It's actually kind of funny, in a morbid, ironic way. For most of my adolescent and adult life, the idea of family - mom, dad, kids, brothers, sisters - was an ugly, painful, cancerous thing, and my childhood was it's abortion. I spent most of my time as an adult just not giving a shit at all about anything regarding myself. I was resigned to, if not exactly content with, the fact that I would never be anything that mattered to anyone, other than my immediate family. And we all share a certain dysfunction, so we can't really do any damage to each other that hasn't already been done. But to introduce a new life into the mix? An innocent life? The idea was unacceptable. It was too risky, and I couldn't be responsible for infecting a new round of helpless children with the virus of my unhappy childhood. So, I resigned myself to simply continuing to exist until my body ran out of life, and I had accepted that, and I never really thought about it overly much, until recently.

So why would I want things to be different now? Just because I became Orthodox? Why should that matter, considering my original reasons for not wanting to start a family? Do I not care now if I bring children into the world, and that they would be made to suffer? Somehow, by becoming Orthodox, I must have also become more selfish. I'm only thinking of myself and my own loneliness. Who's gonna take care of Ash when he's a lonely old drooling retard? No, that's not the reason why I want a family. I deserve to be a lonely old drooling retard, and that's just fine with me. So maybe continuity has something to do with it? The Davis line will end if I don't continue it. It's up to me, and me alone, to provide the progeny. My brother had his chance when he was married, and he didn't do it then. My sister? No... I think she's not able to have kids. Something got damaged in her when she was fifteen. I don't know what, but I remember her being in agony because of it, so I don't think she's able to have kids anyway... and besides, her kids wouldn't be named Davis. So, is that it? the continuity of the Davis line? Hmmm... well, that's part of it, admittedly, but it doesn't seem like the entire thing. I think that it probably just comes down to plain old selfishness. I want to be normal. I want to fit in at church. I want something in my life that matters. I want, I want, I want! Me me me! But why? Why do I want? What is it about becoming Orthodox that makes me want anything more in my life now than the bare minimum required for sustained existence? Why do I want more now? What do I get out of starting a family? What reason is there for wanting this thing now, when I never did before, and at the possible expense of and detriment to others, which is what I was trying to avoid to begin with by NOT wanting it? There are so many possible reasons...

Maybe it's not as complicated as I'm making it. Maybe it's not so much about being just a selfish bastard. Maybe it's simply because now I actually care about things in a way that I don't quite understand yet. All in all, I think whatever the outcome happens to be, that the ongoing process of all this leans more towards hope than despair.

Wow, I really digressed there. I think my original intent when I started writing was merely to say that last Saturday evening I went to The Main Event in Lewisville with Matt and Olivia. It's an arcade/bowling alley/pool hall/bar/restaurant. We had a couple of beers and played video games, and the thing where you roll the ball up the slope to land it in a hole, and the basketball thing where you try to make hoops, and target shooting, and air hockey, and pool.  At one point I had set my phone down on a drink table to play Galaga, and when I was finished, I turned around to pick it up and the damn thing was gone and that was that. Since then I'd pretty much given it up on any possibility of ever getting it back, but then I found out yesterday that someone had turned it in to the front desk. Yeesh... why won't people just leave other peoples' shit alone? Why does everybody feel compelled to pick up stuff that doesn't belong to them in public places, regardless of whether it's to turn it in to a central location or something, or to just flat out muck it?  If Mr. Rogers had just kept his grubby little do-gooder hands off of my phone, I would have picked it up from the same place I'd set it down ten minutes before, and as a result I would have my phone right now.  Instead, Mr. and Mrs. Joe Schmoe felt it was their personal responsibility as good citizens to insert themselves into my life and create a situation which thusly formed a royal pain in my ass. Olivia did point out that if whoever-the-heck hadn't picked up my phone and turned it in, that somebody might have actually stolen it. Ok, she has a point, and I suppose I should take that into account as their motivation... however, unless somebody just wanted to be randomly vicious for the thrill of it, nobody in their right mind would want to steal my phone, because it's a turd.  However, it's my turd, and I'd appreciate it if people would just let my turds be and leave them lie where they lay.

