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Need one say more?

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Conundrum.

This morning I am on the road again, on the way to a rock climbing site. My ex was supposed to come with us but she cancelled this morning. Hopefully it was not because of me. I would hate to think that Yours Truly is the cause of that. As much as I do not wish to give up going climbing, I also do not wish to be the cause of someone else doing same. As the song goes, “can’t win for losing”, I guess.

Catalyst.

Yours Truly has been unencumbered by a single creative thought for quite some time. I used to post all the time but then I got a little happier and couple of months afterwards I have gotten a lot worse and about a month ago that recurrence of misery began to subside. And throughout all that I have not been able to make myself to write consistently. What did change is that I have gotten to a place of certain uneasy peace with my feelings for my ex. I do not love her any less than before but it is somehow possible to keep going one day at a time. Does I have to be completely miserable and despondent to write?

That was what I was thinking and writing in the morning. Fast forward to the early afternoon and on my way to the theatre I discovered that some wanker broke into my vehicle and stole my rather expensive sunglasses. (Two weeks ago my bicycle was stolen as well. At this point, is it allowed to think that someone is after Yours Truly?)

Fast forward to late afternoon. My mother decided to cheer me up by telling me of her troubles that included a detailed description of my grandmother’s grave that the gardeners did not maintain very well. Great! That story was a real picker-upper.

Now, I am back at the theatre doing something I have never done before. One supposes I will have something to write about in the next few days.

Glutton For Punishment?

And once again I am going rock climbing with my group which also includes the EX today. Except that today she is with her new boyfriend. Perhaps Yours Truly has learned to better master the emotions (I have started doing yoga few weeks ago) or perhaps because all the work-related stress and pressure (things are not going well these days) have numbed my senses, but I am able to appear relaxed and friendly. Although, to be honest, I do not necessarily feel that way inside. It would seem that my lot in life is to ache for not seeing her and to hurt when I am. Buddha believed all life contains suffering and in learning to navigate that suffering is where we find joy. That seems doubtful if not outright masochistic. However, in learning to navigate the suffering that we might find a way to live with the pain in our souls and perhaps even find some peace. Namaste.

Back To Basics.

In the improv scene, it is not unusual to see already experienced improvisers taking the “back to basics” style workshops. We get so concentrated on doing big important stuff that we forget that success of the big things is dependent on doing the small things right.

It would seem that something like that of the socialising type is in order for Yours Truly. After my meltdown and all the time since then people keep saying that I need to keep doing the things that I used to do. The problem is that what I used to do was never particularly healthy in the first place. True, always going to shows, seeing people here and there, having drinks with everyone meant that leading a deceptively very social lifestyle. In reality, what that translated to was perfecting the art of being alone in a crowd of people.

So now, I am on my way to my friend’s place to learn how to spend time with one person. Let the re-education begin.

Bollocks.

Yours Truly is so truly and incredibly fucked. I am currently trying to dig myself out of the whole I plunged into head first at work. Why? Because I am too preoccupied with my own condition. My shrinks say it is a good sign though one suspects that my employer would disagree.

The main issue in this mess, however, is that the only thing that got me to calm down today and be able to function, was to dig out the photos of my EX. The one. One suspects that my shrinks would not agree that this is a good sign.

The Look.

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…

The Wheel Of Time.

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!

Fff(t).

What’s in a drink? That which we
Call a potion
By any other name would intoxicate
As much.

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.