FREE RANGE CONSCIOUSNESS

MAN... PACKING A SIGNAL FLARE WOULD HAVE BEEN A GOOD IDEA

 I am more than east of where I should be... and that is not being modest about where it is I am, but I am further off than I have been in quite some time.  In fact, it reminds me of the early days of my injury, when I was unaware of what was happening to me and the long degradation of my faculties to the moment I knew what was going on with me whilst I lived in mid-Michigan.  Right now, I am trying to decide if this is actually 'a thing' or is this 'A THING'.  For instance...

No, I do not do Facebook much at all.  That is not intentional, but it is something of my character. My modest daily comings-and-goings do not warrant announcing to everyone who is being forced to listen.  Additionally, the people who really know of me, understand that not only is not hearing from me via social media is normal and therefore intentional.  What makes it normal is my desire to simply "be" and that makes it intentional.  I do not need to tell everyone about my comings and goings, and the only person that I would feel comfortable telling would be a quality therapist! This is not to say that I do not care about anyone else and how my life would affect their's, but that is not nor has been my reality.  I am forced to be more social than my character once saw fit, which is of course, ironic.  I never saw myself speaking to so many people and dealing with so many identities as someone with a TBI, but there you go.  The people here in Omaha are nice and they really affect a thoughtful pose when I have encountered a native.  That has gone a long way to affecting my rationale for remaining here, even as far as to have planned for my eventual internment (which is something that was done OVER A YEAR AGO... MAYBE TWO and has NO BEARING on today's feelings) and memorial services.

Adulting has been very difficult for me recently.  I am struggling with the weight of the mundane, along with fatigue from physical exertion (which also includes mental exertion, as even a malfunctioning brain demands at least 1/5 of the body's energy demands) leaving me worn out.  That is what journaling was supposed to be for me, a place where I get to "off-load" some of the thoughts that were taking up space in my head, and though I know I have said this before, hopefully, I mean it this time... I HAVE TO get this nonsense in order.  Back in the day, I had a Nine Inch Nails tee-shirt (might still have it buried somewhere) with the print saying, over and again, "Can't Stop This Scratching Inside My Head".  No surprise that I am thinking of it, and even as I wonder if that is a misquote, it remains that I cannot stop the scratching that is going on inside of mine.

Between missing appointments (medical appointments are of the highest priority) and having problems with my daily tasks, my concern is that I am at "the end of the beginning".  After all, I have been essentially on my own with this condition for nearly 20 years, and eventually, the time would come where being able to negotiate the world-at-large (much less the world where I live) would start to overwhelm me.

So that is why the Churchillian quote was used for this section.  The true start of my dealing with TBI has begun.  Nothing was over when I was with Mookie Dee, as the previous pages of my journal attest.  I have made a big leap and gone from where I was, a "bumbling, stumbling, rumbling..." human being who could go all the way to nowhere, to someone who has gone (and yeah, still strives to go further) to where their dreams took them.  If there were any regrets, I guess I that there would have been tighter Quality Control on what passed for my dreams... or at least on the blueprint that I followed to achieve them!

WONDER WHAT HEMMINGWAY WOULD MAKE OF THE TIMES

This time is different.  It certainly feels different.

Personally, several “allies” have reached out to me and offered their condolences and apologies for the systemic issues that have been highlighted in the killings of Ahmed Aubrey, George Lloyd, and Breona Taylor (and her boyfriend) recently.  I spoke sincerely with each one (including my  once and current partner) and I was left feeling better about myself and the world.  That is my OBJECTIVE perspective.  PERSONALLY… Well, this IS a journal about my wanderings in this “whatever” that we call reality, so let’s get to it!

Of COURSE, the George Lloyd incident, like with the Ahmed Aubrey incident, landed in my wheelhouse.  If I could see myself as Aubrey, you HAVE to know that I, too, am George Lloyd in a way that is way more direct and personal than claiming to “be” him in a spiritual way.  In fact, visiting my “old” new girlfriend, I had a moment at the gas station across the street from her apartment complex that could have easily lent itself to the possibility of a similar incident here in Omaha.

I had only finished working (at the Papillion Landing Rec Center) and had rode about 6 miles from work to the gas station. Processing my surroundings as I adjusted to a new and unfamiliar route, I had not eaten or had anything to drink for most of the day.  In fact, that is what drove me to stop at the gas station.  A piece of candy and a non-carbonated drink was on my mind and then the fog would be lifted.  Only I had not finished my transaction.

