Not Having One Night Stands Has Kept Me From Having Good Relationships

 This may sound ridiculous, but it's true, and I have compelling evidence to back it up.
         I've never been comfortable being physical with someone on a first date, or having a one-night stand at a party; I'm just not that guy. It sounds fucking wonderful, but I've tried it; it doesn't work. Even on the second date I feel like I'm still sparking that initial heat that makes for good sex, anything physical before this feels awkward and forced. Now, on the surface, I know this sounds like a good thing, or the type of person most guys should be, but let me tell you something; it sucks, and it's dangerous. It's dangerous being realistically careful with your physical body. Why?
           It's a psychological nightmare. Not because I shouldn't be shy, or because I have some debilitating insecurity, on the contrary; I'm actually kind of proud to want to take it slow. The reason it's dangerous is because it almost guarantees that I never get intimately involved with someone. Allow me to explain.
          You go out, you have a good time with someone, you get their number, or they volunteer thier information; both of these oddly have had the exact same outcome in the long run. You call the next day, maybe text, and get a lackluster response. There is a chance you go out again for coffee. You don't make a strong move, because it's coffee and you want to get to know them. You like them, your interest grows and you get excited about a potential, actually significant other, then what? It's over, because you didn't immediately get physical. Don't believe me? Think about it, think about how it really works. It's been two dates and he/she hasn't made a strong move, and you rationalize all the small things that aren't exactly what you want. Meanwhile, some other person has already started being physical with you.
           Now I happily admit that there are multiple times not making a strong sexual move on the first or second date has saved me from a horrible hook, a life-altering STD , a bad potential relationship or self esteem de-throning, but equally as many times this has prevented me from having a chance with an amazing person. By the second date, some quick acting guy (or girl, this has happened too) steps in and it's all over.
          The first few times this was fine, I justified it: they were meant to be together, I wasn't ready, I didn't 'know myself,' but in reality this was horseshit. It was a lie to make me feel better about people. Most women don't want to wait for the hand-holding guy, just like most me don't want to wait for the hand holding girl - most people don't want to wait. In fact, most people romanticize immediate physical interaction in order to play out sexual fantasies. I'm actually okay with this, but I'm not okay with people who pretend this isn't true because it doesn't live up to their ideals, or who they think they want to be; who their religion or parents say they should be. Spare me.
          If this doesn't seem accurate, allow me to expound on the experiences where I have gone out with someone, made early, uncomfortable physical moves and we hook up almost immediately. I assure you, I am texted, messaged on FB, and called the next day-every single time. It's a complete reversal from the expectations I've created based on what I've been told about men and women, and how we actually operate in the real world. We are very similar, but attempt to take pride in our perceived difference. The sexes love hating each other, but in reality it's a lot less dramatic than that, and I would argue, much more interesting. What we are told in most love stories, yes, even the indy ones, is laughable. Nobody seems to have captured what we are in our current form. Too many writers are interested in promoting their ideological view of how women and men operate, but the great gender bender is coming, and the bullshit can't fool us all anymore. Men are stupid, women are evil, we're cats and they're dogs, Women are from Mars, Men are from Venus: bullshit, we're all from fucking Earth. We all like sex, we all like love, and we are scared shitless of losing either of them. I'm in the unique position of never having had both, or either for a substantial time, so I'm not really scared of losing them. I have nothing to lose; this gives me a unique perspective.  
    Honestly, I am exhausted. Where is the other person who sees through the bullshit? Who I can just talk to? These amazing people always seem to be with the first person they can be with, and I'm stuck waiting for someone who works like me, but I don't have any evidence that this person actually exists. If only I could have one night stands, I could meet someone.

Anxiety - Hooray! (It's ridiculous)

It's unfortunate, but American society is certainly fertile soil for producing anxiety, as it's safety nets are full of large biased holes, and the organizations that could do something about this are filled with other kinds of holes. 

I have both been a person who has no concept of anxiety and a person who has debilitating panic attacks. The former was when I was a child, had a strong support system, and felt as though there was always a safe place awaiting, a home. The second seemed to happen once this safety was removed; not just pieces of a home, but the entire floor beneath it fell out. This event seemed to traumatize me, like I think it does a lot of people, and now any time there is even the perception of a similar fallout, the anxiety comes flooding back until I remember to build my own floor. I wonder how many other people experience anxiety in this way, and how many consider it ridiculous? I mean, it is ridiculous, but it is often times out of our control. I know many people who experience this disorder in their own way, but I also know others who will never know the bizarre feeling of a spirit of worry swooping in and confiscating your body, while your gut is pushed to the other side of the universe. 