Anyway. Then we came back to Denton, and on the way back, I found a bottle of Sky Vodka in the back seat. I announced this find to Olivia and Matt, and they were befuddled as to where it came from. This surprised me. How was it that there was a bottle of Sky Vodka in the back seat, but nobody knew about it? I don't know, and neither did they. So, I took a giant swig out of it.

Wash

Oh please let it rain today.
This city is so filthy, like my mind in ways.
Oh, there was a time, like a clean, new taste.
Smiling eyes before me, inches from my face.

Sin to sell, buying just a need.
Just who planted all the devils seeds?
And what the truth, the truth that lies at home.
It's on the inside, and I can't get it off.

What's clean is pure, but hey,
I'm white on the outside, though I stray.
What she don't know today
Might kill us both tomorrow, bring it back someway.

Bring it back, bring it back.
Back to the clean form, to the pure form.

Wash my love.
Wash my love.
Wash my love.
Wash my love.
Wash my love.
Wash my love.
Wash my love.
Wash my love.

Mucho joyo

My friend Les tracked me down and called me a few weeks ago.  Les was one of my buddies from the old East Texas and Austin days, from '91 through '94.  We used to do so much drinking and partying back in those days, along with an inordinately stupid amount of ecstasy and cocaine, with acid and mushrooms thrown in for variety.  We lived in the Austin sub-culture of weirdos back then, along with Clint and my sister and her boyfriend.  We were all roommates, and Les and I were just about as close as two friends can be.  We were brothers back then, and we were also just stupid kids, trying to figure out what life was about, trying to enjoy our youth while we had it.  Les' behavior bordered on self destructive a lot of the time when we were roommates together in Austin, and he did the most drugs out of all of us.  It was an attempt to bury the pain of his guilt, I think.

When Les was was 15 he shot his best friend in the face with a shotgun and killed him.  It was an accident.  They were both getting ready to go camping, and Les decided play a joke on his friend by scaring him with the shotgun that they were taking with them.  Les snuck up behind his friend and tapped him on the shoulder, and when he turned around, Les pointed the shotgun at his face and pulled the trigger.  Les had meant to 'get him back', as his friend had just pulled the same joke on Les a few minutes before with the unloaded gun, and Les had assumed that it was still unloaded. He didn't know that his friend had since loaded the shotgun. 

Les was put on probabtion for second degree manslaughter, and he spent several years in prison for not showing up to meetings with his probation officer.  I think he purposefully put himself through the prison system as an attempt at atonement.  He rarely ever talked about what happened, but he confided in me once about it when we were tripping on ecstasy back in '94 at a dance club in Austin, and he described the entire incident to me in detail.  When he had finished relating it all to me, he said, "And you know what, man?  I'm not sorry for it.  Not one bit."  I knew that was just wishful thinking though, and the drugs talking. 

Les used to keep a .22 rifle in the trunk of his car, and one afternoon at his house, when we were getting ready to go somewhere or do something, he was rummaging through his trunk and he pulled out out the rifle.  He put the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger, and when it clicked, he laughed.  I laughed too, thinking that it had been a joke that he'd planned, and then he said, "Hell man, I didn't know if the damn thing was loaded."  Then he laughed again and put the rifle back in the trunk, and we went on with what we were doing and nobody mentioned it again.

Right before Les went to prison for the second time, he told me that he had decided to kill himself, but Johnny Law had caught up with him before he could formulate a plan.  I guess that saved his life.  Now he's living in Vermont and is married with a four year old boy.  I never imagined that Les would wind up married and with a kid, and it came as a complete surprise when he told me about it.  I think he's achieved some measure of peace in his life now.  He says he's a practicing Buddhist. 

When he called, he asked me how I was doing, and I don't know why, but I started spilling my guts about how unhappy I am.  I was surprised that I was saying all of that to him, as I usually keep my feelings buried down deep and don't express them to anyone.  Maybe it was because I've gotten used to confessing my despair to Fr. Justin... heck, I even spouted it all over facebook several weeks ago, after which I was terribly embarrassed and wished that I could have just erased that from happening.  Anyway, as we were talking it all came tumbling out, and I thought, 'Way to go, Ash.  You haven't seen or spoken to Les in six years, and the first thing you do is start unloading all this crap on him about how your life sucks.'