My bank card was due a replacement, which I did not know that at the time.  Because of my stupor, I was unresponsive to the cashier and there was a line forming behind me.  When I finally understood that my card was declining, the guy who was behind me had simply paid for my purchase.  I thanked him and took my leave.  It was not until I had sat down and had a drink or two of the sweet tea and a piece of the candy I bought from the gas station that I was able to understand what had just taken place.  The similarity was close… of course this was in Omaha and not Minneapolis, but I don’t know how different Omaha IS from Minneapolis.  My partner has already expressed her concern for me, this coming right after the Aubrey incident.  Now here I was, zoning out at a convenience store that may be similar to the one that George Lloyd was in… hell, I don’t know.  Yet, as Louis CK once opined, “...but MMMAAAYYBBEEE…”, which is the position I would have been in.  At least as far as the narrative would have gone… “he should not have been trying to pass an invalid debit card off when trying to make a purchase”.

So, yeah.  There has been that.  Still have not had the courage to go back out and run since Ahmed was shot and now I do wonder when I will go to the next quick stop for a snack.  These are among the considerations that you have to make when you are African-American, and in the Lloyd case, it does not matter if your path crosses that of a member of another minority.  YOU, the African American, in this country because your ancestors were STOLEN from their homeland… you are always and still, THE OTHER.

As I mentioned at the start, the conversations and ACTIONS of others in my circle are what gives me hope that this time, this will be different.  I can only hope that the impact within the African-American community can not only be strong, but long-lasting.  We should be ACCORDED respect… it is not something that should be asked for, as a member of society and as a human being.  The look of indifference on Officer Chavous' face as he consciously choked the life out of George Lloyd is haunting.  But it is also the look of indifference that many White Americans have of African-Americans.  Though every group can speak of their own slights within American society, African-Americans, have grievances that shadows the country like no other (yeah, I know about the Native Americans… this is NOT that story).

When I think about the last time there was a social uproar like this, the Rodney King riots, there was more distance from the act itself… the riots were in response to the officers getting away  with little damage, not the beating.  This time, the reaction went hand in hand with the incident of grievance.  That this was seen by everyone who had eyes to see it for what it was, the snuffing out of a life, has kept the dialogue up in the social consciousness for a longer time.

I am not sure if this means that there will be changes to policing, insofar as how they deal with the various communities that they serve.  To me, “to serve and protect” has always meant that the ones who were “served and protected” were the white, elite classes of people.  It has never meant what it is widely assumed to mean, to serve and protect the public at large.  KRS-One once made a rap about “the sound of the police” and in his lyrics he blurred the word “overseer” into “officer”, hinting that officers of the law are more the enforcer of rules provided by the plantation owner, not the people.  The only line of demarcation that exists in mankind is the line between the have and have nots.  It is on the level of institution, not individual, that needs to be shaken.

MEANWHILE, IN OTHER NEWS

Yes, Kitty and I are a couple again.  Even though I did have a brief interaction with another person, Kitty and I have always had open lines of communication and I believe that the both of us have grown over the past year.  We have talked about some of what was not constructive in our relationship and I have been assured that we will be able to talk through everything between us as we move ahead.

I have always been leery of the “chip off the old block” stuff.  There are so many qualities and reasons for behaviour that I have felt that it was lazy to attribute things to your parents.  Statements like, “You are just like your father/mother…” seem to lack imagination, and the vague notion that you are not yourself but owe your character to a force outside of yourself would devalue the notion of free will (which, I do not believe in!).  While I know that my other daughters have heard the “you are just like…” statement made after doing or saying something that their Mom thinks I would have said, KT, is sooo much like me that it stills my heart.

The last couple of years we have spent HOURS on the phone talking about life, her ups and downs, and of course… BOYS!  I am very flattered that she considers me a best friend and confidant, and I do try to excise detail from conversations with her Mom about our conversations, so that she can feel secure in sharing with me.  When her Mom pushes for more information, I usually fall back on, “you know that I don’t remember more than that!”, which in itself is a “true half-truth” statement.  If anything, I hope that she gets a chance to visit when the restrictions are lifted and she can spend a couple of weeks with me.

I am about to begin the book, “Can’t Hurt Me”, by David Goggins.  He is a guy who went through three elite military programs run by the Air Force, Army, and Navy.  It talks about his journey from a place of aimlessness to where he is able to compete in ultramarathons and other feats of toughness for charity and the simple sense of personal accomplishment.  One of the reasons that I am back to journaling, is that I need personal accountability that comes with regular journaling.  Which brings me to the next step on my journey… REGULAR JOURNALING.

