Molten Boron

I’m off work until Tuesday.

Now I’m bored.

Tonight’s raid night in WoW, so I want to be here for that, but otherwise… it’s thumb-twiddlin’ time. I want to do something.

I want to go hang out at the bar I got banned from — and not even because of The Bartender. The bar worked because it was a public place, but with the option of being left alone. It was at just the right level of interaction. Sort of like going to a restaurant with a book.

Not really in the mood to drink right now, anyway. Or eat, so that excludes restaurants, too.

Guess I’ll go for a walk or a drive or something.

I sort of eliminated a box. I guess. Rearranged stuff; threw away some things, kept a bunch of others. There’s a whole lot of memories in those boxes. Chucked a lot of old TTU stuff.

Random pilfered doo-dads from 15-20 years ago. A “PLEASE RESERVE BOOTHS FOR TWO OR MORE GUESTS” sign from a Cookeville Waffle House. A “SCHOOL BOARD OF VOLUSIA COUNTY” stapler. A concrete water-valve cover.

A couple boxes of random wires; PC power cables, serial, parallel, network, phone, IDE, RCA.

My old Searchlight BBS manual, and the FrontDoor manual that Dean printed for me ages ago.

A Geggy Tah tape. Geggy Tah! And the Dick Nixons tape Chad snagged for me from WTTU’s “stuff nobody wants” box.

I can’t throw all this away.

Maybe I should just rent a storage unit.

Had a bit of a blog-lapse there. Probably because nothing particularly new has been going on.

I went to Cookeville this weekend to visit family. It was good seeing them, but stressful.

Stopped by Sue’s to talk for a bit, forgetting it was our second divorciversary. How embarrassing! I think that’s traditionally the “box of cat poop” divorciversary, but I’m not sure. I know the first is the “publish nude pictures of her” one, but I fumbled that, too. I’ve really got to be more prepared next time.

(Kidding…)

I have to be at work early today; we filled a coworker’s cube with packing peanuts for his birthday while he was out and I want to be there to see him discover it.

Doing that yesterday was the most productive we have been as a team in many months, and that’s kind of sad.

The actual “work” part of my job gets more frustrating every day. I don’t know how this can be; surely there’s a limit, right? It’s like the Shepard Tone illusion, where it keeps going down and down and down… but actually doesn’t:

The spider that keeps webbing across the top of my front door by the entryway light has hatched a thousand young.

Alcohol frequently leaves me with dreams. More dreams than usual, or just dreams I remember more of; whichever, it often casts a disconcerting shadow over my day.

Must get moving.

(Warning: May wander aimlessly.)

LAN party last weekend at Atox’s was a lot of fun. I managed to not schitz out, I think.

Chad ran into The Bartender at Tony’s Sunday night, who was with her ex-. That could explain some things.

Shada’s been particularly ornery lately. I can’t stand her chewing on the blinds in the bedroom, and she hasn’t done it for months until this last week. I’ve had to shut her out of the bedroom so I can sleep. Want to find another solution.

My current car book is Year’s Best SF 4, published in 1999. There was a bookmark in it advertising a play in April, 2004.

I was sitting in the Waffle House Saturday morning when I reached “The Story of Your Life” by Ted Chiang. I remember reading this story before, in another Waffle House, when I worked at the ARC. My first guess was 2004, but really, it could have been any time between 1999 and 2005. It’s the story of a linguist learning to translate an alien language, and its effects on her way of thinking. It’s a sad story, and some of the ideas in it would occasionally come back to me. I recommend it highly, and am interested in reading more from this author.

Wednesday I went to Tony’s, got very drunk, and became the first person I have ever witnessed being replaced while doing Karaoke. Three-quarters of the way through Bonnie Tyler’s “Total Eclipse of the Heart” (as Leonard Cohen), a woman came on the stage, said I was butchering it, and demanded the mic. At least no one threw me out when I did “Losing My Religion” as William Shatner.

