Dreams of Snakes

It happens every time I polish off a bottle of red wine before bed. The dreams are insane, and for the most part indecipherable and violent. Most of the time I can't remember what happened when I wake up, let alone what they mean...if, that is, dreams are supposed to mean something in the first place. Upon waking, the dream usually fades off back into my subconscious, last night was not one of those cases.

My boss had given me a present, for what reason I have no idea. He placed a small .22 caliber pistol equipped with a silencer into my hand and thanked me for my hard work. I got the feeling it was a going away gift but there is no way to be sure. Then, in the strange manner that dreams progress, I found myself lost in a jungle.

It seemed that every few feet I walked a snake would materialize from the bush and attempt to bite my ankles. After some time of evading their strikes one succeeded, I looked down and saw the blood running down my leg. I bent over and picked the snake up, it bit me again on the hand before I tightened my grip around its throat. I held its head steady and leveled the .22 under its chin and pulled the trigger.

Suddenly I was in the living room of a house I had not lived in for a few years. The snake was dead in my hands and its blood splattered on the wall. I tossed the still wriggling carcass to the ground before being awoken by the fucking garbage truck emptying the dumpster in my parking lot.

I thought about it as I drove into work this morning, what it meant...it didn't take me long to come to a conclusion. You see Monday I got a text message from my ex-girlfriend, the one who tried her hardest to destroy me only a few months ago. She needed her flash drive back and would buy me a bourbon for my trouble. I responded, telling her I would meet her at 6:30.

I put my cigarette out on the curb and walked in, I was early. I sat there thinking about how pissed my actual girlfriend was that I was meeting Meg for a drink, but my curiosity got the better of me...I could not resist. The waitress took my order, a bourbon and a High Life, and asked if someone was meeting me. I nodded and then noticed her walk in. She sat down. We said hello. It was silent for a moment...

She was visibly nervous, chattering away as I sat there sipping my drink and listening to the details of her life for the past year. She was skirting around the obvious, "It's ok, you can talk about Mike if you want," I told her. Of course no matter how much I hate my former best friend, I was immensely curious how the two of them had been getting on since the beginning of their little "behind the back affair." She told me he was getting ready to be transferred down to Georgia, apparently that's where you get sent when you're the top tobacco salesman in Ohio. She answered the way I figured she would when I asked if she was going to move with him.

She didn't give much away, but I could tell it was weighing heavy on her. I pressed on, telling her about my girl and how I couldn't be happier with her. As I said it I was flooded with a whole list of reasons why she is everything Meg never was. It came to me suddenly and I understood that all the pain was completely worth it.

We stood outside of the bar for a minute as I finished a cigarette, finishing the game of catch up we were playing. I said goodbye and turned to walk away, she stood there for a second, as if I was going to come back. I got into the car and called my notably pissed off girlfriend to tell her it had gone "well," whatever that meant. I showed her and myself I was happier without her, regardless of how hard they had both tried to put me under and I realized all over again why I am so lucky today.

But more importantly, I proved something to myself, that I am the bigger man, the one who isn't going to harbor hard feelings or act like a child. I had told her honestly I hoped things worked out for her and I meant it. I finally realized I had what I needed all along, closure. I had moved on and I ended up on top.

As for my dear "friend" Mike, now he is another story. From what it sounded like, he had assumed all along that Meg would make the move with him when he got transferred. For someone who had never been more than 50 miles from home, that must have been important to him. But once again, my free-spirited ex proved to me that she had not changed a bit...she wasn't going with him. He had thrown away the 6 years of good times we had for a woman who never saw him in her future anyways. Besides, I never understood how her...or any girl for that matter could go for a guy who spent more money than her on hair care products.

Hair gel was invented to identify assholes from a distance.

He told me once, a long time ago, that he wanted to get out of here just as bad as I did, he just didn't want to go by himself. He was afraid of being so far from home and knowing no one. He said this place was getting to him, killing him, so to speak. I bet he thought he had it all worked out, he sacrificed me for her...but look what he ended up with.

So it quickly became apparent, on my ride in, what my dream meant. The snakes in my life may bite and for a while think I am defeated....but in the end I will win. I will always win, no matter how hard they try to make me fall. In the end, the inevitable end, I will watch with a grin on my face as the pieces of the life he thought he built on my back are sprayed all over the wall like the snake in my dream.

Good riddance you cunt.

Shame on Me

A little back story 7/14/09

Now that I have had more than a little time to process the...situation, maybe I can come to some sort of conclusion. I had this rotten suspicion in the pit of my stomach but everyone kept telling me…no, assuring me, “Oh come on Cheese, don’t be paranoid, they’d never do that to you.” I should have known better than that, I have always trusted my gut…it's the reason I am still alive. I just knew it, no matter what they said I fucking knew it was happening behind my back.