The drama of the everyday, “the trifles of life”, is not what I want to talk about.  Instead, I want to write and talk about how I can be better at my Rock Steady franchise, be a better person and set goals to achieve.  I wonder how many people who started reading my journal really thought that the guy with traumatic brain injury was REALLY going to move to Omaha and thrive..?  Doesn’t matter, because I ALWAYS BELIEVED in me! 

I WONDER HOW MUCH LONGER I HAVE BEFORE THE SUN SETS

In 2018 I was so frustrated with my relationship because it was faltering.  Since I had invested a great deal of intellectual capital to maintain my end of it, I attributed what I would call a “lack of focus” in my goals to the differences between my partner and myself.  From school, to work, to simply getting about my day, I observed in my being, several neurologic and mental processing issues that are found on most CTE checklists.  Because of the stress in my environment at the time I as well as that of our relationship, decided that Kitty and I were not going to make it. I put most of my issues with functioning off to the pressure of being with a person that I was no longer willing to love.

Four months later…

Things have not gotten that much better.  I would still grade my functioning as “high”.  I don’t think that I look as though I am being challenged by a disability, but Omaha is not a high threat environment (which is not to say that I TREAT as though it is not..!).  While I did not think that it would magically make everything better by leaving her, I did think that I had somehow cleared the needed free space on the busted hard drive that is my brain for me to achieve my goals and wants.  And I still believe that.  But what I believe, whether or not simulation theory is true or not, has nothing to with what I can perceive as reality in a damaged brain.  It is more about the reality that I am convinced that I can create, and that includes managing a business designed to help people.

Next is the possibility that I will be moving on from Pinnacle to other pastures.  Evolution happens whether we want it to or not, and I am hopeful that my stint as cornerman for an Omaha-area police officer can grow into just that.  There is a possibility that this is an opportunity for full-time work and I am already on top of preparing myself by starting my work on a new certification that will qualify me to be a trainer-at-large.  

Did I mention that KT is going to graduate in May?  I certainly hope so, because I NEVER GET TIRED OF PICTURING IT.  What really makes it special is that she is graduating from an HBCU, and while she could have almost literally chosen any school in Carolina, that she chose an HBCU means a lot to me.  I reflect upon my initial effort at matriculation, and the “why” behind it.  Much like my choice of “civil service”, my decision to go to A&T was made more for philosophical reasons that alone validate my being.  I cannot wait to sit with her Mother, waiting for her to walk across that stage… it makes me want, if briefly, for my history to be one where I, too, got my 4-year degree from and HBCU, but it was not to be.

Finally, it DOES feel great to have been a part of Alana’s journey, as she was a part of mine.  The both of us were in the Metro, living like we were “Howard The Duck”, though, the both of us WERE NOT like HTD.  He was in a world that was part of a multiverse that left him out of place.  Speaking for myself, I was in a world that unwittingly or no, I had a part of creating.  I began my journey understanding what would be asked of myself if I accepted the challenges that lay before me.  Alana was already on her way when our paths crossed.  The only thing that I was sure, was that if you were down, we would get to where we were going… and you can see how that has worked out..!

BE EXTRAODINARY

TACTICAL

I don’t know if I have been through a tougher patch since the confirmation of my disabling condition. I use the official finding of the Social Security Administration as a marker because I likely would have felt differently about the onset of, and the subsequent episodes that led to my suspicions of what was happening to me.

My current depression has been one of hopeful peaks and near-untenable valleys.  I can have lows that make me a totally different person, as Nebraska unfortunately discovered.  She is going through a MAJOR change in her life, so please, I am asking that thoughts and prayers (yes, I SAID prayers..!) be sent her way.  She happened to catch me at the low of a swell, and I was very unfriendly when she (and myself as well) prolly needed a friend.  My highs, the best of my moments since Thanksgiving often reach the mean of whatever “my happiness” is, and no more.  Consequently, I am constantly anxious, further fueling the emotions that add weight to the oppressive cloud of darkening emotions around me.

School is school… I am going to have to retake my Spanish class, which I am not that pressed about. For Sociology, we watched a documentary, “Streetwise”, which while well-done, was quite sad.  It was about teenagers who were living on the street, using drugs, hooking, and their broken families.  Ugh.  I had to reflect on my daughter’s and how fortunate I am to have them and for the fortitude of their Mother’s.  They have done a wonderful job, no matter what anyone says, and in spite of the jam that I left them in.  Speaking of my girls...