Right now it's like a swelling in my throat that slowly grows until I suffocate. This would make an excellent muse for a grunge song, but it makes for a shitty one when creating a syllabus. I can't organize an entire classroom and the learning process of fifty students if I can't even organize my own thoughts.I don't know why I am so petrified to teach my classes next semester. Maybe because it's only my second semester teaching and I've picked up yet another completely new class. Maybe it's the so-called "impostor" syndrome that a lot of teachers get, where I don't feel like I am a real teacher and have no place directing a classroom of students. Certainly there is the massive fear of failure; what happens if I walk in my first day and my students think that I am a complete idiot who has no idea what I am doing? Because, let's face it, it's only my second semester, so I don't! What am I doing? Ahhhh! 

   I keep having the dream that it's the first day of class, I'm completely unprepared, and the students scoff at the uselessness of whatever activity I am failing at getting them involved with. It causes an inner sadness that I don't know how to cope with. I don't want to feel this way anymore. I don't want to have this dream again. I relinquish my ownership of these thoughts and their power over me; get off, go somewhere else! Let me write my novel, relax, and plan my classes over a cup of coffee and some light conversation; that's what I love! How could I have turned something I love into something I hate, purely based on fear? It's ridiculous. It really is. 

Who knows? I don't know why it's here, but I know it's not welcome. I keep on kicking it out, and it keeps on showing up at the door. I must've given it the key years ago and I still haven't figured out how to change the locks. Maybe I'll make my permanent floor at the bottom, so I'll never have to worry about it falling out on me again. 

Art, Pain, and My Friend

      I had a distant friend die today. He was a brilliant artist--funny, smoked American Spirits compulsively to deal with his overwhelming thoughts (that I imagine he loved just as much as he hated) and cool. His name was Jeremy. He was a great debater; we would have reality reforming discussions about the nature of truth and identity, and then casually poke fun at the local coffee shop tarot card reader, Myles. I remember one day Jeremy retired his shirts for plain white tees with his personal artwork on them-- "I don't want anyone else's insignia on me." I was inspired, Neither did I. Fuck wearing someone else's clothes.

       Jeremy was full of mental angst. I recognized and empathized with this because I was too, especially during my early twenties when I knew him the best. He hinted at suffering from various mental disorders, but when I was around him he was always just a kind and brilliant soul, our collective craziness seemed to complement each of the others'. I often pictured him as a symphony conductor that never self-realized--in a tux, directing a group of musical talents that demanded all his attention with a white baton. And now, my refreshing balance of cynical and light-hearted friend has moved on. I don't dare say "he's in God's hands now," or he's "in a better place," because that's the exact type of horse shit he would have rolled his eyes at-- I will say he's where he is; nothing stops going to my knowledge or wisdom. For all I know he could be reincarnated as a tree, or willingly stay a cosmic anomaly instead of re-entering conscious life. It seems like he could use a little break from this place and all its overwhelming thoughts.

       I've always argued that great art isn't necessarily born from pain. I argue this because when I was younger I was just as smart and creative as I am now, and even more artistic--but not in pain. Now I find myself in a type of relapsing-remitting pain. The kind that makes me lie in bed and squirm occasionally, not intensely, always a slow, barely escapable pain. If I can convince myself to get out of the apartment, I know I could feel a little better and get some great things done, but more often than not, I end up wasting the day away because I ate something that mysteriously hurts my stomach. Thinking about Jeremy makes me feel like I'm in a realistic middle ground of pain for this life. He was noticeably in more pain than I was, and much like me, he pushed a lot of it out through art. It makes me wonder if my pain was worse, how many more days I would miss out on. Or, if his was less, how many more days he would have enjoyed.

       Great Art doesn't require pain, but great pain does require Great Art. I'll have to remember to suck it up, get out and write, draw, act or creatively exercise my pain so I don't miss out on those days. Anyways, Jeremy I'll miss you, and I hope to run into you again. Love to your family and all the friends/second family at 1521 East Boulevard.