I felt embarrassed again.  Somehow I felt as though I didn't deserve to be feeling bad around Les, and that it was a selfish, ugly thing and a horrible indulgence that I had no right to.  I felt embarrassed confessing to him that I had 'joined the Orthodox Christians', as I put it to Les.  Back in our drug addled party days, we had been brothers in atheism, and I felt as if I were betraying our friendship of old.  I felt stupid, and slow, like a slug, and ugly, for trying explain to Les my effort to find comfort clinging desperately to a fairy tale.  That's not how it is, but it's how I felt at the time.  Just wretched and miserable about my Christianity.  It's funny how certain people unnerve me for different reasons and in different ways.  All of that was my own failing and weakness though, because Les doesn't see me that way.  He said, "Oh, the Russian Orthodox?  Yeah, I know them.  Buddhists have a lot in common with those desert monks." 

Les has changed a lot.  He doesn't do drugs anymore, and he seems a lot happier just from talking to him, and I still can't get over the fact that he has a wife and a kid now.  When he described to me how they met and decided to get married, I said, "You make it sound so easy."  And he did make it sound so easy, like it just fell in his lap.  It's funny how marriage and family is something I never cared about, or even wanted remotely, until recently.  I wonder why I feel so differently about it now.  Sometimes I think it's because God is trying to temper me with the pain of being alone, so that I can prepare for a monastic life.  Maybe it's also because I'm not worthy of anything good right now, and the only way to get me to actually make the effort to become a better, more worthy person is by luring me down the narrow, righteous path with the idea of marriage as the reward, much like how God used the girl to lead me to the Church.  I didn't get the girl, but I got the Church, and I won't get married, but I'll get salvation?  It's a hard possibility to accept, but it might be the truth of things.  Then again, I'm not really trying right now, so what business do I have to actually want companionship and love and a familiy, when I'd probably just screw it all up with my unworthy state of perpetual sin?  I don't know.  I'm too hard on myself a lot of the time. 

Anyway.  Since Les and I have been back in touch, he's left several little encouraging messages on my facebook page, things like 'I love you brother' and 'Mucho joyo, my lovely man'.  He's the best friend anyone could ever ask for, and I miss him.

He also happens to be an amazing poet.  He wrote this for me the other day.

as it happens just like so
this and that are these alone
a whytherefor with where to go
when as it is you never know
so we only as if though
in the least and for the most
in this very all along
altogether and so on
as such in such into so forth
however much and furthermore
with none the less in as of yet
like somenothing to forget
until maybe eventhough
an if and when if not also
where there and then somewhen will come
after awhile into the from
since all there is no matter how
is as it is as of now
and afterwords as from before
an after all with something more
or less


theofallings
the of All ings
the very meaning of the dream

Whew

I'm back to paying all of the bills again, and it's been worrying me to death.  I'm late with the rent this month and won't have the other half until I get paid next week, and even then I won't have all of it.  I just talked to the landlord, and he said he was letting everybody slide with late fees because the economy is so dire and everyone is having such hard financial times.  He said not to worry about it.  That's a heckuva relief.   

Fr. Justin gave me something to read by St. Theophan the Recluse - that we are where God wants us and no more is required of us.

Tidbits of late

 The other day I was outside sweeping the front of the store near the entrance.  I had a cigarette sitting in the ash tray on top of the trash can.  A young guy, looked like a college kid, walked up and stopped, looked at my cigarette, and picked it up and walked off.  I said, "Hey, that was my..." he stopped and looked at me.  "...cigarette, but I guess you can have it."  He turned and walked away.

