Blogblah!!!

Friday night, I was home in time to do two loads of laundry before midnight.

Saturday was a pretty good day.

Started out with a small gathering at the Red Cup in the morning.  In the afternoon, I joined a group of people put together by the Debster for the purpose of forming a Socrates Cafe discussion group.  I do so admire the Debster for her inspirational attitude of doing something rather than just talking about doing something.

In the evening, I had dinner with the lovely Juliet, went back to the Red Cup for an hour and then a few minutes listening to the acoustic set at GSpot followed by a few minutes with a couple of regulars at Isis.

Home again with plenty of time to spare to sit in my living room wingback chair, browse the internet with a cup of hot chocolate and a little jazz on the radio while a fire crackled and the cat perched on the back of the chair above my left shoulder.  I was again in bed before midnight.

This morning, I’m literally in bed with my laptop atop my lap and I’ve read the NY Times and the Wash. Post and looked at the new vids posted by John X and M Carp while Sinatra streaks from window to window to see the birds and squirrels.

One of the habitues of Isis was James, whose heart is weak but good and gentle.  He told me he’d spent a little time closely observing me from afar and that his main thought was that I seemed “content.”

As the poet Robert Burns observed, it’s quite a gift to see ourselves as others see us.

I think of contentment as my goal rather than my lifestyle, personal style or manner.

On the inside, it seems I’m often restless, discontent and irritable.

I may have to reconsider that attitude towards myself and my life.

After all, I have a lovely and quiet home that brings me a lot of joy.  I’m surrounded by artwork produced by the creative urges of people I know and care about.

I drive a nice car.  It’s not the jazzy two seater I had last year, but it’s a very nice vehicle.

I have a lovely wardrobe. 

Self employed, I make a living but I don’t have to show up at a particular time and I don’t answer to much of anyone about anything I do.  For example, Friday afternoon, I went to the studio of the Oz and he and I whiled away some sunshine going to get some keys duplicated and then to far south OKC to take possession and inspect a home that is in a probate estate.  Bluntly, I sorta fucked off Friday afternoon, but got paid for it.

I have a support system of friends and family that is very satisfying and fulfilling.  Mom’s frisky and feisty and that’s a big plus.  I have children and grandchildren I adore and who enhance my life simply by their very existence.  I do interesting things and meet interesting people. 

I have time to read and write and contemplate and blog and fulminate and roar through that avenue.  The diversity of my acquaintence delights me: transexuals, Europeans, gays, straights, Africans, Asians, people from the India subcontinent and S. America, rich, poor, middle class, right, left, radical, believers, non-believers, drunks and recovering drunks. Citizens of the world, all.

What more do I need to be content?  As MB says of herself: I have all I need all around me. 

This morning, as I write, the computer is churning out a playlist of soothing music:  Yo Yo Ma is playing some Brazilian pieces right this moment. 

The Sumatra coffee beans I ground this morning make a full flavored and “round” cup of java at my side and a cigaret burns in the ashtray invitingly.

Another X, privacy shattered Sharon, is getting married and I so love her and wish her the very best.  This news makes me very happy and I find the circumstance soothing, calming and I love her enough that I’m glad for her because I know how much it pleases her.  That seems extraordinary to me that I would have those feelings, and I’m happy for that.  No jealousy, no envy, no snarky bullshit.  I’m really pretty lucky on the score of X relationships.  I want them all to be happy.  I still love all the ones I once loved.  I am sincerely glad that my Xwife is remarried.  I want her to be happy and get what she wants out of life.  Barbara Jellybean remarried and it always makes me glad to see her and see her seemingly happy.  I have other Xs still out there looking and struggling for a good relationship.  I’m wistful about the loss of some of the relationships, but it would make me sad if they never reached their goals and I don’t really have any deep regrets about my lovelife.  While I’ve been grousing about my current situation, I’m really sort of, well, content to let the universe unfold as it should without me thinking that I’m taking control of the situation.

Still, the nature of my mind is such that I’m so easily diverted from this path of serenity and contentment.  Perhaps others also see me as content.  Know ye this:  I must forcefully turn my mind in that direction.  It takes an act of conscious will for me to center up and get content.  I must remind myself to get perspective (”How much will this matter in 5 years?) before I have any perspective at all and the alternative is that I’m all excited about someone else’s problems. I must take an active role in reminding myself of all my blessings in order to calm down and be secure in my surroundings.  I must sit down and tell myself the truth others intuit effortlessly:  most people are just doing the best they can at the time and almost always with the best of intentions.  It’s very likely not about me at all.

Shakespeare wrote that “there is nothing good nor bad but thinking makes it so.”  Perhaps you prefer the more modern and perky “attitude is everything”.  Whatever.  In all events, I think myself content this morning, thanks to James’ nudge in that direction.  Now, don’t fuck with me, I’m where I want to be.