Substitue Nerves

The first day in my new career is next week. I am so glad to be moving in a direction that is actually a step toward my goal, but I hate new jobs. I am not good at them. It takes me so much time to become comfortable, and this next one is the mother of all anxiety attacks for me. Substitute teaching has such a high range of possibilities that I can’t help but to worry about the bad, and feel unconfident about the good. I just have to remember to relax, to breath; it’s just a sub-teaching position! Not rocket science, although I think I would love rocket science. Just read-off the damned lesson plan!
I think it’s the disciplinary factors that are intimidating, everything else sounds kind of fun actually. Also, there is that drastic fear of failure, as it is actually in my field if I fail here I fail at one of my passions, the last practical one. I want to be good at this so bad, and I would hate to let people down. I want to feel strong. I have never felt strong in my career path before, and it has been a constant drain on my being.
There is some deeply buried pillar in my personal foundation that has always been there and it holds me back. I think by taking on this job I am finally starting to dig around it, and make progress towards pulling it out. It’s not supporting anything, but it is keeping me from moving forward. As human members of the globalized world our foundations must remain mobile. As opposed to spider monkeys, the foundational aspects of spider monkeys in the 21st century can pretty much remain constant. Polar bears, on the other hand…
The last part of my fear comes from a much more practical area: Am I going to be able to function at 5:30 in the morning? I haven’t had to since high school, and well, I didn’t function well in high school. High school, I never thought I’d go back into high school. At the same time I feel like these kids need someone who can still relate to them, because it was such a hard time for me. I won’t trivialize their problems, and I know what is realistic to expect from them.
I just wish for once I could enjoy a new endeavor again. Like I did when I was a kid; why can’t I have that good excitement that I used to? I need to learn to distance myself from pressure and empathy, and use it only when it has a positive affect in my life. I need to learn to look forward to this, instead of fearing it. I just wonder how to do that.

City of Self

I love that feeling you get at around 8ish at the coffee shop when there is nobody else around. It is like having your own personal coffee bar at your disposal. So quiet, so much room, breathing becomes a pleasure.

The sun has recently gone down and the lights inside are glowing like mini moons. The employees are actually having a real conversation because they no longer have to keep up the corporate facade to appease customers and they are allowed to be people again. All of the pressure of the day has just been released: the formerly clogged traffic flow has slowly dripped out of highway off-ramps and returned to home. I am at peace.
The way we live is constantly under construction, so these moments are rare. The ones where we stop and wonder if we are building the right thing, supporting the right project, setting up what we need to in order to be our best selves. We are so busy just trying to get by that we don’t have the time to stop and see the bigger picture. I think for once, I might be moving in the right direction on a multi-tiered skyscraper of self. It would be nice to have one in my city of Benjamin.

The Snow

It is an interesting phenomenon that no matter how cold it is outside that snow still makes me feel warm. I know some people will waste their time making scientific explanations about the change in humidity or the reflection of light off all of the white ground, but I am certain it is just the feeling of snow itself. It is white and happy. No matter how dull my life is or lonely, or interesting and full of life the snow still adds a positive element. It calls me home, I think to the north. Maybe even to a different country, but when it is around, it is where I belong.
I don't know where I am moving to in five days, and I don't have a job, but those are luckily short-term problems and the long-term is looking up. In this short term tornado it is nice to have the snow to remind me to relax and be happy. I could say that I wish I had someone else here with me in my cozy apartment to watch movies and talk to, but oh what would I do if they didn't like the snow?

Every Moment

It seems like a good portion of life is learning to bring this moment into consciousness. I say this because you can look at things that normally seem random but with a bit more tact and wisdom find that they are in fact beautifully structured. When I am most awake I find the answers to my hardest questions wandering about in life like a House episode, but even more bizarrely. The smallest line in a TV series, the way bubbles rise to the surface in a pot of heated water, these actions become illuminating when I have the energy and focus to look at them the right way. Perhaps a self-manifestation of reality, it's like solving a math problem except the formula changes each time.
I find myself craving a better memory of such events. I end up trying to keep the thought in my head long enough to write it down and then develop some massive organized system of recorded enlightenments so that I don't have to go through the same things again, or at least I get through them quicker or enjoy them. Sometimes to learn something in my memory seems ephemeral, because I know I am going to die eventually so it will be lost anyways. I think this is how I get unmotivated to learn these enlightenments in my physical memory. It seems instead I must go through them again and again until they change the very fabric of my being, until my spirit grows and learns. This way it will be ingrained in me for eternity.
For whatever reason, some days you just know when to go where, and when you don't listen to your spirit on those days you wind up kicking yourself, and infinitely curious as to what great time that you could have had. Today was like that; I almost figured it out before it was too late but I think I started off bad by not getting up until 3, lol. The balance in my life is finally returning though, so this is excellent. My excitement for the next day is returning, and my love as well. Soon enough my energy will be too awake for even me to ignore, and the days will be like creamed honey and the nights like thick coffee. Right now I just need to slow down and take it one third step at a time.