The UNT paper did a write up about the photos of shoplifters from the security cameras that Chiy posts on the windows.  The gist of it was how the photos are a deterrent, because it's embarrassing to have your photo posted there for everyone to see, of you stealing something paltry like a beer or a candy bar.  They came in and interviewed me, and I told them about how I've chased shoplifters.  Most recently, a guy who picked up a 24 pack of water that was sitting outside and waltzed off with it.  I chased him down to Fry St. and he took off into the small field on the corner of Oak and Fry, then disappeared into the bushes.  He dropped the water and I picked it up.  I also told them about how I chased one guy who just walked off without paying for the cigarettes I'd just given him, another who stole a candy bar and threw it under a car when he saw me running after him, and a gas drive off, back when we used to set the pumps before people payed.  They got a real kick out of that and wrote it up in their article.

Last night I did a pencil rubbing of the raised dinosaur logo on the front of my Jurassic Park novel.  I showed it to this girl who came in and told her that I hadn't done a pencil rubbing since I was a kid.  We talked about how the book was far better than the movie, but the movie was still fun.  She stood there with the pencil rubbing in her hand and was quiet for a few seconds, and said, "Is this mine?"  I told her that it was, and she said she was going to hang it on her refrigerator.

The guy who I yelled at a couple of months ago finally came back in the other day.  I'd been hoping he would, because I've felt terrible about it ever since.  When he came up to my register, I told him how sorry I was and how awful I've been feeling.  He apologized too (we were both rude bastards that day) and we shook hands.

Last night Olivia told me that I had to come to the rock star dress up party.  It's on a Friday now, next Friday, so I guess I don't have any excuse not to go.  I'll have to ask Matt for the car, though.

Ellie came into the store yesterday for the first time in ages.  Yesterday she had art supplies with her, and I asked her if she was taking art classes.  She said yeah, that she was taking design.  I told her that I had an art degree, and that she'd better watch out or she'd wind up working at 7-Eleven. 

Another guy came in and bought a can of Barbasol shaving cream.  I told him that he'd better be careful with it, because it might have dinosaur embryos inside.  I advised him that he should stick it in the freezer immediately when he got home.  He looked at me like I was retarded.  I guess he never saw Jurassic Park.

My e-book reader came in today!  I haven't been this excited in years!  It came with a King James Study Bible, another Holman Bible, and some Bible studies.  Wow.  And some other books... The Fishing Trip - A Ghost Story, Full Blooded Fantasy, The Zen Experience, and several titles in what look like German and French.  One by Peter De Vries. That's gotta be a joke or something (if you've read Dune, you'll understand). 

It's a little smaller than a paperback, and about half an inch wide.  The text looks like it's printed on the screen, as opposed to the constituent glowing pixels of an LCD screen.  I loves it :) 

And the angel said to him...

Getting me an e-book reader, FINALLY

Whew!  I just ordered an e-book reader, a Sony pocket reader.

Yee Haw

I looked at all kinds of different ones - I-Pad, Kindle, Nook, Kobo, Papyrus, Libre, etc. - and most of them come with all of these bells and whistles, like Wi-Fi internet, extensive online marketplace stores, ability to play mp3's and avi's, Android 2.4 with Flash support, color LCD screens, and all the stuff that comes with a tablet PC or an I-Pad.  I don't remember any of the paperbacks I've read ever doing any of that stuff, so the one I ordered is bare bones, as far as e-book readers go.  It's about the size of an actual book, it's got a 5 inch E-Ink screen, it's black and white, and it doesn't connect to any internet.  But that's what I want, and the battery will last for months on one charge.  It will also hold about 350 books.

Most of those other e-book readers, like the Kindle and the Nook, cost anywhere from 150 to 350 bucks, so I'm happy that I only paid 72 bucks for this one.

I can't wait!  Estimated delivery date is the 28th.

Ow, again.

The super garlic pills Chey gave me were working for my toothaches, so I stopped taking them and now the pain is right back where it was before.  It's a full blown headache now, and it feels like my skull is gonna crack open.  I thought I'd be able to deal with it at vigil, but singing was making it hurt even worse and I had to leave early tonight.  So, it's back on the super garlic.  I'm amazed at how well it worked - I just stopped taking it too soon.

I'm going to lie down now and see if this cocktail of ibuprofen, naproxen sodium, acetaminophen, and aspirin will do anything.