I watched the Bill Murray movie, Groundhog Day, last night.  Not sure that was the best film for my present circumstances.  bill goes to the groundhog day festivities and gets caught in the small town by a blizzard and caught in a Feb. 2 timewarp in which he repeats the day over and over.  Sounds a little familiar.  Can’t get out because of the weather and every day seems like the one just before.

I’ve been on a journey to the most dangerous place in the universe:  between my ears.

Talked to Little Miss Sunshine today about sex, love and relationships.  During this confab, I noticed that I’ve dated women in every age category from 20 to 60 except one:  age 35-40.  I wondered if that was just chance or if there were another explanation.  LMS says it’s because women that age are interested in children, marriage and career and a guy like me just is not on their agenda/radar.  Plausable and interesting response.  I wonder if other readers agree.

Seems like some female OCU night law school aspirant would snap me up.

I don’t know.

I also have been radically rethinking my relationships.  I wonder if I’ve been dating similar women, even if I’ve focused on their differences rather than their similarities.  I wonder if the bubbly younger women, the desperate divorcees in their 40s and the accomplished 50 somethings might all be the same wounded girl on her arc from youth through middle age.  What do you think?

Again, LMS’s input:  John’s wounded and only wounded women will be interested; unwounded ones want nothing to do with those of us who are wounded.

Again, not the most optimistic and hopeful response from Little Miss Sunshine and a little insulting even if true, but I wonder if anyone/everyone else agrees.  Nevertheless, an interesting and plausable response, LMS.

Then there are questions about relationships that only I can answer:  what are you looking for?  what do you want? 

I’m not sure I’m even asking the right questions at this point.  I wonder if I’ve accepted a cultural paradigm of coupling up and living some kind of happily ever after without questioning this as a premise.    To ask that question implies putting a lot of things on the table: celibacy, bigamy, polygamy, profligate promiscuity, for example.

At this point, I’ll admit that it occurs to me that part of my problem with relationships is that I overthink the hell out of every damn thing.

If I’m honest with myself, I’m not easy.  I’m not easy to live with and I’m not easy to put up with.  I’m demanding and thoughtless both at the same time.  I can be both unforgiving and relentlessly resentful.

On the other hand, I can be exceedingly kind and thoughtful, funny, a great partner for conversation and coffee, sexy and a lot of other really great stuff.

Knowing this about myself, why am I surprised when some victim/hostage gets frustrated and conflicted?

As to the best of my relationships, I must admit my own part:  I participated fully in the sabotage/denoument of each one.

Put another way, I have not demonstrated the ability to build a longlasting and fulfilling relationship.  I think it’s fair to say relationships are not my strong suit.

I also think it’s fair to compare myself to an acquired taste.  Scotch, for example, and perhaps an apt comparison.

I told you going between my ears is making danger the destination.

I have a sinus infection and bronchitis.

I have another large medical expense deduction for this year’s taxes.

Dr. Feelgood says I will stop smoking NOW or spend the rest of my life with an oxygen tank strapped to my back. He says oxygen tanks are not sexy and I will never again get laid.  Why didn’t nobody ’splain it to me like that before?  I thought I smoked BECAUSE it was sexy.  That’s what all the commercials on TV said back when I started at age 15.

I am a sad man with stopped up ears, a running/stuffy nose and a hacking cough.

whether tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune …

I’m restless, discontent and irritable and that’s no place for a recovering alcoholic.

I’m also lethargic, isolating and just about autistic with hypervigilant anxiety and that’s no place for someone who’s chronically depressed.

In other words, it’s a full moon, folks, and John’s werewolf side is coming out.  I can’t stay awake during the day and I can’t go to sleep at night.

(Hum it along with me now, folks … “I saw a werewolf having a pina colada at Trader Vic’s…his hair was Purr-fect.”)

I guess I won’t know until the sun goes down whether I’m homicidal, suicidal or just nuckin’ futs.

Aaaaahhhhhhh-ooooooooohhhhhh!!!!!!!!!

I didn’t go to work today.

I’m home with the double ugly triple inverted Ickky Yuks.

Or, at least I think that’s the technical name for it.

Not to be confused with the “yaks”, which is merely an onomatopoeic substitute for the more precise “technicolor yawn.”

I am queasy, though I’m so empty that a nonchalant dry heave is all I could expect to muster up.

I went to the office to get files to work on, but you know how that goes.

Meanwhile,  I can’t get my contacts in my eyes because they are so red, itchy, scratchy and running.

I can’t breathe through this throbbing proboscis.

My hacking dry cough contributes to the queasiness.

And, most of all, I feel like that coifed Nickles Bills-ite in the black Lexus who almost ran over me yesterday and then just sat crossways in the parking lot while she talked on her cell fucking phone actually DID run over me.  SOMETHING ran over me, of that I’m sure.

I only got 11 hours sleep yesterday, so I’m tired.

shut the fuck up.