The Breakup

 I feel like I've known you my whole life. In more than one way, I guess I have. You've always been around. We were practically raised in the same house, although you tended to go a lot more places than I did as a child. Some of them I still have never seen, and probably never will. But the fact that you aren't allowed to go there anymore helps to soften that blow.

I remember the first time we kissed. It was all fun and games, but I still got sick for a few days. I remember the first time we really kissed, too. It was so different. So much more powerful... it made me feel so alive. It was like getting high, but with a lot more endorphins, more energy.

I guess we bonded best after I moved to North Carolina. For a while, all I had was my brother, my parents, and you. Yeah, we were still getting to know each other, but it was that perfect moment of adolescence where you can form that kind of kinship without too many facts. We've come so far, we've been together so long. Sometimes I forget there was a time we weren't together. I guess, most importantly, is that whenever I was feeling like I was at the lowest I could possibly be, you were there for me. No matter how awful I was feeling, you always provided we with some small bit of comfort.

They say nothing good can last forever. I suppose that's true of pretty much anything though. I knew this had to come to an and sometime. I think we both knew it, to be fair. I wish I could give you the “it's not you, it's me” speech, but that wouldn't be honest, and I don't like to be dishonest, especially when it comes to ending a relationship. Yes, that's what this is about, but before you say anything, let me say what I need to say. You've done so much for me, but you've always taken a lot more.

I know you used to get along so well with my friends, and everyone I knew. People change though. You're so much of my past, but I think it's time I left you there. I can't let you become my future. I have new friends, new people, and they aren't so fond of you. My parents, my boss, my friends, well, they all think you're bad for me. It doesn't matter what I do, I can't hide when I've been with you, everyone always knows. They don't like it. They tell me I can do so much better, and I'm finally starting to understand what they mean. You're slowing me down, and you're taking up so much of my time, and resources, and I'm getting less and less out of this relationship as it goes on.

So, I guess I'm just trying to say that we need to break up. See other people, as it were. Not that you already weren't, but I've never been mad at you for that. Them a little bit, but not you. You really have no choice in the matter anyway, when it comes to them, but they have always had that choice. But it's who you are, and I'm OK with that.

It's not like I won't see you around, hell, it seems that pretty much everywhere I go, there you are. You just can't be there with me. Not anymore. I know we've been through this before, and you're just going to wait until the day I crawl back to you and beg you to take me back. You'll say yes in the blink of an eye, too. You always have, and you always will. Which is why I have to put my foot down and say no. Not anymore. I have to stop letting you control so much of my life. Please, don't argue, just... just let me go.

I know I'm not going to stop wanting you, needing you, for a long time, but that's the way it has to be. We need to sort out our own paths, go our separate ways. I used to love you, but I just can't anymore. I have to figure out how to live in a world where we aren't together. Trust me, it's for the best. At least, for me it is.

What's that? One last time? Well, I can't really argue with that, but really, this is it. I'll let you have tonight, but then we're done. I'm sorry. Kind of. But not that sorry. OK, I'll shut up now. Just one last time, and then please, please just leave me be. Goodbye.

UnBlocked

     I've heard from several writers, both professional and amateur, that there is no such thing as writer's block. Which seems odd to me. It seems like such an established thing, something that has existed since the dawn of the recreational written word. Although I've seen several articles in the past few weeks alluding to the fact that writer's block is a myth, that the best way to overcome it is to write through it. Write anything. Even if it's just the same three words over and over again. Something to keep the writer muscle flexing until the words start flowing again.

     For some reason, and I can't explain it myself, I've avoided reading these articles. Perhaps because, although there are things that are universally true when it comes to writing, the how of it is wholly unique for each person. To be sure, there are universal things that work almost all the time, for almost everybody. When you think about it, no painter ever became famous by following the exact methods of his forbears, and no poet either. It's true that the end result may ring of similar themes, symmetrical subjects, those key things that speak to people, but the roads they take to get there are invariably different.

     Now, so many people are giving this same bit of wisdom, that this thing that is so commonly perceived doesn't exist, it's merely an excuse.

     I won't say that I've been stricken with writer's block, but I have been finding it difficult to write this story lately. My main character is about tell the woman he's been dating for over a year that he needs to leave town for the weekend to go to his sister's wedding. A wedding he wasn't invited to, for a sister his girlfriend doesn't even know about, and that he hasn't even so much as spoken to in two years. He assumes he'll be making this trip alone, but his girlfriend, upon hearing the news will assume her own invitation to this event.

     It's supposed to be a very uncomfortable and confrontational conversation, and these are exactly the types of conversations I struggle with in real life. Inevitably there comes a point when you can't avoid these conversations. There's never a good time for it. I've never heard of anybody finding the perfect moment to break up with someone, or to tell them something you had to tell them, that you know for sure they won't want to hear.