I made a phone call to Lexxie’s Grandmother recently one afternoon and of course, I got the voice mail.  But as I dutifully left my message, reminding the machine that I was Lexxie’s father, the phone was picked up by Lexxie herself!!  So I do feel somewhat validated in thinking that her Grandmother has deliberately worked to harm our relationship.  Que sera… now, I have to work to get her a round-trip ticket this for a visit this August!!   

STARS… IN MY POCKET LIKE GRAINS OF SAND

When I saw the story by Samuel Delany in the anthology “Breaking Ice”, I fell in love with the story, which was about a misfit in a stratified society (which is a brief and unjust synopsis), and thought of it as a metaphor for my own experience.  I took the title and with a slight adjustment, adopted the title as device for my own personal look on life (and for the name of this journal).  Just like unpacking from a day at the beach, the possibilities in my life are much like grains of sand, found everywhere and in the most unexpected places.  I was in a small town in North Carolina at the time I discovered the story, and by any measure was on the path that I had, at the time, most desired.  Now to be sure there was “this and that” to contend with, and in dealing with such, the result was that my road has continued to wind its way along and why I am here, in Omaha.

Before I began to fade out of 2014 into the fugue state that brought me into 2015, I had thought of what my year was going to be like.  Coming off such a good stretch that included meeting new friends, cementing relationships and feeling as though I also was very dutiful in the process, I have (not the tense) high hopes for this year.  When I started to drag at the end of November, I first attributed it to minor fatigue, because I had pretty much lived last year as if I had no encumberances of any kind at all.  In the middle of December the feeling began to gather form and shape, then the week of Christmas, it fully metastasized into a full-blown depression.  I had started to hurt, to feel a constant dull ache throughout my body.

When you feel depressed, your immune system often becomes compromised.  Even with the medications and supplements that I take regularly, I felt like I was feeling sick in spite of my efforts at running and working out.  And again referencing Anthony Griffith’s Moth performance, trying to be African-American and have psychological issues only conflates the problems.  There is so little understanding between African-Americans and the seriousness of treatment and letting it go without action, mainly because it isn’t anything that can be seen or fully comprehended.  Telling a AA that you are depressed is tantamount to offering yourself up for derision and ridicule.  And with my having an “invisible disability”, I feel it only becomes more complicated, because noticing subtleties are one of the AA’s communities great weaknesses, IMO.

SOMETIMES, CHOOSING TO GO ON IS THE MOST EXTRAORDINARY THING THAT ONE CAN DO

I am STILL going to have a big year.  I have no doubt that I will reach my level and go from there.

One of the thoughts that has been with me is one about my relationships here in Omaha is that I have enough information to make a more informed statement about what I have observed.  First, the brothers here are just pathetic.  And trust me, I am not talking only of the “inmates in the asylum”.  Over the spectrum of socio-economic spectrum, the cats here are just  … sorry. I think that this contributes to what I have experienced with women here locally.  Out of responding to their environment, I think that the women here suffer from a form of relationship PTSD.  I think that the women here are delusional.  They see things that don’t exist, and make the innocuous seem formidable.  

In trying to be understanding, I still don’t really feel moved to be empathetic towards women here.  There is no reasoning with anyone who can only see through the clouded lenses that the local women seem to be looking through here in Omaha.  My reasoning is that I am certainly a different kind of cat… and as such, should be something favored, right?  Mind you, I understand that I have my share of shortcomings and personality quirks.  But I feel that if you are a woman and find yourself constantly enmeshed in relationships that feel like that they mirror each other, then there you go!  But as I mentioned, I think that there is a delusion borne of an environmental-induced hysteria.  But I digress… and I have ran on long enough.

PANIC ON THE STREETS OF YOUR TOWN

I have not felt well since just before the end of November… that was when I first felt the lows of my current state.  Granted, there have been some positive, good moments… the company holiday party was one, where I got the chance to escort a date to socialize among me and my co-workers.  Of course the HUGE bowl win by Michigan State in the Cotton Bowl was but another moment that has helped to keep me buoyed amongst the waves.  

Additionally, I have not shirked from socializing.  I already know how helpful that can be in times such as this, and I have more than obliged myself to being social.  I went with a co-worker, her boyfriend and his brother, three other women who were their friends and guests’ at the Fitness Center, to watch State play Iowa not too long ago.  My co-worker has a first cousin who is a key player and starter for the Hawkeyes, and that was a fun evening.  The point is, that along with my fitness posts on Facebook, I am not simply sitting around and allowing myself to be overcome with depression.  One of the reasons that I have thought to objectify the darkness that clouds me as “the little black dog”, is that 1) That always sounded cool, and it was borrowed from Winston Churchill, one of my idols, and 2)  The purpose of objectifying my feelings allowed me to feel more in control of things… I recognized very early in my teen years what depression was and was not, and despite the sad truth of what Anthony Griffith mentioned in his spoken word performance about the African-American community and psychology, that I had never really felt the weight of depression.  That is, until my diagnosis, and it was then that the romance of being in a depression fell apart for me and the psychology, the clinical expression of it became a part of my life.