Here's what happened tonight right after work

Tonight Matt (the guy I work with) brought me a care package when he arrived to pick up Olivia at the end of the shift (he and Olivia and Stephen are all roommates) - Season 1 and 2 of Metalocalypse; an animated series about science fiction death metal headbangers, a book; 'On The Road' by Jack Kerouac, and one other item.  Lately Matt has been letting me borrow some of his books now and then, which I think is super cool.  I've never seen Metalocalypse or read the Jack Kerouac book, so I'll have something to do tomorrow on my day off.  I might even walk around tonight and read it.  It's a nice night... just perfect for Book Walking, actually.

So anywho, about the other item.  For the past week I've been playing music on my mp3 player at work, and Tuesday, when I came out of the cooler after stocking it, Olivia had it pressed up to her ear while she was fronting and facing and making coffee and sweeping and mopping.  She kept it for most of the day, listening to my music selection and every now and then commenting on a specific song.  So tonight, along with the DVD's and the book, Matt had also brought a little pair of portable speakers for hooking up to an mp3 player, brand new and still in the plastic packaging.  Olivia grabbed it and handed it to me and said, "Here, I bought you a present!  I forgot to take it with me to work today, so I had Matt bring it with him tonight.  These should work better than that styrofoam cup you've had taped to your mp3 player for the past week." 

She had bought me a pair of external speakers for my little mp3 player.  I was just completely taken aback.  It always takes me by complete surprise when somebody does something so nice for me, completely out of the blue.  Olivia is a real sweetie.  After I got over the awesomeness of the moment, I thanked her and gave her a hug and thanked her again and went on about how thoughtful it was and what a sweetie she was, and gave her another hug.  Then I found a pair of scissors and opened the package, put some batteries in it, and hooked it up to my mp3 player.  I started it playing, and we all gathered around (me and Stephen and Matt and Shaq and Olivia) and listened to my new little speakers.

Peek-a-boob

Today I was checking this girl and she started fussing with the front of her shirt, as if she had something in there that she was trying to procure... a wallet?  Money?  A debit card?  Cigarettes?  A gun?  Just scratching her boobs, plain and simple?  The t-shirt she was wearing was casual and loose, and as she fussed around with it, she actually pulled her boob right out and let it sit there for several seconds, fully exposed, plain as day, like a single solitary secret searchlight just staring right at me as she dug around more deeply in the depths of her shirt for whatever it was that was eluding her.  As far as I know, she never found it, whatever it was.  Maybe she was just airing those things out.  Maybe she was giving me a sneak peek, like the episode with that other girl several months ago.  It's a weird thing about 7-Eleven... a surprising amount of nudity tends to occur there.

Early morning liturgy

Dax texted me last night while I was at work, asking me if I could come in at 7:00 this morning and read for the liturgy.  I really should start doing that on my own... anywho.  So I got up early and walked to the church at about 6:30.  It was a pleasant walk.  Nobody was out and about yet, and the streets were quiet and still.  It was nice and cool outside, and the sun hadn't come up yet, so when I got to the church the atmosphere was the way I like it - dark and candlelit and silent.  After I received a blessing from Fr. Justin, I waited in the choir nook until it was time to start reading the hours.  Just before that, Fr. Justin and I briefly went over the two troparia and the kontakion for the hours, and also the epistle for the prokeimenon reading.  Hopes were high that I wouldn't mangle anything this time.

By the time I had finished reading the hours, Louise and I were the only parishioners who had shown up, so I was a one man choir this morning.  As I was reading, I was actually kind of hoping that no other choir members would appear, as I wanted to experience what it was like to sing the entire liturgy by myself.  Well, I got my wish, and my voice held out fine through the whole thing because I sang the melody instead of tenor.  That was a relief, because to me, singing tenor for an hour is the same as trying to lift weights with my voice.  Also, since I was the only person singing, my goof ups didn't result in the usual exponential cascade of chaos among the other choir members.

