I think I saw your car today. I was working and not really paying attention to each car that I walked past a hundred times. At once, I was both excited and scared shitless. I've resigned myself to the idea that there isn't going to be any opportunities to fix any of this. I've resigned myself to leaving it be. I hadn't quite had the time or mental faculty to prepare myself for a chance meeting. The initial smile that found its way to my face, found itself an exit just as quickly. It was replaced by the feeling of some internal organ, more than likely my stomach or my dysfunctional pancreas, descending rapidly into my calves or ankles.
How does this work again? I mean, I have every desire to be an adult about this. Smile and nod, be kind and gentle in any speaking lines I may be given. But when answers are muddled, "misjudged", mistaken and few and far between...it's hard to be anything but a sulking, blank-eyed version of a guy who looks exactly like me. The people at work ask me if I'm okay. I can't particularly answer them with anything but a shrug. Granted, that might have something to do with losing my voice at the game this weekend.
Speaking of, at least four people asked me where you were on Saturday. I'm sure they all had assumed that by this point in time, I was able to properly indoctrinate you with the love of Purple & Gold, all the LSU fight songs, and a rabid desire for jambalya, crawfish pie and filé gumbo. I guess I haven't gotten around to spreading the news of how your trip to New York and my trip to Key West somehow caused an existential crisis, or in the very least, a re-evaluation. It's nothing more than unfortunate that in this instance, as my luck would have it, distance made the heart grow full of more distance, not any amalgamation of fondness.
After all of that, the car in question was not the one you own. It was the same color. But I think it had four doors. I guess I didn't know you long enough to bother making that distinction. Also, I think the bumper sticker on this one said something about being straight, married and supporting gay marriage. I nodded in approval.
I've been thinking about your, shall I say, obsession with a certain movie about a broken relationship. And not the fact that The Temper Trap song is both beautifully haunting and, now, completely aggravating for me to listen to. I think what sits so poorly with me about that movie is your insistence that your life follows the female lead character arc displayed in the plot. What is even worse is when you compared me to the male lead. I've been there. I've been broken and depressed, drunk constantly and habitually sad. I don't want that. I didn't want that again. I catch myself there again from time to time. Granted, I never had a dance number for you involving a Hall & Oates tune and a live-action/animation sequence, but maybe I just didn't luck out and get the time. However, you do realize she's the one who ends up happy at the end of the movie right? I mean, I sincerely hope that for you...that you find happiness. I do. But I feel like you have it jumbled. Like she's the one who bounces through life unattached. That's not it though. She gets the ring. He meets the cute girl at the end too, but that is more of a suspension tactic as opposed to actual resolution....and he still got stuck in the depths of emotional hell in the meantime.
Maybe that's my problem (one of many, you say?). Resolution. It still sticks out at me like a sore thumb every now and again that I never saw my last foray into relationships resolve. Just end abruptly. And now again. It's not as if I have any inclination that its not at least half my fault. Simply, that knowing any small detail of how this just magically slipped away quicker than it came might help my aforementioned mental faculties. For instance, the detail that helped me arrive at some sort of stability over the last year, was the the previous girl I happened to date ended up back with her ex. The ex whom she had lunch with merely a week before she dropped everything, including me. It's those sort of details that lend the air of resolution to matters such as this.
Still think I should start blogging again?
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Haven't We Been Here Before?
Ever feel like you've been progressing in a certain direction for the longest time, even proud of the distances you've covered, only to notice a small landmark or sign that proves you are merely right back where you began? Running in circles seems to be what I was cut out to do.
I ran track in high school....and that is simply an ellipses. I've circled around a few cities before landing in Nashville. And would I be posting this if I hadn't been "circled" by girls over the recent past?
It was almost exactly a year ago (give or take a day for Leap Year...I think), that I perceived my world was turned completely over and all life essences drained out. Sometimes, I still don't think I have any clue what the hell happened to me. Life seemed quite good at the time, and then....POW! No more. Who knows?
I did learn some important lessons over the months after "The Ordeal". My friends and family are invaluable. Absolutely all of them. There wasn't a single person's concern for my mental and emotional well-being that went unnoticed. I leaned very hard on a select few and they stood square with shoulders of solid steel. If I haven't gotten around to thanking you personally and profusely, then "Thank You!" Not that anyone is reading this (which makes it the perfect place to say such things without getting all sappy).