Still, I treat it as an intruder, not out of denial, but out of a evidentiary study of my life and my character.  I am doing well in nearly every area of my life and being.  Admittedly, not as well as perhaps I should be doing, but then, who really IS doing as well as they should be doing.  For me, it is a “drag coefficient” that is a part of the engineering and design of my life… and it is something that I will work through.

I feel that how I handle my episodes relates to my general handling of my condition… I know what is “me” and because I do, I remain confident that I am still “mine”.  This is an aspect of me that is often overlooked because of how I present myself to people and my lack of overt cynicism.  I have always believed that happiness is a conscious choice to be made, and not a random point to be achieved.  And this is a decision that I made a long time ago, with nothing but the intuition of a child.  It is a decision that has kept me from despair my entire life, including now.

Also, I have been “doing me”, not only have I been working out with a competitive preparedness, but doing the kinds of things that I had always had done alone, but had high hopes of sharing with someone that was special to me and that I, likewise, was special to them.  Recently, I have seen two movies, one at the Film Streams Theatre near downtown and one on Netflix that I had missed during its first run.  Both were commentaries about youth culture (among other things), the first, “A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night”, which was a twist on the “Twilight” film series, with a little Iranian twist to it.  The latter film, “We Are The Best”, was another teen movie with two girls, punk outcasts, finding their place with music.

So you see I have decided to do more of the “me” things that I had intended on doing once I got to Omaha. While you had to read subtitles (the former in Farsi and the latter in Swedish), I thought vaguely about with whom I know in Omaha that would have enjoyed either a night out or in watching either film with me. It was among the briefest flicker of thoughts, and I resumed digesting the wonderful times that I had spending making myself happy.

WE GOTTA FIGURE OUT WHAT OUR FORMULA IS

Along with the Anthony Griffith video of his Moth Stage talk, I have watching one of my playlists on You Tube titled “My Psychological Motivations” pretty regularly these past few weeks as well.  So that meant a lot of “Blake”, “Coach Gaines” and of course, “Mike Singletary” for me to ruminate upon.

In choosing to reboot my life alone and on my own, there were things that I had to discover about not only my abilities, but the things that are challenging for me.  Belied by the kind of symmetry in my life that makes even the most jaded wonder if things aren’t “planned” on another level, I have a doctrine that not only fits my personal character, but is founded on the wisdom of the ages and is universal.  And it is precisely because of this emotional/cognitive foundation that I have that has me confident that I will manage this, and any future, difficult times in my life.

What I would like to speak to is my belief that there not only “is” no one for me to call upon for help of any kind, but the reality of it.  While I would not doubt my ability to get someone to give me a ride to the grocer’s in the Motor, South Bend, Chicago, or daresay, New Jersey, I have concrete reasons to dismiss the probability of doing the same here in Omaha.  Understand:  I do realize that the reasons I have to support my belief is subjective, but it is NOT speculative.  My “Eclectic Method”, my personal theories to my life, are not drawn upon guesswork.  The scientific method is the backbone of my philosophical design, and that is why at this point in my life I may seem to be so resolute and obstinate to letting people into my life without cause.

The formula that I have been working for nearly a decade now, has brought me to the point where I can say that I have made appreciable gains in nearly every level of my life, at pretty much every measurable metric, in every area of life that counts.  My bouts with depression and the pressing desire for the comfort of being in the company of my siblings in our childhood (I have identified the sought for desire to alleviate my anxieties, but not its source) beds and skip-rope competitions, and the like, cannot and will never be entrusted in the hands of those who have demonstrated that they cannot be anyone that has demonstrated their unreliability.  After all, why would I have left “the provincial town that I once jogged ‘round” if I was going to make such a choice?

THE CODIFIED LIFE VIII

TACTICAL
Though this is going to be an entry that is about my current state and progress, what is going on in my immediate day-to-day is as follows:

Hopefully I will get my new computer going.  More on that later, but I am looking forward to dedicating it to my schoolwork only, which will be an upgrade in so many different dimensions of my life, the small niceties of convenience, that I don’t think that how I would express my gratefulness in words.  I think that my actions, which will completely show my full appreciation for the gift, will be more than enough.