I did get ahead of myself a couple of times, and Fr. Justin had to get me started on a couple of the tones, and  I was late walking up to the altar before the epistle reading, and I got flustered at the beginning and couldn't find the right page, and I only read half of the first line of the prokeimenon, and I read the wrong 'alleluia' at the end of it, and I forgot what I was doing during the middle of one of the litanies, but other than those nitpicks, things went fairly smoothly.

Afterward I went to CopyPro and printed up all of the tones onto little 4 x 5 note cards.  I know all of the tones by ear and I can sing them when either Dax or Fr. Justin starts off with the melody, but trying to memorize which tone is which puts a dangerous strain on my left brain.  Plus, the tones are referred to by number, and as far as I'm concerned, that's math.  Math is also dangerous to my brain.

I'm going to make a little book out of them and carry them with me everywhere, and hopefully they'll sink in eventually.

Extraordinary. Fantastic. Awesome. Gargantuan. Fantabulous. Scrumtrulescent. Frikin Amazing.

Semi-random thoughts about memory

I can remember each phase of my life that I've considered happy - when it started, how long it lasted, and when it ended.  There have been six so far: 

1. The high school band marching seasons of '87 and '88 (state marching band competitions).

2. The spring and summer of '93 (constant partying with my sister and friends) and on through the entire year of '94 (my first year in Austin on my own and living with roommates).

3. The spring of '96 to the spring of '97 (my friendship and relationship with Lorraine).

4. The summer of 2000 (my first semester at the Art Institute).

5. The fall of 2001 through the summer of 2002 (when Laura was living with me).

6. The spring of 2008 until the autumn of 2009 (a year into my life reboot after giving up poppy seeds and pain pills, then beginning my job at 7-Eleven, and my relationship with Leah, before things started to decay in earnest). 

Everything before, in and around, and after those specific phases ranged from ho-hum (most of the time), moderately depressing (frequently), or just downright horrible (rare, but awful... things such as heartache, my mom and dads divorce, feelings of extreme isolation, and full blown addiction).

It's interesting to note that the best period of my life, the spring of '08 through the fall of '09, occurred immediately after the worst, which began in early 2003 and lasted until the middle of 2007 - four solid years of constant drug use almost every day, feelings of hopelessness, and suicidal thoughts.  During that time, I believed that my life was pretty much over, and that the only thing I had to live for or look forward to was getting high the next day.  I may think that things are bad now, but I still marvel that my life is what it is, compared to what it was then.

Memory is a weird thing, especially when it's triggered by an association, such as a smell or a sound.  Mostly it's smells and sounds which trigger specific memories in me, and usually they are nostalgic memories of a past time in my life which was important in some way; sometimes bad and sometimes good.  It's remarkable when these associations take me by surprise, which is what happened today.

Recently I found an old mp3 player that had been lost since 2007, so I loaded some music onto it to listen to while I was in the cooler today at work.  I was digging through my old spare hard drive and came across an MC Chris album which I haven't listened to in a long time, since early 2009.  At the time I had really enjoyed it because it was so funny, so I thought, why not? and I loaded it onto the mp3 player. 

Today when I was in the cooler, I put on my headphones and started with Soundgarden.  That went by, and Asia was next.  Then MC Chris started, and when it did, I was immediately hit with a powerful rush of memories.  Oh wow, those days, when I first worked at 7-Eleven, it all came rushing back to me with the first few beats of the first song on that album.  Leah was a brand new friend, and the emotion that accompanies the memory of those days was omniscient.  Along with that feeling I also remembered that I'd used to like to tease her by playing and singing along with an MC Chris song called Fett's Vette (that song isn't on the album I was listening to, but that playful teasing was the first specific memory that erupted into my brain).  I had to stop for a moment as the emotions of nostalgia washed over me - it was so fun back then, and Leah and I had just begun to think of each other as more than friends, and the idea of church was a new and curious thing to me, and I was ignorant and happy, and all that mattered was the moment, and the moment was full of promise.

Ow.