It was the night before the big interview and I was sitting in the back of a Manhattan bar, putting down bourbon a bit too quickly. If ever there was an example of how this truly is a tale of two cities, it was that night. We were having fun, maybe...definitely too much fun for the night before an interview, but regardless, I remember the call and suddenly I was not in New York, I was stuck back in Ohio. This fucking place, dragging me back kicking and screaming. It took only a few moments, a few words, to change from having one of my best nights, to feeling completely stabbed in the back. My new friends reassured me, my girlfriend consoled me and I calmed down enough (I'm sure the bourbon helped) to enjoy the rest of the night.

The next morning I woke up slightly hung over and got dressed for my interview. I choked down the feelings of betrayal, determined not to let it show in front of the panel set to quiz me. “What would you say your greatest weakness is?” I answered their questions with calculated lies; I told them what they wanted to hear. We cried when I left for the airport, like always, but I cried not only because I was losing the one I love yet again…but because I knew I was headed back into the war zone of my life.

Wheels down, here we go again.

I don’t even remember what he said, honestly, I’m not entirely hard to convince.

“What would you say your greatest weakness is?”

“Well Mr. Interviewer, I would say my greatest weakness is the fact that I have fucked so many people over in my life. See let me explain, I have screwed quite a few in my day and while some have told me to burn in hell, a few forgave me and we are now very close. Now follow me here, see since I have been forgiven by so many people who I cared about I feel it's only fair to do the same to people that screw me. Why is that a weakness you ask?”

It’s like fucking turning your back so it’s easier to stab you.

I was drunk, surprisingly, when he apologized. He called me, wanted to make amends and even brought the bourbon. He talked about the guilt, about not sleeping and about how he knew that he was my oldest friend here. He told me he knew how wrong it was to go behind my back. I told him I wasn’t still in love with her, I was just angry he didn’t tell me. He understood, I understood. “Bros before hoes,” he told me, “bros before hoes.”

Fast forward a few months. I had been wondering for a week or two why he wasn’t returning calls or texts anymore. I thought maybe I was just hanging out with TJ and Smash too much and he resented it, maybe it was my fault. I wasn’t exactly going up to his neck of the woods to hang out anymore, yeah…it had to be my fault. To think that I actually lied awake at night worrying about my friendship with him makes me sick now. But then I suppose I haven’t told that part of the story yet, now have I?

I stood on the porch at Simon’s admiring the downtown view he paid way too much for, finishing the end of a blunt and drinking my High Life. Smash and I had been talking on the patio for a while, I had been wondering why it was just her and I out there when everyone else was inside. The generally lighthearted conversation turned in a second, I don’t know what prompted her, but she said she had something she needed to tell me but she was afraid of my reaction. Simon, TJ and Adrianna stared at the two of us through the glass patio door as I asked her. “What the fuck is going on here?”

And then she dropped it.

Only a few seconds later, Simon grabbed me and pushed me back against the wall, “Man I know you’re pissed but if you keep punching that you’re going to break it.” It wasn’t even me that he was talking to, I had lost all control and my rage totally blinded me. The blood from my fists formed two streaked imprints on the wooden siding of his apartment; I fell back into a chair. TJ told me he was sorry, they had just found out and told me as soon as they knew. I believe him. They told me they were sorry, “If we had known earlier we would have told you.”

The difference between friend and enemy became very clear as I went though one by one my friends who must have been laughing behind my back. “Dude, his best friend is not only fucking, but going out with his ex…and he has no idea. How dumb can you be?”

I let her have it; I spewed every possible wish of evil onto her. I told her I hope she died; I hoped her whole family died but I left him alone. I didn’t know what to say. After a few days to think about it I realized I wasn’t upset with her, sure knowing would have been nice but she knows me and how I would have reacted. If I was her, I wouldn’t have told me either.

But him…that is a whole other story.

He didn’t say anything for a week, but at some point waiting him out got to be too much. I sent a text reading quite simply, “You are not a man, grow a pair of balls and admit it to me.” He didn’t respond for more than a day. When he did it was half assed, “It’s a shitty situation and I don’t know what to do. I know it’s fucked up man and I’m sorry.” For the first time in my life I knew what to say back immediately.

“I don’t care, do whatever you want. You are as good as dead to me.”

And that is how you erase six years in one sentence. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, you don’t exist.

Off Balance

Herein lies the trouble with getting your hopes up. What goes up must, inevitably, come down. When you do finally come crashing back to earth it takes a little while to hit the ground. It isn't instantaneous. It might take days, it might take years but don't ever forget that it is inevitable.

I have a notorious habit of overreacting. Bad news comes and I flip out, good news comes and I get overexcited. I am incapable of maintaining any sense of balance. I can't manage to get myself into that little space that lies between these two extremes. Well, that isn't entirely accurate as that's where I find myself now.

