On Coincidences

To be perfectly honest, it’s purely coincidental and since I don’t really believe in coincidences, I’m at a loss for what to call it. I suppose we’ll get there.

I started writing Tales on the Timeclock one year ago today. Now before we get started here, I’m not going to spend the next few minutes rehashing events from the past year like I need to give you some fucking synopsis of my life. If you’re that interested, and I doubt you are, go read it.

If I remember quite correctly I was taking short trips to the bathroom at work to finish up the bag of blow I had left over from the night before. I’m not going to pretend like I remember why I started writing this, I was so fucked up that it’s hard to remember major events of the past two years, let alone something insignificant like my motivations for writing a blog. The point is that, for whatever reason, I did start writing this. I think I intended to shock people or something like that.

“Hey let’s put some fucked up stories from the past few years on the internet and see if people read it,” is what I’m guessing my motive was. Regardless, it’s here and you’ve read it. I’ve been heard.

I don’t know what I’ve said and I don’t know what I meant to say, but I’ve said something and I’ve been heard, I just never expected my audience to be what it was. If I really think back on the past year, one of the most fucked up of my life, I am surprised I survived. The fact of the matter is that I did, but I did not do it alone.

Now you can fuck off and say, “Oh here this moron goes talking about his blog girlfriend that he met again,” but I don’t really care. Some of you have loyal fan bases, some of you garner critical acclaim, some of you make money and some of you even become famous. I don’t care about any of that; I’ve gained something much more important.

I didn’t do this alone. I look at the past year of writing as a cry for help from someone stuck with one foot still in childhood and the other in adulthood. Over the past year a few have answered that call. Some of you took the time you normally spent with your kids, your lovers, your spouses or your televisions to talk to a kid who genuinely needed someone to listen to what he couldn’t say to anyone else. You have no idea what that means to me.

One person in particular spent way too much time and way too much worry on my dumb ass. She was my first reader, the first to respond to what I wrote and the first to write me. If you read her blog you know that there just a few men who would kill to do vile things to her. I don’t quite know her that way, I know A. Secret as a friend. This might seem stupid to you and you might not know why I’m doing this, but I do and so does she.

I want to tell you that the time you spent talking me down from insanity, talking me up when I was down and giving me advice like I was one of your kids is something that I will never forget. If I gained nothing else but the obvious from writing this blog, I gained you as a friend, as a confidant and as someone I know I can wholeheartedly trust with anything. You introduced me to the most important person in my life; in fact you talked me up in the first place, telling her I wasn’t a creeper so she would speak to me. For that alone I owe you everything I have. For everything you have done for me, all the time you’ve spent, all the worry you’ve been troubled with I will be forever in your debt. I hope you know, and I want every person who reads this to know, that I would do anything for you.

That brings me to the real reason I’m writing this post. I’m leaving today in a few hours. This time, when I get on that Delta flight bound for New York, I won’t be going for just some simple visit. I’m actually beginning to think that the interview I have on Monday isn’t so much of an interview as it is a “meet your new coworkers” day. I’ll come “home” when I’m done, I’ll make my arrangements and by June (if all goes to plan) I’ll be leaving the state of Ohio for good.

So there you have it, all the whining I’ve been doing over the past year has actually paid off. But, you see, that isn’t where I’m going to end this post. I mean to tell you something more.

I am ashamed that I avoid telling people that I’m moving to New York for a woman. I don’t want to hear them tell me how it will probably fall apart in a few months and I’ll be up shit creek with no paddle. I’ve lied to my parents and friends and told them that while I am involved with a woman out there, I am moving solely for the career opportunity. Well I think if anyone knows the truth, it is you.

I am moving to New York City for a woman. No, I am not moving to New York City for a woman, I am moving for the woman I love. No one went as far as she did for me.

I remember when we first started emailing each other; I still read the old correspondence from time to time. “What the fuck does this bitch care if I drive drunk?” Every day she would say something that would make me think that. It is difficult to pick out sincerity from an email, but hers was blatant. For some reason this woman, seven years older than me and six hundred miles away gives a shit if I lose control on the freeway and die a flaming, painful death while killing a school bus full of nuns holding babies. It only grew from there.

I screamed to her on the phone about the pain of being betrayed. I cried about the sorrow of having my heart broken. I complained about the difficulty of growing up. All she ever did was listen. She cared; it was totally alien to me. “I am not sleeping with this woman and she cares about me like I am.” She listened to everything and anything I had to say, without judgment. Before long I found myself calling long distance to talk out my problems instead of heading to a friend’s house for a blunt and a brew.

I guess that’s why I started writing this; I needed someone to talk to, even if it was no one more than me. I was completely lost and fucked in the head; in fact, I’ve spent the past year repairing the damage. I needed advice, consoling and just a general smack upside my dumb ass head, when I started writing here…I got it. I kept coming back to spill out my problems onto page after page because it alleviated some of the pain, stress or sorrow that I was feeling at the time…I rarely wrote out of joy. I won’t downplay the few times I did write when I felt on top of the world, specifically the first trip to New York, but they are not the reason this blog has gone on so long. I came here because I needed someone to tell me I am still the man I’m supposed to be…I have that now.

So I guess you see where this is going, don’t you? It is just too great of a coincidence. I started writing a year ago today and today I leave to move for reasons directly related to and caused by my writing. I have someone to listen to me now, someone that will not leave anonymous judgmental comments about my insecurities. I no longer need to spell-check my feelings. I don’t need to capitalize my troubles and I don’t have to wonder if a comma or a semicolon is used when I’m pouring out my heart.

In short, I don’t need this anymore.

She is flesh and blood. She is warm and beautiful. She is there and she is real. She is not text, she is not words and she is not digital. I will no longer have this woman as an electronic part of my life. She belongs to me, no other man will have her and I will make it so she never thinks of another. For what she has done for me, I will give her everything and I demand everything from her in return. She has yet to disappoint me and I don’t see her starting now.

I know what I want and I am taking it, it’s just that simple.

So I guess this is where we part ways. I don’t have a reason to write here anymore, I don’t have the will and I don’t have the time. I had been thinking about giving it the axe for a while now, just couldn’t think of any better time than now. One year from the date I started writing this blog, I am taking the first step into the world. The light is blinding my eyes, my hands are shaking and my stomach is upset. I’m nervous, can’t sleep and can’t get my mind off of what is about to happen. I’m leaving this place; it is time for me to start over again. I need a clean slate to dirty; I just can’t get over the luck of the dates. Exactly one year…what a coincidence. But like I said, I don’t believe in coincidences so let’s just call it what it is…

Fate.