I have started watching “Breaking Bad” on Netflix!!  I have watched enough of “The Walking Dead” to have been satisfied with how it little it impressed me (sorry Beth..!).  “Bad” on the other hand, starts off with a bang to me and the early first season has been everything that it ever was hyped up to be!

...speaking of Beth …

I have been Facebooking a lot, trolling posts made by people who are suffering from “vanity pity”... the same kind that relates to the frustration of a guy from the old school like me (and Mike Singletary) finds himself dealing with in this era of rapidly evolving social changes… but for all of that, there are some things that, sadly, remain the same.

Anywho, I posted my “Speech To Persuade” on the social network and asked for all hands on deck to show up and help a smurf out!  Beth did, and I really appreciated her assistance.  To go on about what it meant to me is to start treading on the journal entry proper, so let’s begin, shall we?

IF WE HAVE OUR OWN WHY OF LIFE … WE CAN GET ALONG WITH ALMOST ANY HOW ...

One of the settling changes that I have noticed just lately is the Mamet-ing/Cracked.com-izing of my patois and language.  My awkward sense of humor and timing often has prevented me from responding to the comments of others as I have wanted… not saying that I am one of those folks who think of things to say when the moment has passed.  But the change was super noticeable recently when I was called “a douche” at school by one of my school mates.

Because of how enthralled I am of the Geico “Hump Day” commercial, when I made it back into school in January, each Wednesday I would come into school enthusiastically calling out, “Hey Julie, what day is it?”, or “Mike, Mike, Mike”, and several other of the lines of dialogue from that particular commercial.  It made a lot more sense when I attended class on the Monday - Wednesday cycle.  But this term I am on a Tuesday - Thursday rotation, so I don’t have the opportunity to wake my fellow students up with the cheery “It’s Hump Day!” shout the the appropriate day.  But I am not the only who misses (and also appreciates) the regularity of my cheery arrival and one day, I decided to do a “pre-hump day” shout out.

As I walked into the Connector Building, where you will find a large common area, a eatery, and the bus stop/campus security office.  To make a long story short, there is a bunch of people who meet in the area and they know what’s coming when I come through.  Most of the time, no one really minds my enthusiasm, but this day would be different.   I overheard some young woman telling the other young ladies that I was “a douche”.  Now I don’t think that I am all that (though all that remains my goal..!) and I have admitted as much.  I don’t fake that funk, in fact, my June mission is to break my graduation streak and to show up at one of my three daughters high school processional with one of the three women that I fathered them with.  And while I would cop to most negative characterizations hurled at me, “douchebag” is not among them.  

Instead of going on to my class, I made a beeline to table where the young woman and her presumed friends sat.  I looked straight at her and replied, “If you mean that I find myself st*ck up all kinds of p*ssy, then yes, I can see why you would mistake me for a douche.  But sadly, for your case, I’m not … but you still have no excuse for acting like you are on the rag!”  When those words spilled out of my mouth, I felt as though I was being transported back in time, but back to a different future, one where I was not saddled with this injury, but was filled with the same kind of insouciance as the thirteen year-old alienist that still exists in me.

It felt really, really good and I shared it on the social network, sparing those individuals who live among the top 3% of the world’s economy still finding angst and unhappiness to spread and infect of the people that they are allegedly “fond of”.  Good thing that they don’t HATE these people!!  So there was that and then there was Beth, who bailed me out on my “speech to persuade” this week.  Maybe “bailed” is too strong a word… “that she helped me” fits, but does not connote the depth of my gratification to her efforts on my behalf.  Same goes for the donated computer.  While there are some glitches, had I not continued to persevere with my schooling, the likely those efforts would have been for naught.  I think that being grateful for the gifts that have been given to me, I think that I owe it to the intent with which the support was given to persevere and to endure, because if I don’t the hope and faith that has been sent on my behalf would have been for naught.

_______________________________________________________

As with my desire to incorporate what comes to my mind when I think “tough guy” language into my personal vocabulary, I have noticed that I would like to be friends with Nebraska… and that is SO out of rounds with my character that I am going to take it up with my therapist and see we can’t find what is what with that.  The reason that this so glaring and agitating for me is how it fits with my set of beliefs and philosophy.  To wit:  When I decided to amend my protocols with regard to dating women from my past with the hopes that I could get with Tee Jay, I had to consider what if this path to love with one I already had loved before led me to my ex-wife?  What then??  If it had, then it meant only one thing -- in this area of my life, I was short and without clout.  I would reject my ex-wife on the grounds that she has already display fatal traits and flaws that I MUST live without.  Nebraska, with the “rule of three” working against her, has placed herself in an area of similar regard to my ex-wife.  BUT… I don’t want to be my ex-wife “friend” of in any consideration.  So why do I feel this gnawing when it comes to Nebraska?