You see, balancing in between is where I am right now. Balance is the lack of everything dramatic, everything exciting, everything bad and everything good. Balance has me sitting here, choking the life out of me as I rot away at this desk. When you spend all most of your time high on excitement or drowning in depression there is not much time for any sort of sanity in life. So when I do get these momentary glances of what it must be like to be...normal...well...I don't know who I am.

I don't do much anymore. I drink, I smoke, I make my social rounds but increasingly, I feel at a loss for words with the closest of friends. No one says anything, but I see the looks in their eyes...they wonder what my major malfunction is. I get tired of those looks really quickly and since they aren't going anywhere, neither am I. So now while I spend my time alone, playing my guitar, getting the most out of my Netflix subscription and jerking off to pass the hours, my friends wonder where I am. Then, slowly but surely, they stop wondering. It isn't their fault, I just give them no reason to. As the days pass the invitations to fun nights out or simple phone calls to kick it slowly disappear until one day I realize this is my own doing.

So here I am. I've got nothing really going for me. I have a woman who loves me more than anything, but this wait has been nothing if not painful...for the both of us. There is no land in sight, I am just out here sailing around trying to find out how to get where I want to be going. Captains in the heyday of exploration used to miss their intended destinations by hundreds of miles, I fear the same will happen to me. I don't want to end up anywhere else than the place I am trying to get to, I just don't know how to get there.

I have nothing to be bitter, sad or angry about. I have nothing to be excited, nervous or happy about. I am stuck in limbo, in between up and down. Everything just...is, nothing more nothing less. I am just here, my life is just happening, I have no idea if I am in control. Days pass without the slightest recognition of their going. Not out of control but not charging forward just the same. Just here.

So here I wait, residing in my state of equilibrium. If that's the case then why do I feel so off balance?

The Sacrifice

I don’t mean for this to be taken the wrong way, but how else am I supposed to put it?

I’ve been thinking about it ever since we decided, I mean, how could I not? I know you love me and that I never doubted, but I am sacrificing everything here and I feel alone in that. I don’t know what to say…I guess I owe it to you to be honest, this isn’t fair. I had two choices: give you up or come and get you. You knew my choice before I even made it. I get that you were stood up in the past, but I just don’t know. It just pisses me off.

You always say that you understand what I’m going through. The fact of the matter is that you don’t and you never fucking will. I’m going to give it all up for you and no matter how much I say I hate it here…this is still my home, this is where I have my friends and this is where I have my life. I think at some point you need to look at this objectively and see that I am risking everything and you are risking nothing.

We can say it all we want, but I have absolutely nothing more than your word. You know I’m a skeptic, I don’t mean to be and I want you to remember that I love you. I hate feeling this way and I wish I could change it, but the simple fact is it’s just the way I am. I’ve been screwed constantly by women my entire life, it hurts me to say but…I would be a fool if I wasn’t cautious.

You have selfish aims in this and I don’t blame you for them, not in the slightest, but you need to get it. Start to understand. I’m a kid, you have everything you need in New York…I have you and nothing else. No family, no friends, no bank, no car, no money…no nothing. I’m all on my own. You can’t save me if I drown, and I can barely tread water let alone swim. What happens if everything falls apart? What happens if I lose it? What happens if…

Never mind, I’m sure you’d be sickened to read this and think I don’t love you for writing it, but it is the way I feel. I know you worry about how long it will take me to get there, but take one fucking second and think about what is worrying me…what happens when I actually get there? Think about that the next time you think we are fighting.

We aren’t fighting, you just don’t understand.

Cut me a little fucking slack here before you make me change my mind.

5/16/09

Problems

We both know what is going to keep this from happening if you don’t nip it in the bud before it gets any worse. Don’t sit here and dance around the subject. Just say it out loud so the both of us can see it plain as day.

It’s becoming a problem isn’t it, my friend? You cannot honestly expect to move forward like this, can you? Didn’t Einstein say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result? Take a look back at the lessons you don’t seem to want to learn.

You let this fuck everything up the first time we got another chance so I stepped in and took control; I cut the ties so you could start again fresh. Think about the sacrifices I made for us when I did that. I risked it all for us. What if it didn’t work out? What if it still doesn’t work out? If that’s the case you will have to be much stronger than you are now. If not, you’re really screwed.

You can’t fuck when you’ve been drinking, you know that…don’t you? I know the answer; it is in my head as well my friend. Don’t dance around the subject. When you can’t fuck the most important person to you knows something is wrong. You can’t hide it.

Get a grip. Get control of yourself. If you piss in that cup and you aren’t clean, we both know what will happen. I’m not just talking about losing a job…I’m talking about losing it all.

So think about that from now on, will you? Remember what we did to get to this point, how far we’ve come. Don’t you dare fuck this up. I can’t promise you’ll like what happens if you do.

Consider yourself warned.