So a year has passed. I am nearly older, not much wiser and still I feel as though I am back where I started that whole process. Boy meets girl, boy likes girl, girl has questionable feelings for boy and splits at the very mention of certain words. When I'm happy, it's as though I emit a particularly foul odor and it is a signal for all interested parties to evacuate my immediate area, as not to allow my head to settle into a pattern of enjoyment. And all I have to show for it is a furrowed brow, a frown and a bunch of run-on sentences.
Nobody likes "Mopey Chris". I don't like "Mopey Chris". It is, however, hard to rid myself of that personality trait when I am oblivious to what it is that I have/had done. And harder still when whiskey is involved. Those of you (who still aren't reading this) that have experienced this distinct mood swing know full well of what I type. And for that, as well, I am sorry.
All of this was much more pointed and planned out when I thought of posting this morning. A whole day's worth of nonsense and self-pity tend to jumble my creative wires pretty good.
Anyway....all of this rambling to point out I've chased another one off. I really like her. She doesn't feel that way any more. So if any of you, at a point in the more immediate future, wonder to yourselves [or even aloud]: "Hey. Where is that Chris guy we hang out with every once in a while?" I am at home. You are welcome to come over. I guarantee I will not be great company. But I will appreciate the spontaneous nature of your visit.
I ran track in high school....and that is simply an ellipses. I've circled around a few cities before landing in Nashville. And would I be posting this if I hadn't been "circled" by girls over the recent past?
It was almost exactly a year ago (give or take a day for Leap Year...I think), that I perceived my world was turned completely over and all life essences drained out. Sometimes, I still don't think I have any clue what the hell happened to me. Life seemed quite good at the time, and then....POW! No more. Who knows?
I did learn some important lessons over the months after "The Ordeal". My friends and family are invaluable. Absolutely all of them. There wasn't a single person's concern for my mental and emotional well-being that went unnoticed. I leaned very hard on a select few and they stood square with shoulders of solid steel. If I haven't gotten around to thanking you personally and profusely, then "Thank You!" Not that anyone is reading this (which makes it the perfect place to say such things without getting all sappy).
So a year has passed. I am nearly older, not much wiser and still I feel as though I am back where I started that whole process. Boy meets girl, boy likes girl, girl has questionable feelings for boy and splits at the very mention of certain words. When I'm happy, it's as though I emit a particularly foul odor and it is a signal for all interested parties to evacuate my immediate area, as not to allow my head to settle into a pattern of enjoyment. And all I have to show for it is a furrowed brow, a frown and a bunch of run-on sentences.
Nobody likes "Mopey Chris". I don't like "Mopey Chris". It is, however, hard to rid myself of that personality trait when I am oblivious to what it is that I have/had done. And harder still when whiskey is involved. Those of you (who still aren't reading this) that have experienced this distinct mood swing know full well of what I type. And for that, as well, I am sorry.
All of this was much more pointed and planned out when I thought of posting this morning. A whole day's worth of nonsense and self-pity tend to jumble my creative wires pretty good.
Anyway....all of this rambling to point out I've chased another one off. I really like her. She doesn't feel that way any more. So if any of you, at a point in the more immediate future, wonder to yourselves [or even aloud]: "Hey. Where is that Chris guy we hang out with every once in a while?" I am at home. You are welcome to come over. I guarantee I will not be great company. But I will appreciate the spontaneous nature of your visit.
Monday, August 23, 2010
I Needed This.
Americans are generally thought of as a lazy bunch by our friends around the world.
This week, I plan to fully embody that stereotype. I don't even mind.
I needed this vacation. Smitten as I am with my life as it currently is in Nashville, and one person in particular, I needed this. I will claim a rough past year as the necessary premise for my need. It is hard to be on a rollercoaster and not throw up....regardless if the rollercoaster is literal or figurative. A friend told me a few weeks ago that it was good to see me smile again, and to paraphrase the rest of the conversation, he didn't think he could handle me being that far down again. It feels good to smile again.
That being said, I can feel how positively affecting this has been already, to this point. I was lucky enough to witness, and be a part of, my dear friends' wedding. Congrats to Barb & Dave! The rest of this trip will be spent going with the flow. No particular plans. No scheduled activities. Just enjoying hanging out with great friends in a great city.