One of the reaches that I am willing to take in assessing her character now that we have had to actually “be real” with each other, is that she can be self-indulgent in her own spinnings.  I don’t know how many times I have heard about how her obligations and duties comes ahead of her own considerations, and that is understandable.  But the Ash Beckham talk where she said, “Hard is hard”, applies here as I would say that she believes that her “hard” is much more difficult that my hard.  And while I would have rather told her to her face, a journal is meant to be where you “download” thoughts and emotions, with an expectation of privacy being based on the intrusiveness of a parent and the sinister motivation of older/younger siblings.

A blog/Facebook friend posted a piece that included a comment from Reverend T.D Jakes that caught my attention.  It goes as follows:

    It's much more difficult to express armchair lament over something not getting

    done while lacking the willingness to place the action on "I" as the catalyst for

    changing it. Anything less is righteous rhetoric. As TD Jakes once said, 'when

    you walk into a place and see a need, consider that God placed it on your heart

    to take action. Stop looking around for somebody else to do the work you're not

    willing to do

When I think of people like her and my ex-wife, this would be an idea that without these words to define it, that would carom inside of my head.  It is a contrast to my thinking, in that I adhere to the sentiment of “being the change that you want to see in the world”.  And the implication of that is, whatever you want in your life, however you want the world to treat you, to be like, you must be the thing that the world of your choice demands, and you must treat the world the way that you expect the world to treat you.  My ex-wife did not understand this concept and my experience with Nebraska left me without the indication she was able to apply this ideal to our relationship.

Also, she had a big problem with the three (and there is a fourth issue that is left for our “whenever it happens if it happens” discussion) issues that I keep bringing up.  I already know that if we ever had had a conversation in person about one or all of the issues, then they would not have the life that they do in my mind.  Because if we met +over dinner and wine, I could ask her if she meant to be that selfish, so that when her “supposed” (because if that is how she administers to a “friendship”, then f*ck that) friend, who also happens to be PERMANENTLY F*CKING DISABLED, calls upon her under the auspices of said friendship and in need of her, that she will first find a reason that she CAN’T instead be there instead of working to find ways  there for me?  Yes, I understood that it would have put her out but that I was calling on her should have indicated the need I had.  If it wasn’t a need, then I would not have called upon her.

 

I don’t think that she understood it when I would tell her that I don’t allow many opportunities for people to show how much they care.  My tastes, while not expensive, are particular.  So you can’t show up with the latest in Roc-a-wear and fly sneakers and expect to please me.  While I am without a vehicle, there are not going to be many chances for someone to give me a ride somewhere… so if ask of a person for a ride of some convenience, then like a NFL GM on draft day, you are on the clock and your pick matters.  So if you choose to justify not being able to be there for a friend (and if you are reading this, Nebraska, think “To Gillian, On Her 37th Birthday") by any other means other than personal disincorporation and sudden natural disaster, then as a friend, you are full of sh*t.  Just because I don’t make a lot of them or even enjoy the company of people enough to make them, does not mean that I don’t know or at least have an idea, of what “friendship” is.  And since I have been in Omaha,  she found excuse after excuse as to why you could not, would not, or believe you should not have to do something to be a friend.  And yet, in our history going back to before the beginning,   And in breaking philosophical protocol, it is a fail that T.D. Jakes describes in the selection I found on Facebook… and I believe it is the kind of fail that populates my ex-wife characteristics, traits that lack the substance or “stickiness” to hold a relationship together, that were enough for me.  With this being confirmed for me after the very first Wisconsin - Nebraska football game in the Big Ten, this has been lingering unaddressed (which accounts for its reappearance in our conversation … it highlights a major problem and we did not deal with it effectively) to the point where its mere presence serves as a disfiguring blot on our relationship.

The second aspect of the three deals directly with her compassion and as well as her reliability.  But first, I need to talk about one of my fellow tenants who I have not seen in several months and his reappearance in our building.  Although he is a small framed guy, he looked gaunt, and since he has not been in the building, or on his door monitor post.  I asked him where he had been.  His reply made my heart sink:  he has AIDS and he was in the hospital for treatment.  This would explain his weight loss,   And it also explained the sudden ache in my heart.  While no longer the plague-like death sentence it once was, I did not want to dither with politeness and I gave him the biggest hug I could.  See, I understand this about my injury -- certain ideals and traits are going to be increased and perhaps that is what has me in the “blue” period of my verbalizing and I know that it is why when there is a change, however small, I have to catch myself before I get agitated into “High Anxiety”.  So I keep things at arms length, as I did with my friendship with my then-friend and future partner in a loveship that never happened, Nebraska.

