Wading in the Velvet Sea

Limb by limb, tooth by tooth
Tearing up inside of me
Every day, every hour
I wish that I was bullet proof
---’Bulletproof (I Wish I Was)’

More a comment on my mental state, off and on, over the last few months. (Let’s just dub them ‘The Single Years’, since ‘The Single Months’ sounds far less dramatic.) It hasn’t even been necessarily a ‘woe is me, why ain't Chica X be diggin’ on my junk’ sorta thing. More about a reconditioning of how I approach relationships in general. I started very few non-Harvard, non-work relationships while dating Jenny, and I decided fairly early on after we broke up that I’d like, grow up and do what people my age do---meet new people. Simple in theory, radical on concept for me. Didn’t really know how to do it. Failed more than I succeeded. But I’m working still, and I think I’m getting a toehold on something. We’ll see. I’ll never be bulletproof, but I don’t need to consistently place myself in the line of fire, either.

Transport, motorways and tramlines,
starting and then stopping,
taking off and landing,
the emptiest of feelings,
disappointed people, clinging on to bottles,
and when it comes it's so, so, disappointing.
---’Let Down’

I often feel this way, in the hustle and bustle of the city. I work in one of the richest, poshest parts of Boston. I take two subway lines every day to work. I’m consistently surrounded by people on the go go go. And seemingly every one of them is a miserable bastard. I mean, I’m no pot of honey-laced joy before my morning coffee either, but Jumpin Jesus on a Pogo Stick, thar be some angst-filled people, matey. You’ve got cell phones, two-way, three-piece suits, four-way stop signs, 5-lines deep at every Starbucks, 6-packs being consumed in brown paper bags, seven brides for seven brothers, and man, eight is enough. All adds up to a visual and aural white noise that at times can be deafening. It’s why I love my apartment. Yes, the 45-minute commute can be a pain, especially in bad weather, but when I’m here, the silence is palpable, the stillness is ever present, and I get a nightly escape from the city.

She looks like the real thing
She tastes like the real thing
My fake plastic love
---’Fake Plastic Trees’

Oldest adage there is. It’s been so long since I’ve fallen, truly fallen. Managed to forget a lot of what that’s like, and as such have reacted to certain things in certain ways that were completely unavoidable if I weren’t…oh what’s that word…oh yes, ‘moron’. That’s the one. Crushes come and go, and I’m an expert on developing crushes. Crushes can elate, crushes can disappoint, but crushes usually don’t actually crush you when they don’t work out. If a failed attempt crushes you, it’s simply not a crush anymore; you’re long past that point. You might be in ‘smit’, you might be in ‘really like’, you might be ‘drunk’. Who knows. The crush is long gone by this point. You’re at the ‘Charlie! You f#ckin’ b#tch! Let’s work it out!’ stage from ‘High Fidelity’, and you can’t figure out how something seemingly innocuous has ended up so badly. Look, crushes are fun. Crushes are healthy. Crushes go great with French fries. However you wanna look at it. But it’s plastic. Not the real thing. Fun, usually fairly harmless as long as properly identified, but in the long run not what most of us are after.

(By the way, that’s my favorite quote from ‘High Fidelity’; perhaps the most economical way of expressing the conflicting emotions after someone has hurt you and yet you can’t let go. Just kills me, every time. Second best John Cusack movie quote of all time, just after, ‘Sorry your mom blew up, Ricky’ from ‘Better Off Dead’ and slightly below, ‘I gave her my heart; she gave me a pen’ from ‘Say Anything’, which in and of itself is a the GREATEST MOVIE QUOTE EVER. I WILL NOT ARGUE ABOUT THIS. OK, I feel better now. Gonna steer us out in this parenthetical paragraph now. Thanks for taking the scenic route to the next and final quote.)

Breathe, keep breathing,
don't lose your nerve.
Breathe, keep breathing,
I can't do this alone.
---’Exit Music (For a Film)

These particular lyrics in the song when sung are literally about life and death, but as a general mantra, I quite like it. In the end, I like individuals too much to ever entertain the thought of raging against the machine, or my job, or like, Milli Vanilli, by my lonesome. Just doesn’t work that way. Yea, I know, I often seem cynical about the world. Well, that’s because I hate people. People as a collective. Individuals I often like very much. You’re not supposed to like all people equally, which is another of those ‘obvious it seems to everyone but me’ rules that I’ve recently been reapplying to my everyday interactions with more vigor recently. In a lot of cases, going by the lowest common denominator of friendship in the long run will serve you OK. I have my inner circle, and then a less inner, but hardly outer circle, then say my Jupiter friends, and then way out there I got some Pluto buddies who every few hundred years come around, we talk, drink, and lick, and then move on our merry little ways. Gotta be careful how you choose your inner circle; the rest is (hopefully) celestial gravy. If you try to cram in dozens of people into the inner circle, well, it’s like trying to get into the women’s public restroom during a WNBA halftime. Just too darn crowded, and pretty soon someone has urinated on someone else, and it’s just plain ugly. Pick your inner circle well; they are the ones who matter in the end. A loved one can (and in some cases should) be in that inner circle; for some, that person IS the inner circle. No matter how it works, so long as it works for you. I have a few people, and I’m pretty sure they know who they are, and it’s amazing to have them. I luckily don’t have to do much of anything alone.

Well, except vomit after consuming too much alcohol. The Commander still won’t hold my hair back. Damn prissy bitch.