Now I remember clearly why I started taking pain pills to begin with, back in '99.  Tooth.  Hurts.  Teeth actually.  Two of them.  They hurt almost all the time now.  Acetaminophen and ibuprofen help, as well as aspirin and naproxen sodium, but only for up to an hour or two, and sometimes not at all.  Oragel actually provides some relief, but only for up to half an hour at the most.  I've been going through a tube of oragel every two days, and it's getting expensive, at almost ten bucks a tube.  Dental work will be pricey too... Oh well.  At least I'm not stuck on a deserted island.  I was kind of wishing the other day that I had an ice skate handy, though... 

I've got a little money saved, and hope to have a thousand dollars in a few months.  I was planning on saving up for a new place, but I need to get something done about my teeth.  I was also thinking about buying some dental insurance and using that to cover about half of the cost of some dental work, and paying the rest out over time.  I've done that before.  I'll need major work... at least two extractions, I think, and maybe one crown and several fillings.  Maybe a root canal.  I dunno if I'm going to worry about bridge work after the extractions.  I've had it done before, but heck, I'm thinking that I can get some sculpey and just make my own tooth.  Why not?  I don't need no stinkin' dentist to charge me thousands of dollars for a couple of replacement teeth, when it would be more fun and would cost me practically nothing to make my own.  I could make fangs, even.  Or I could embed jewels in them, or coat them with a shiny black glaze, or tie dye them, or whatever the heck I wanted to do with them.  Getting them to stay in place will be the trick... what's that stuff they use for dentures?  Maybe a piece of bubble gum?  Or I could just make them so that they fit tightly, with some kind of texture that holds them against my other teeth, like rubber or something.  I'll figure it out, I'm smart.

Part of the day

I went to the Howdy Doody about an hour ago, and the inside of the car was warm.  I drove around for a bit after that and turned on the AC, but it was blowing out hot air.  Matt had turned up the heat.  It's been a little cooler lately, and yesterday it was almost chilly when I took my walk.  Matt is working long days again, and he walks to the bus station which takes him into Dallas to the job site.  When he was telling me about his new job the other night, I mentioned the park and ride, that he could just drive the car to the bus station, but he said he would just leave it at home so I could use it. 

When I got back I started watching a BBC documentary about Hiroshima.  It consisted of interviews with the crew of the Enola Gay, and an assortment of Japanese survivors.  When I'm by myself, I tend to get pretty emotional about things, and the stories of those people choked me up.  Then I heard thunder outside, so I got up to take a look at the weather.  It had clouded over since I got back, and it was sprinkling.  I saw that the neighbor across the street had also decided to check out the weather, as he was standing on his front porch and taking it in.  I moved out to the old Escort and leaned against the back of it and let the rain sprinkle on me.  I looked around at things... to see if there were any other people, I think, and also to just take in the moment, because I love this kind of weather.  A few cars drove past and I wondered what they were up to on this day, in this weather.  A few houses down somebody got into their car and started it and left.  Somebody else rode by on a bike and hollered at the guy on the porch across the street. 

I looked at the trees directly in front of me, in the yard of the house across the street, and realized that I'd never properly noticed them before.  One is a tall and of the pine variety, with very few branches until about two thirds of the way up, where they all suddenly seem to sprout.  They looked like they were reaching out for the rain, all those spiky pine needles, thrust in every direction to catch the drops as they fell.  Another tree beside it is of the deciduous variety, and a little bit shorter.  A bush a few houses down on the left had pink flowers on it.  In the yard of my neighbor to the immediate left, there is a tree which leans toward the north somewhat.  I focused on the branches and imagined them without leaves, and then marveled at how much form those thin little wisps give to the tree. 

There are so many things in life that I never even notice, little wondrous things.  Before this minute, I couldn't have told anyone about that pine tree across the street.  I didn't even know it existed, but I've lived in close proximity with it for the past four years.  Four years of not even noticing another living thing that I shared air and rain and space with.  I marveled in a form of quiet fascination and dismay at my own ego and self centeredness.

Later I was back in the house and it was dark because of the storm that moved in.  In the hallway, it was silent.  The air conditioners are all turned off today.  It was just dark, and silent, and then the thunder rolled again, gently, and muffled.  Nothing moved, and all was silent except for fading sound of the distant thunder.  In the still half-light of the hall, I realized at that moment that peace isn't something you ever attain, it's just something you experience now and then.