“WE KNEW THE ENVIRONMENT”

My first Christmas had the potential to be the launch point of a wonderful relationship. Nebraska and her two youngest girls came over to my humble apartment and really made me feel like I mattered to them.  The gifts were thoughtful and meaningful, and having the three of them here with me meant a great deal to me.  Perhaps that was a moment that I can pin the beginning of this odd attraction I have for her… because it is the lure of untapped potential that is part of her allure… but it certainly isn’t the hopes that we’d ever be something more than friends.  That would be in the hands of the divine/Chaos Theory, and I don’t have too much input on either for any of it to matter.

Whenever it was that I had my “night terrors” and asked for Nebraska to come by for a bit, it allowed her to display how much compassion she REALLY had for a person with who she had no real moral obligation to give aid to, and only had her own character to draw on for her choice to or not to, help a brother out.  And outside of the nominal but certainly present risks (single Mom, leaving minor daughters alone in the late evening DOES seem like a lead-in to a domestic tragedy on your local news station!) involved, but my thing is this … either I am your friend or I am not.  If I am your friend and you know that I am not one for 1) false emergencies, 2) “booty calls” 3) or the kind of selfishness that would call upon a friend to take gratuitous risk for a “booty call”, why would my reaching out result in being dismissed without prejudice and haughtily so?  And I could go on but…

The understanding that makes these three (and the ghost of a fourth) interactions so critical to my “less-than-giving-a-f*ck” stance regarding her should be sensed that it takes up so much of my brain’s “working memory”.  See, these are things that are “no-fly zones” and for me to be trying to find a way to get around them is freakin’ the boggling of my injured mind!  I would have thought that I don’t make up situations to gain sympathy or attention, that I am over booty calls, and that I am loathe to expose someone that I care about to risk for the sake of things, then her, guess what?  F*ck you!!

I do think that when it comes to being in an intimate relationship, that Nebraska is the pre-Mike Singletary rant Vernon Davis.  You make the assesment that Mike Singletary did in his post-game remarks because of experiences,  both direct and indirect.  Unfortunately, my ex-wife provided me with a lot of direct experience, so much so that I promised myself that signs of her character trait suite would be a singular experience in my life, and it was, until I met Nebraska, that is.

I had hoped to have a face-to-face conversation where much, if not all, of this could have been handled with something for our relationship to grow from.  But no, I can’t be “the man that calls on a woman” for her because when I did, she sh*tted on me.  It also serves to inform me how many f*cks she gives about our relationship, on the real.  To think that nearly over a year has passed since she first said that we should get together for a conversation, and in the hundreds of rising and setting of the sun, it had not happened.  Sh*t, even Mother Teresa took a day off… DAMN..!

THE TEA PARTY

Despite all the noise and bluster of the ignorant, they remain a small, but noisy factor in today’s politics.  And so are these odd emotions that I am feeling… the use of denigration and profane comments in my conversation is a small but noisy factor.  How many more times am I going to watch “The Departed” and “Breaking Bad” (PLENTY, that’s how many..!) and be influenced by the patois of the scripts dialogue?  Don’t know, but I am more than certain that I won’t ever go around with a sailor’s mouth, that is for sure.  

The same rule governs this emotional outburst with regards to my feelings for Nebraska.  No, I don’t want to see her, nor be her friend (we had a moment of celebration that turned for me as if it was wine that had turned-to-vinegar), not without getting things clear and up front.  Which makes sense, because I have ALWAYS been upfront with my crap… I simply relate my flaws as plain as I can… so YOU can decided whether I am worthy of your time.  It is something small but vociferous, and that with the help of my journal and therapist, that I will seek to quell.  And it must be quelled, because if nothing has been confirmed beyond a doubt, it is that I never had reached the “critical mass of value” for her to sincerely give a damn about me.

And the contrasting element between us is still, and has always been, the element of my being valued and not being taken for granted or dismissed as inconsequential.  That is what has kept me from doing more to save our relationship.  I am of the mind that I included her in my future sight unseen, and without reservation.  This also explains why the desire to be a part of her life and have her be a part of mine, is similar to the Tea Party political movement.  There is no scholarship, no character, to the feelings I have for her.  If I have not been able to project anything about me it should be this -- in areas where uncertainty runs amok, I do not change my course.