     I guess the reason I'm having a significantly harder time with it than most is that I've had so many of those conversations in the last few years; there's never  a good time for it. Even when we write fiction, we write what we know. We lend our personalities, our experience, and our imagination into the words we set down. And, however accidentally or intentionally, instead of applying the metaphor's we've read into our life, we begin applying the metaphors of our life into our writing.

     I'm not having a hard time writing this scene because of "writer's block," I'm having a hard time with it because I have a hard time being on either side of this conversation. The problem lay with the fact that not only do I have to deal with one side, I have to deal with both sides. I have to figure out how to be the person who finally breaks the subject, and then immediately switch tones and be the reactive side; when you find yourself uncomfortable on either side of the equation, you'll be paralyzed by both.

     So maybe it isn't what most writers see as writer's block, but I say to you as a writer, when faced with the "I don't know what to write" scenario, to challenge yourself to see if you truly have no idea what comes next, or to see if what comes next is something you, as a person, have difficulty dealing with. If what is really holding you back is your own personal feelings on a situation. Especially when it comes to seeing both sides of an issue you are very biased on.

     The key to effective writing is being the devil's advocate. I know so many people, myself chief among them, who will argue the opposite side of any issue, regardless of conviction, just to have the discussion, to rally a debate. It's a far more difficult thing to do when you have to play the devil's advocate with yourself, especially in a story. When you craft an art, no matter how lighthearted, it is a view into your own perspective,  and to fight, to countermand, to argue against yourself, is counter-intuitive.

     In the end, whatever the writer's block is that you're clinging to, it's a construct of your own mind. Something within you, from your history, your personal experience, that is preventing you from doing something that is inherently the opposite of what you believe, or practice, or hold sacred. To be an effective writer, you have to play both sides of the field, offense and defense. And you have to fight as hard as you can for both sides.

     Because, ultimately, not only is it up to you to decide which side wins, but also to make it convincing.

Pieces of distraction (or True stories that aren't interesting except to me)

The Reptilian Muse

     I don't know if it's the same one, but I like to believe it is. I've seen him once every few days, like a glimmer out of the corner of my eye. Small, shiny and black, with two yellow pinstripes running the length of his body. His tail is the blue of the midnight sky, almost fully regrown from some previous escape attempt. I was out back reading the other day, and caught sight of him crawling up over the ledge on the gazebo. He stared me down, and I stared at him right back, sizing each other up. Clearly he was dissatisfied with my intent, whatever he deemed it to be, but did not want to give me the glory of a victory based solely on size. Deliberately, he stepped down between the boards underneath the corner light, and disappeared. Coming back and forth to my car, I'll see him poking his little head out from the half-rusted ancient milk can perched outside the house, never taking his unblinking eyes off of me. Yesterday, on my front stairs, a glimmer caught the corner of my eye and I heard him rustle to be unseen in the corner of the steps, out of my view, while he soaked up the sun. He didn't leave the steps though, just stayed out of sight. I don't know what he's intending, but apparently he likes the cut of my jib. I  never heard him move again until I stood up to go back inside. He's hanging around me for a reason. I guess it's up to me to figure it out.

Barfly

     It was hard for me not to stare. She stuck out in a way that so few people do to my eye. I know she saw me looking, several times, but she deigned to ignore anything but a direct approach, and truly I'm not sure if that will ever be my style. She was maybe... Late thirties, early forties. The glasses and haircut told me she had some idea of contemporary fashion sense, but her blouse said that she felt older than she was. She wasn't wearing a wedding ring, but instead a ring on her middle finger that danced the line between tastefully conspicuous and outright gaudy. 

     I could see that her hair was naturally a rich chestnut brown, but it had been colored and highlighted up to a golden hue, the end result on par with that of a perfectly toasted marshmallow. She sipped slowly at her glass of red wine; I assumed it was Merlot, such a common red, but secretly I was hoping it was a Cabernet or Malbec, something spicy or unusual. It certainly would make her more interesting at that, but I doubted it sincerely.

     Deep frown lines marred an otherwise well-kept face. She's either spent most of her life alone, or still has trouble coping with a divorce from... 3 years ago, at my guess. It seemed her natural state was to set her jaw in agitation, but as I watched her, the few times her smile appeared, it was timid, hesitant, as if it were unsure how to behave appropriately on her face, and quickly fled back to whence it came. As if she's afraid to be happy for more than a fleeting moment.

     As I stepped out to smoke a cigarette, I stopped Steph, the bartender, and told her if the woman wanted another glass to put it on my tab. I could go that far, stepping in only indirectly, and only if she chose to stay longer. In the end, she didn't. So it goes, so it goes. 

True stories, without embellishment. I'm proud of myself.