I don't think I fully understood or believed the hype about Key West until I got here. It is a pretty special place. Tourist-y? Sure. But immensely fun, nonetheless. I've been documenting the trip on facebook. I'll continue to do that. Here goes the rest of it.
This week, I plan to fully embody that stereotype. I don't even mind.
I needed this vacation. Smitten as I am with my life as it currently is in Nashville, and one person in particular, I needed this. I will claim a rough past year as the necessary premise for my need. It is hard to be on a rollercoaster and not throw up....regardless if the rollercoaster is literal or figurative. A friend told me a few weeks ago that it was good to see me smile again, and to paraphrase the rest of the conversation, he didn't think he could handle me being that far down again. It feels good to smile again.
That being said, I can feel how positively affecting this has been already, to this point. I was lucky enough to witness, and be a part of, my dear friends' wedding. Congrats to Barb & Dave! The rest of this trip will be spent going with the flow. No particular plans. No scheduled activities. Just enjoying hanging out with great friends in a great city.
I don't think I fully understood or believed the hype about Key West until I got here. It is a pretty special place. Tourist-y? Sure. But immensely fun, nonetheless. I've been documenting the trip on facebook. I'll continue to do that. Here goes the rest of it.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
"A Special Kind of Asshole"
Yes, fair reading public, I am back. Truth is, I never left. It simply took a special combination of laziness and disinterest to have kept me from blogging for nearly 20 months. At the prodding of a particular person, I have thought about writing ever so slightly more. After reading this, you might regret it...as will she.
I told myself years ago that I didn't want to work in retail ever again. I was burned out on the grind. The lack of days off (specifically weekends), the customers and their inability to be courteous or considerate or even basically decent representations of human beings. I managed to escape the retail world for a number of years, although that doesn't mean I was able to escape assholes altogether [They're everywhere]. It was nice. I even took to online shopping as to avoid crowds and certain types of individuals. This was more than likely equal parts social anxiety and curmudgeonry.
I'm not [necessarily] a misanthrope. I'm also by no means excessively exuberant. I consider myself well-balanced in emotional output. This hasn't always been the case, but that is an entirely different and probably much longer post.
For the last 9 weeks or so, I have been back in the purgatory that is retail commerce. Working for a certain Membership-based warehouse (that isn't affiliated with Wal-Mart) has been challenging and difficult. Physically more than mentally to this point. But as a friend keeps reiterating: "It is all means to an end." Most of our customers are well-to-do, but that doesn't mean we don't see our share of peopleofwalmart.com rejects. All are equally frustrating to deal with.
It is here that I would like to break with the traditional narrative style and enter the rest of my argument as a direct and open letter to "our members".
- - - - - - -
Dear Members,
I hope this letter finds you well. Or at least moderately functional, since we only have four motorized carts for our differently abled members. And I know how pissy you all get when they are in use by some other lard-ass that is too lazy to walk, much less diet.
I am writing to you today to discuss an appalling trend in our warehouses across the nation. It seems that, having paid for your little plastic membership card, you now feel entitled to do some if not all of the following:
- Drive 84mph through the parking lot. It is a parking lot, not the Indy 500.
- Stand in front of the row of carts while rummaging through your belongings for the aforementioned piece of plastic. You are in the way. Plain and simple. Get your card before you get out of your car.
- Get overtly angry that you happen to not be the only person shopping in a bulk-item warehouse on this particular (or any other) day, and now you must wait in line to purchase your 55 gallon drum of Duke's Mayonnaise. Relax. You saw how many cars were in the parking lot. You knew what you were getting into.
- Make the comment: "Wow. You guys are slow today." You just fucking jinxed us, asshole. Now these lines are going to fill up like a tanning salon with sorority girls on Spring Break.
- Make the comment: "Wow. It's hot today, huh?" No shit. It's summer in the south. What? Did you expect to see a guy pushing carts in a parka in the middle of August?
- Actually, just you making any comment is more than likely guaranteed to ruin any semblance of a good day I may have been in line to have.
- A family meal does not consist of "3 Chicken-Bakes, 4 Churros, 3 slices of pepperoni pizza, 2 swirled frozen yogurt cups and 2 vanilla frozen yogurt cups with 'that berry stuff on top'." Why don't you just go ahead and start injecting your children with arterial plaque now and hope for a painless death.