5/13/09

Zero to Sixty

He calls every now and then just to say "what's up?" It's the typical call you would expect from a close friend who moved away. For the first couple months we would talk roughly once a week, lengthy conversations that were ended long before they were truly finished. As time moved on the chats got shorter while the dead space in between our words grew longer.

It isn't something that really bothers me on a nightly basis, just every once in a while. I can't really place the blame on him, just as he cannot on me, it's just a result of the differing paths we took after leaving college in 2007. I stayed here, stagnant essentially, while he moved to Texas and jammed his foot down on the gas pedal.

So here I am, two and a half years out of school with a mediocre job, a steady girlfriend and basically all the freedom to do what I want when I want. I might have battles with my demons but all in all things aren't all that bad. For the first time in a while I feel like I'm playing my hand the way that I want to play it, not the way everyone else is telling me too. So like I said, here I am.

But then, on the other end of the spectrum, there he is.

I don't even think he has turned twenty-five yet but already he's just .5 kids short of the American Dream (if that's how you want to define it, that is). Two kids under five, a wife, two dogs, a mortgage, car payments and all the responsibility that goes along with it. I think all he's missing is the white picket fence. If you were to look back at how similar we were back in school, you would have never seen this coming. I know I sure didn't.

Originally I thought the increasingly awkward telephone silences and the dwindling number of phone calls was on account of the stress and time constraints of going zero to sixty from single stoner to married family man. Now that I put a little more thought into it, it isn't an entirely unreasonable excuse, I have no idea what it is like so I obviously can't be upset. It is what it is.

But that gets me thinking, back in the day we were inseparable. We made money, got drunk, started fights and just generally caused trouble. "Fish and Cheese," they would call us, it was never one without the other. Nowadays we couldn't be more different and it's strange to think how quickly his life changed and just how much of a rift has opened between us.

It has me contemplating my own future, where am I going and where will I end up? What will I be like? How hard will it be for my friends to relate to me? Will they even know what to say to me anymore? Will they recognize a settled down version of Cheese? Will they even be able to call me that anymore?

Speculation will get me nowhere but it's something I have never been able to keep out of my head. It's a constant nusiance, gaining speed and volume each time the calender moves forward. I see my youth fading, the jeans and T-shirt soon to be replaced by a suit and tie. The bowls and beers will give way to baby bottles and bank statements. Recklessness will fade away into responsibility. I wonder if I'll even recognize myself.

Everyone knows you can't stem the tide.

But that doesn't mean it doesn't terrify me as I watch it come in.

Back in the Saddle Again.

This was inevitable, it really was.

So after May of this year I essentially pictured myself riding off into the metaphorical sunset. I figured it would progress like a line of carefully placed dominoes tipped over by a starry eyed little kid. Boy oh fucking boy I sure sold myself on that idea when I boarded that plane to NYC back in May. I mean, who in their right mind would have thought it would be difficult to find a job in a new city during a terrible recession. Well not me obviously, because when I came crashing back down it sure did hurt.

And so…here we are again, back to square one.

It’s strange, I used to drive home after work and think of all the things I needed off my chest, things I needed to say to anyone who would listen but no one in particular. I would get home, open a beer, smoke a bowl and write aimlessly until I felt like my chest was less….uh, chesty? I wouldn’t necessarily say it felt good, but I felt something…at the very least a sense of accomplishment in the fact that I toned down my ADHD long enough to put my mind to something from start to finish.

Now it’s different.

When I first stopped, I would still have those “chesty” moments on the way home, when I felt like I was really getting at some piece of myself that I didn’t normally see, but I had nowhere to write them down. As time passed the clairvoyance disappeared to the point of nonexistence, for a while I just thought there was nothing else wrong with me, nothing else that needed sorting out. Oh how a few nights of heavy drinking corrected that very incorrect assumption. The more and more I looked at myself in the mirror, the more I realized I am an unsolvable Rubik’s Cube. I wasn’t having those “moments” because I chose not to think about them, but they were still there…just swimming beneath the surface.

Out of sight, out of mind (aka bottling shit up) never has quite been a philosophy that’s worked for me. In fact I think it may or may not have led to heavy drug use, depression, suicide attempt etc. So, along those lines I started a new blog where I attempted to deal with the things I was no longer writing here, but something was different. I would spell something out and it would float off into the air, it was off my chest but I wouldn’t think anything more about it. Out of sight out of mind right? Well not so much. I used that “clean slate” to bottle things up, it became a place to put things I didn’t want to think about anymore.

So that effort failed, but there was still that hole. Something was missing.

I, however, really have no idea what exactly that might be. Something is missing but I can’t put my finger on my pulse to determine what it is. I feel like I’m a stranger in my own skin again. So here I am, I have something to say, but what that is I haven’t the foggiest.

I’m sure we’ll get there.