~Edit: it seemed to me, siting through the pages, that this bit belongs in here. It's more in my style of vaguery, but it wasn't written for this space, which lends it a bit more credence in my eyes.

Combination

~

     Sometimes, you have to force it. Nature will not always take its course. It's difficult to do, if you are a person prone to patience. Erosion was a natural occurrence until humanity came along. 

     So hasty we are, harried and worried and fretting each moment, so we try to force the jagged pieces smooth. Shave and shape instead of smooth and polish. Sometimes not even trying this: sometimes just jabbing the ragged pieces together where they don't fit,

    It forces the combination, attempting unity where none can be where non was supposed to exist. These edges cut and tear, and cause more damage than support. While it's true the pieces can fit if you force them, it hardly ever ends up as a lasting bond. 

/

     So I'm forced to sit back and watch. No- forced is the wrong word, but that's how it feels. Frozen, paranoid, self-doubting, self-effacing- unable (unwilling) to move forward.

/

     What I want, what I really want, is right in front of my face, but somehow I have lost the determination, thi blind, winner-take-all mentality that a big part of me believes is necessary.

Past time

Timing isn't everything.
//
People are just people, that's all it is. I'm getting so caught up in the how, stuck in the when, mired in the why, that I'm losing sight of now.
How? Who cares? If it can happen, let it.
When? Don't worry, the best part about the future is that it hasn't happened yet.
Why? To be quite honest,why the hell not?

I've been leaning so heavily on building a future in my head, that I'm forgetting to focus on my life unfolding right in front of my eyes. What it comes down to, is that I've been scared. I truly have no idea where I'm going, and it scares the hell out of me. Frightening can also be very exciting. Having no clue where something is going means not having any expectations, and I believe that I'm beginning to truly open up to this.

I said, several months ago, that 2011 will be my year; it will be the time I turn my life around. From some perspectives, it has been exactly that. I've learned a lot about myself in the past six months. I'm still learning a lot.

//
If business as usual doesn't cut it, then toss it out the window. Break it, smash it, until there's nothing left.
//

For so long I have been trying to function as the same person in an altered reality. It took be a while, but eventually I have figured out that this doesn't work. It may be a bit of a cliché that one has to hit rock bottom before they can climb up, but clichés have a merit all their own.

I had been working so long, in so many ways, to change my life, to make it better, but emotionally I was still slipping. I could bring myself up and pretend, when the occasion merited such behavior, but inevitably gravity would take hold and force me to continue my descent. Finally, about a month ago, I hit rock bottom-mentally, at least. Suffice it to say there was a lot of alcohol, a lot of inappropriate behavior and communication, and a few significant (though minor) bodily injuries.

As of this writing, the physical injuries have finally healed, although a rather large tell-tale scar on my elbow will serve as a reminder for years to come. As I've watched my wounds recover, I've noticed a similar process taking place in my mind. Things have been setting themselves back to a state of reason, normalcy, and (dare I say it) some small measure of regular happiness.

This is not to say, however, that I've done all of this alone. Family, friends both new and old, have all alternately been there as support, confidantes, therapy, and an innumerable amount of other things, almost always being exactly what I've needed. I count myself as a very lucky man to have so many people care for me on the level they've expressed.

Rebuilding is not an easy process. It becomes a matter of change, of observation, and an exercise in objectivity towards the one thing we are all tho most subjective about: ourselves. Still the bottom line remains. If business as usual fails, business as usual won't cut it anymore.

When you break something down down to its base components, it's much easier to assess their individual worth. Sift out the pieces that worked for you, leave the rest on the ground, and walk away. There will be, if done right, so many gaps to fill. So much that isn't the same, and never will be again. Pour in some patience, a pinch of tenacity, dash of perseverance. Don't forget to rub away that small growth of insecurity before it grows too far too fast. Rebuild

//
In the end, you need only accept two things.

First, you aren't going to have all the necessary pieces straight away. You have to go out and find them.

Second, you will never be finished. If you think you're done, that you've come as far as you can, look in the mirror. Look yourself straight in the the eye, and say, out loud, that this is the best you can be.

Now tell me if you believe it.
//

Timing isn't everything, but in the end, everything comes around.
//

Patience is the hardest part, especially for a patient man. Sometimes I want to scream out that I've waited long enough. but I suppose that's not for me to decide. I feel ready, but you never know how you'll do until you get behind the wheel. I've felt ready several times in the last year or so, and have been very, very wrong.

Do I want to be right? Am I ready to be right?

In small ways I'm beginning to somewhat prefer the solitude. I can make changes at my own behest. I'm not the same man I was a year ago, or even six months ago. Damn but things move in strange directions.

//
Timing used to be my thing.
Timing used to be my everything
I have to accept that timing is completely out of my control.
//
Timing isn't everything, but everything, in the end, always comes around.