The Bartender was there all night, too, with her not-as-ex-as-”ex-”-might-imply-ex-. At one point I caught her alone, and asked if she could recommend a song for me to ruin. She suggested “I Hate Everything About You,” and I asked her for something with a little less of a personal message from her-to-me in it, and she didn’t have one. I told her I was sorry. (I think I know what I meant by it.) She said she was sorry, too. (I’m pretending I know what she meant by it.)

Things are what they are.

I’ve been trying to find new music; to listen to things out of my ordinary. Broadening my horizons, etc. Chad recommended the We Fucking Love Music blog, and I’ve snagged a few things off there that are really sticking in my head. Lovage’s Music to Make Love to Your Old Lady By is fascinating, but I’ve developed a bit of an obsession for The Sounds’ to-be-released-any-day-now album Crossing the Rubicon. I plan on buying it the moment I can.

Friday was painful and cathartic. Had an appointment with my shrink after work — I’d missed Tuesday’s because of the temporal confusion last week (Tuesday felt like Monday, plus chaos of new workplace), and she gave me some homework I can’t remember. Damn.

JB & Jenn invited me over for dinner afterward, which was great. Stuffed peppers; haven’t had that since I was kid.

I got a little tipsy, and since I’d still been reeling from therapy I wound up going all waterworks on them regarding Donna. They helped me understand a possible interpretation of events that makes sense, and I’ve been trying to hold onto that. An interpretation with a hopeless conclusion, but I really need to just accept what’s been said and done and get on with what remains of my life. I might write about this more later; I just don’t need to be thinking about it right now.

I went to a wedding out past Crossville Saturday. I thought it went well. Four hours in the sun didn’t leave me with any dry clothes, but it did leave me with the conclusion that I need to buy a hat. I’m glad no one asked how I was there, because “the ex-boyfriend of the ex-wife of the brother of the bride” is kind of a mouthful. First I’ve seen Karren or her kids in ages. They grow fast.

I write more about my feelings regarding events than the events themselves — does that indicate something negative or narcissistic?

Had breakfast-lunch with Karren today (she was in the neighborhood), and then took a long nap.

Have the urge to go out to Tony’s, but I know this is one of The Bartender’s nights, and Chad’s out of town. Don’t think I currently have the strength to keep out of paranoia-mode solo. Oh, well.

Cycling through different aspects of last weekend’s events.

First, of course, was the initial “there’s something horribly wrong with me” conclusion. This isn’t anything new to me, but the severity of it was pretty frightening. One interpretation of what happened was that, indeed, all my fears were justified, and that I am a creepy bastard. People actually feared for their well-being because of me. I’m an awful and threatening figure, the reason people lock their doors at night.

(When I’m aware, I can realize this is bogus. It’s still there–drifting along at a very low attention level–but it’s vague.)

This leads to two I’m-completely-crazy conclusions:

One being that the things I see as a little strange, or at the worst eccentric, are genuinely disturbing to others. That I see nothing wrong with this indicates a problem.

The other is that I may have said or done things I simply don’t remember, or I’m remembering things that didn’t happen in place of what did.

A more likely perspective is that, of the bartender and myself, more than one of us has issues.

The bar manager was downright pissed; I really don’t see how any of my behavior warranted more than a heads-up “stop being weird” lecture, and this was a lot more serious. I don’t know what she told him; all I know is what she told me, and that was inconsistent. Not a positive indicator.

Part of me — hopefully a small part — is clinging to the idea that the manager’s actions were entirely his misunderstanding, and that she’s wondering where I’ve been. (I do not believe this.)

It didn’t help my reaction any that I simply don’t like being yelled at. On a basic, animal level, I tend more to flight than fight. When cornered and accused and yelled at by a man larger and taller than myself — with bouncer standing by, just in case — I didn’t defend myself. Tail between legs, ears down, make myself as small as possible. I consider it a victory that I didn’t bust out in tears right there, and was able to go back inside, pay my tab, and leave without tripping over myself.

Either that, or I was just too surprised. It was the opposite end of the emotional spectrum from the unexpected joy of Monday.

False accusation? Whole cluster of people that could be utterly hating me? Losing what had become my accustomed activity four nights a week? The complete reversal of what I had thought was a good thing? Tripped a lot of my switches at once.

