As I am sitting on a street bench, working on my show, a police vehicle patrolling the neighbourhood keeps driving past me. The first time they even stopped and observed me as I pretended not to notice them. I guess I had that suspicious look, sitting there, consulting Wikipedia on my smartphone, writing in my notepad…
One supposes this was bound to happen sooner or later. Yours Truly went on a date. Actually, I did go to a lunch date couple of weeks ago but that did not go anywhere. It was not really a date but rather making someone’s acquaintance. Last night though was a date. My first one this year. It went very well. The was some snogging/smooching/making out at the end and there will be another date. In fact, the snogging part was so fantastic that I did not even think about my ex for over 20 minutes afterwards!
What’s in a drink? That which we
Call a potion
By any other name would intoxicate
Or something of that nature…
We all have out poisons: the Big Hairy One might like fermented mammoth milk while ENIAC Gamma the Ninety-Second may opt for the jolt of alternating current. (I have been on a wee bit of a Kuttner kick lately. It doesn’t show too much, does it?)
In any case, Yours Truly has quite a liking for expensive single malts and bourbons. Which is why I would be terrible at being an alcoholic: the fortified wines and such would not make it past my palate. There is nothing quite like going to bed with an expensive limited edition bottle of whisky and waking up not too hung over (because of the high quality of the alcoholic beverage in question) on a work day. Yes, that was me a year ago. Needless to say, being a man of modest means, that did not last too long. However, initially as a precaution and later as part of therapy, I have been eschewing the allure of the golden tinged liquid washing up and down my palate and embouchure, slightly burning the sensitive flesh, and, eventually, slowing down and calming my worried mind.
It begs the question, how did a poor immigrant kid, unfamiliar with the western ways, develop such a rarified taste? Well, upon first moving to this land of milk and Honey over twenty years ago, I have met a young man, originally from the same part of the world – only few years older than me – who would become my friend and mentor. He is still my friend and, due to my unfortunate tendency to not interact with the outside world, he does still manage to play the latter role from time to time. He always had “good taste”. Though not snobbish, he does like the good things in life. He was the first person to introduce me to Scotch whisky. Later on, I have met other people, read about the alcohol, tried different stuff… But I will always remember myself as a 17-year-old, drinking my friend’s Johnny Walker Black Label, and trying to learn thus insane to English language.
A friend recommended that Yours Truly writes down things for which to be thankful. Today I am thankful for having a French-style lunch (yes, wine at noon) with my French friends. I could get used to this.
It has been a year. A year of pain, a year of loss, a year of darkness. But also it has been a year of learning, a year of understanding, and of daring to hope. I have made many discoveries and met some amazing people, even though it is only online. There was a lot of progress made and then I regressed again and plunged back into darkness back in March. I am starting to do better again. One day at a time, right?
Regardless, the 2014 has so far been better than 2013, even though Yours Truly is quite likely to become unemployed in the next couple of weeks at a time when it would be rather financially unfortunate. At least I am not crippled by my depression and by the sorrow of the love lost.
This blogging community and the process of blogging have helped me enormously to discover myself and make sense of my world. Despite the five month long setback, there is some sense of purpose and of a road map to better life.
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more…
Here’s one of the reasons why Yours Truly has so few friends. Recently, I have had a dubious pleasure of watching a film entitled “White House Down”. If you ever have an opportunity to watch it, don’t bother. It did however have an interesting twist at the end and I would without a doubt watch the sequel about this situation.
WARNING: SPOILER ALERT!!! I AM ABOUT TO SAY WHAT HAPPENS AT THE END OF THE MOVIE.
So the legitimately elected President of the United States is declared unable to fulfill his duties and is replaced by his vice-president who is promptly killed. As the line of succession dictates, the Speaker of the House is then sworn in as president. But (SPOILER ALERT!), the Speaker is the bad guy and is revealed as such and is promptly detained thereafter. Except that he is the President of the United States and one would assume that the president cannot just be detained. But here’s the most frustrating thing: the movie ends on the most interesting – for me – part. There’s the elected president who has been declared unable to fulfill his duties and was replaced by other, who in turn, upon his untimely death is replaced by the bad guy who does not get killed. So we got a “former/original” president who is treated like an actual president and an actual president who is detained and is being treated like a criminal. Can you see the constitutional crisis brewing? Now that’s a movie I would watch!
Hello my dearest. It has been a long time since I have last written to you. Since the last time, I have not expected to write again and yet here we are.
It has been a year since you left me and, oh, what a rough year it has been. A stormy time when waves of anguish, squalls of despair, and clouds of darkness were my constant companions. Say what you will about the dark thoughts, at least they stay.
We have met face to face a couple of times since the worst of the storm has past. It was all very adult and civilised. Yet underneath my calm demeanour a vortex of the pyre of my love for you still burns as strongly as when I wrote that fateful letter that set you off so greatly.
Not many things have changed in my life in these past twelve months. Still as troubled as long before our lives intersected, I have made strides to improve my dreary existence, to believe in myself, to believe there is a better future for me. These last twelve months of extensive psychotherapy have also opened my eyes to see your actions in a more realistic light of not being all that ethical or worthy. And yet it remains a mystery to my therapists and to myself why I still love you. What poison have I drank to still be infected this way? What sin have I committed to still suffer the consequences? Or is love itself is my cardinal transgression?
The road ahead of me is dark and full of mysteries. One hopes that when I see the light, it will be the end of the tunnel and not the light of the oncoming train.