- Yes. I would mind helping you load your items into your car.
- There are 8 cart corrals for your convenience. It is never more than a 50ft walk to one of them from where you parked your car. Don't be that special kind of asshole that rams the cart up onto the medians. Or the kind that parks all the way out by the periphery in an attempt to relish that sliver of shade from the undersized tree you parked next to, only to leave your cart crammed into the grass. I'm the guy who has to go get that cart. I don't want to walk out there anymore than your fat-ass.
Sincerely,
Disgruntled Cart-Pusher
- - - - - - -
There are probably a million more things I could complain about. Strangely, having written some of them down seems to have taken some of the vitriol out of my veins. For now.
Still want to read this?
I told myself years ago that I didn't want to work in retail ever again. I was burned out on the grind. The lack of days off (specifically weekends), the customers and their inability to be courteous or considerate or even basically decent representations of human beings. I managed to escape the retail world for a number of years, although that doesn't mean I was able to escape assholes altogether [They're everywhere]. It was nice. I even took to online shopping as to avoid crowds and certain types of individuals. This was more than likely equal parts social anxiety and curmudgeonry.
I'm not [necessarily] a misanthrope. I'm also by no means excessively exuberant. I consider myself well-balanced in emotional output. This hasn't always been the case, but that is an entirely different and probably much longer post.
For the last 9 weeks or so, I have been back in the purgatory that is retail commerce. Working for a certain Membership-based warehouse (that isn't affiliated with Wal-Mart) has been challenging and difficult. Physically more than mentally to this point. But as a friend keeps reiterating: "It is all means to an end." Most of our customers are well-to-do, but that doesn't mean we don't see our share of peopleofwalmart.com rejects. All are equally frustrating to deal with.
It is here that I would like to break with the traditional narrative style and enter the rest of my argument as a direct and open letter to "our members".
- - - - - - -
Dear Members,
I hope this letter finds you well. Or at least moderately functional, since we only have four motorized carts for our differently abled members. And I know how pissy you all get when they are in use by some other lard-ass that is too lazy to walk, much less diet.
I am writing to you today to discuss an appalling trend in our warehouses across the nation. It seems that, having paid for your little plastic membership card, you now feel entitled to do some if not all of the following:
- Drive 84mph through the parking lot. It is a parking lot, not the Indy 500.
- Stand in front of the row of carts while rummaging through your belongings for the aforementioned piece of plastic. You are in the way. Plain and simple. Get your card before you get out of your car.
- Get overtly angry that you happen to not be the only person shopping in a bulk-item warehouse on this particular (or any other) day, and now you must wait in line to purchase your 55 gallon drum of Duke's Mayonnaise. Relax. You saw how many cars were in the parking lot. You knew what you were getting into.
- Make the comment: "Wow. You guys are slow today." You just fucking jinxed us, asshole. Now these lines are going to fill up like a tanning salon with sorority girls on Spring Break.
- Make the comment: "Wow. It's hot today, huh?" No shit. It's summer in the south. What? Did you expect to see a guy pushing carts in a parka in the middle of August?
- Actually, just you making any comment is more than likely guaranteed to ruin any semblance of a good day I may have been in line to have.
- A family meal does not consist of "3 Chicken-Bakes, 4 Churros, 3 slices of pepperoni pizza, 2 swirled frozen yogurt cups and 2 vanilla frozen yogurt cups with 'that berry stuff on top'." Why don't you just go ahead and start injecting your children with arterial plaque now and hope for a painless death.
- Yes. I would mind helping you load your items into your car.
- There are 8 cart corrals for your convenience. It is never more than a 50ft walk to one of them from where you parked your car. Don't be that special kind of asshole that rams the cart up onto the medians. Or the kind that parks all the way out by the periphery in an attempt to relish that sliver of shade from the undersized tree you parked next to, only to leave your cart crammed into the grass. I'm the guy who has to go get that cart. I don't want to walk out there anymore than your fat-ass.
Sincerely,
Disgruntled Cart-Pusher
- - - - - - -
There are probably a million more things I could complain about. Strangely, having written some of them down seems to have taken some of the vitriol out of my veins. For now.
Still want to read this?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)