The combined stresses of this, Friday’s email with Donna, and work moving across town (to Donna’s building) make a fine opportunity to lose my mind, but things will settle down soon. They always do.

I’ll live.

saturday – bartender celebrating birthday. met her parents.

monday – bartender actual birthday. talked a lot. didn’t drink much. around 2am, she told me to ask her out. did. accepted. swapped numbers. agreed on wednesday. surprised. astonished. spent remainder of night in bliss-haze.

tuesday – called, texted – no response.

wednesday – called, texted, hung out at bar just in case – no response, no show.

thursday – called, talked. yeah, had busy week, didn’t check phone. she acted as if no big thing to miss date. said i could see her at work friday, sure. i’m confused. texted her later expressing puzzlement; could have let me know couldn’t make it. was i out of line?

friday – rough day. unrelated email conversation with Donna ends poorly. (nomination: understatement of year.) pretty worn out by time i get to bar. bartender says i was, yes, a bit out of line. “too far out of line to try again?” “no.” “do you want to go out, then?” “maybe.” spend evening trying to work up nerve to talk to her more. bar crowded. closing time, left. sat in car and wrote in notebook. realized notebook stupid idea, only draws attention while building wall. tore up notebook. didn’t want bits of paper all over car; took it back in to throw away, then left.

left her voicemail; “hey, i’m sorry i’m too chickenshit to ask you out in person, but whenever’s good for you is good for me. i’ve got no schedule, really, so… blah blah blah whatever” something like that.

saturday – i think i can do it today. go to bar before she gets there; work out strange-place jitters in advance. her boss asks me outside; very hostile, says i’ve been creeping out bartender, and am now banned.

. . .

world ends.

. . .

have evidently lost touch with what is real. thought was getting out; instead, living more in head. believed: am not stalker. am not bad person. just shy. just scared.

nope. latter does not preclude former.

reality what we agree on. walks like duck, looks like duck, sounds like duck — is duck. dozen people see one thing, i see another — i’m simply wrong. intent, perspective, immaterial.

resounding conclusion: am creepy. solution: don’t be creepy. believe solution infeasible.

so.

not seeing way out. scared. empty. tired of this.

nyquil and bed. have whole day left of weekend to wish didn’t exist before work monday. maybe work have something to do for change.

(more of the same, but sober, this time.)

tying myself in knots is what i’m doing. running in circles.

the only thing i want more than going down there and spending a few hours in an alcoholic haze and occasionally making eye contact with her is to not be a goddamned creepy stalker.

she knows how to reach me. maybe i should let it go at that.

i can’t trust my own judgment on some things; i can’t read minds, and i misinterpret actions.

doing the same things over and over again, hoping for a different result, is not the answer.

what’s next?

this is going to suck. full of self-important whining bullshit. pretty much like everything else on here, really.

scaring myself. trying to half-do a bunch of things i don’t really believe, and then disappointed in my progress.

the going-out thing isn’t working. in fact, after making serious inroads on transferring my Donna-obsession over to a bartender at a local bar, i think it could possibly be worse than not working. the same old shit is finding its way around my head again. wed/thu/fri/sun are my good days, because those are the days i drink and the days i get to see her.

i’m just another drunk with a crush on the bartender. that’s it.

she takes two steps back, and every time she says “hello” i go all wobbly. or if she takes my order.

same thing. all over again.

i can tell myself i’ll stop going and will never see her again and –

– and i wonder if i’m right. there’s explanations for everything. the only way to know how someone else feels for certain is to ask. to ask, you have to trust that person.

don’t know how much of that i have left.

and, really, how fucking weird is that? “hey, i’m probably imagining all this, and can’t handle the back-and-forth in my own skull; could you please tell me to fuck off and stop bothering you?”

sounds… messed up. i know i’ve got issues. don’t have to wear ‘em on my shirt.

i don’t know how not to.

going to bed. damnit. i spent all friday cheerful ’cause i was goin’ to see her tonight. i spent six hours at the bar. i’m such a schmuck.