Chatting with people about work and projects, thinking about my amount of free time and its limits.

I suppose the reality is that I’m going to be doing something interesting. It isn’t that I’m all that whimsical and get distracted easily, on the contrary, if I am not engaged I’ll look for something more. It is interesting how this applies to both projects and personal relationships.

My appetite has flipped. I had two dinners, and I’m still hungry. There’s still breakfast I suppose.

As I approached the bridge in the rain, a blank man in a purple suit walked in my direction on the sidewalk as the bike lane merged. He was an older man, short curly hair, mostly gray. He stared me down, giving me the finger the entire way, quite sternly. I wondered for a while what part of me that was directed at. It doesn’t really matter.

As I washed my spoon that I keep in my messenger bag, I chuckled at the course of events that brought me here. Considering that most people convince themselves they are good in some fashion or another, and I’m stuck looking for validation from ghosts, it’s a bit ironic.

Television is evil. Also, king sized beds are sideways and wrong. In conclusion, hotels are strange.

I often credit the period of time around dropping out of high school as when I took responsibility for my life and it’s direction. My theory being that previously I had been operating along a predetermined path, sourced somehow from society at large. At the height of dating heavily I went through a smaller realization about the expected outcome of a relationship. Which is to say that I had an idea where I was supposed to end up, but not only not how to get there, but more importantly what getting there was supposed to be.

As I process my past with a focus on narrative reflection, it seems like what remains of where I’m going is fragments of where it seemed I should have been. Still, the degree to which this is unconscious, is somewhat terrifying. The depths to which it may travel gives a nod to a “remaking of the soul.”

Thursday will mark two weeks of not drinking. A few weeks prior was a bit of a day of reckoning as I started weighing the costs. Last week I added up a bit of tally. Still, last springs appetite fits are back. I’m slowly adapting to craving water, but I can’t get my appetite for food right. I think it’s the cut in sugars.

Friendships. I believe I reconciled one with M recently, but I’m still convinced she’s struggling with deciding what that means and what it should look like. Ultimately I don’t see this happening, but I’m garnering some opportunities for communication here and there that are beneficial. Other friends seem to be shifting as those who were close to me alienate me further and further with their unsupportive attitudes toward my emotional trials.

M visited this weekend and brought a couple friends and I throughly enjoyed snuggling and giggling hours away with them. I’m really exhausted by a seemingly growing level of unhappiness around for which responsibility feels mostly unassumed, with the same negativity repeating not only daily, but also recited regularly. I’m unsure of this course.

Albeit a bit nicer, spending a night in a hotel devoid of personality is reminding me of a “former life” traveling doing electronics salvage. Yet, biking around PDX sings a tune like walking the woods in Maine, myself, with room for my thoughts. A bit of time accounting seems to lend toward avoiding costly distractions.

Yet. Giggling.

I cannot reconcile this with where I expect I’ll end up. That means everything.

repurposing neruosis

I don’t know what to do with free time. Or, I don’t know what to do with lost time; free time does not last that long. There’s far too much going, not just in a way where there are bits needing to be tinkered, but in this way that I couldn’t put it in a box if I tried.

J kept commenting last night about how happy I looked.

I don’t know. The edge of sleep is my vulnerability. J asked if I was nervous and I said yes. What now? Anxious? Does it matter? It feels like everything right now. Such a thin line.

Also? Chickens.

Many wonderful things are happening. Today feels busy in concept, but awesome in diversity. I’m up to Rockit before work to meet Jessie to look over the land to plan a cropmob in June. I’ll stop by the Alleycat Acres Beacon Hill farm to check on watering the crops. Then I’m over to Bellevue for a Microsoft Certification exam, of which I haven’t taken one in a couple years. This evening, we’re having a big fundraiser for Alleycat Acres.

J and I laid around giggling about a number of things last night, which felt teenager-esque in appearance but we were certainly talking about a great number of “grown up” things.

I should go eat.

I want to be with you when I’m with you

I made a connection recently between two vices. I realized neither go out of their way for me.

Oh well.

I sit reading, a heavily ‘academic’ book. These make me think more than they engage and I can rarely go a few sentances before my brain is off on an inspired tangent.

Outside the window sits a motorcycle. I look at the device for adjusting the the rear axle position to tighten the chain and admire how odd, yet specifically useful it looks. I recall a particularly controversial post from a bit ago about deciphering system and uses being part of my natural behavior. Then talking to Matthew about being the type of people who wonder why rebar is left sticking out of concrete in Colombia.

Am I worried about meaning because I’m worried about death? I keep putting off replying to M’s email. It was recieved so relatively long ago, yet so actually so recently.

Sometimes I wonder if M is carefully crafting her interactions with me with some goal in mind. I likely give her too much credit and what affects her greatly is not the same as what is greatly important to her.

I talked with Mom for a couple hours last night. About everything. Or rather, more than I have the time to recall and note. Actually, I talked, she listened. I talked of discussions with J about how special it was to feel understood by M, and how that was my experience and not anything that is tied to or belongs to M.

M encompasses memories of feelings of happiness that are difficult to find elsewhere. Thats not right. The memory of those feelings is associated with M. Yet, those are my feelings. Is it hard to separate those because I’m afraid of their spontaneous and rare occurance having no mapped path to their attainment?

Mom still worries greatly about my idealizing M and it leaks through her otherwise typically unassuming and thoughtful self.

But M isn’t responsible for my feelings. I never asked her to be anything or anyone other than herself.

Always out of time.

Now it seems to me, some fine things
Have been laid upon your table.
But you only want the ones
That you can’t get.

Desperado,
Ohhhh you aint getting no younger.
Your pain and your hunger,
They’re driving you home.
And freedom, ohh freedom.
Well that’s just some people talking.
Your prison is walking through this world all alone.

Rode from 85th back to Eastlake with M, talking about Maine and why it ravages me. After, while riding the rest of the way home I was thinking about this girl who I didn’t really know who had committed suicide when I was a teenager. I remember thinking about how I would have been happy to be with her and that she didn’t need to be so alone. The more relationships I have, the further I feel from everyone. And the more those feelings of youth feel naive.

M was at the prefunk. That’s just, whatever. I can justify feeling any way, it doesn’t change anything. The feelings don’t change.

So another night, where I cut myself short. I keep myself to myself. I feel like I have to protect everyone from me.

Unexpected adventures on Capitol Hill ran me into Shane (alright, expected), Nym and Kayla tonight. The latter two being at bars I’d never been to and the night ended with wavering judgment choosing to wander off before anything really happened. What a bizarre city.

“Bryan McLellan of Critical Mass” came up today in unexpected force. Such a strange course of events. All the same, moving forward with what there is to move forward with.

I’ve been thinking off and on I should journal this more than rants, like the old folks do. Hmm. Dunno.

endgame, traveling through Eddie Izzard’s twitter.

I have no advice on how to live life. Except this; (a) grab life by the ears every day and French kiss it to the ground and (b) don’t get to old age clutching a list headed, “I wish I’d……” I haven’t got one. Mind you, I had no plan to begin with. Life just happened and took me along with it. Fabulous fun.

A chapter closed with JR, amiably and as good as I can hope for now. There’s more to do than I could before I die. Apparently the basement here is not on fire and my bicycle is safe.

And the sun is out.