Month: February 2022

The cat helmets. Yesterdays rocket launch. I woulda sent those to you but I stared at the sky instead.

Channeling CT today. I’ll do the basics first. That’s the directive. Make the bed. Do the dishes. Eat some proper food. Outta berries so that’ll be the reason for dropping into Mesa Produce and Lazy Acres. Lucky to have this view, the sun (not too hot!) and the means to choose.

I know people have been doing this for a while but my first go at overnight oats worked nicely. Half cup rolled oats about a half cup oat ‘milk’ a tablespoon or so of plain Greek yogurt a little maple syrup and berries cuz everything is better with berries.

I didn’t expect to like it as much as I did but I did so there’s another prepped in the fridge for tomorrow morning.

I have Aspyn to thank for this. No she didn’t invent overnight oats but she did nudge me in the direction of the massive bag of rolled oats at Costco.

You had a no play list. It made sense. Songs that reminded you of [her] weren’t allowed into your ears. If I added something to the YouTube list, you’d reference your running list. Wish your site was still around. A different post for a different day.

This week I realized a whole band – one I’ve loved since their inception – might be headed in that direction. How do I separate memories? The poster I’ve had, the one that he has, came off the wall. Now it’s sitting in a corner. How the fuck do I separate the memories.

The word compartmentalization has been stuck in my head for a week. Is it a good thing to heavily separate people you think you care about from those who become important to you? I don’t have an answer to that question. What I do know is this: I don’t know how to compartmentalize.

I have good memories of Toad The Wet Sprocket’s 2011 show in Burlington, VT. I went with my youngest sister. My friend was touring with the band during that time, too. Among other things, he was their merch manager. In exchange for mailing a handful of posters back to Santa Barbara for the band, he gave me the one I just took off the wall. It’s a good story and an even better memory.

Fast forward a few years to the summer of 2014. I spontaneously decide to go to see TTWS at a tiny venue in rural Connecticut during a pretty heavy thunderstorm. (Pre-pandemic I had a habit of going to see concerts alone.) The short version of the story is that the storm that had soaked me on my way into the venue also took out the electricity in the middle of the show. No generator. No light except for some devices glowing and a few candles. The band – gotta love Glen Phillips belting out Finally Fading – kept playing. It was a special night.

Before the storm killed the power, I’d been writing down the set list. You asked what I was writing. I asked if you had the new album. The exchange started a six plus year relationship. Not too long after that I visited your place and saw your copy of the same poster. The one I just took off my wall. Until last week, my framed version of the poster was one of the few material things with sentimental meaning in my current home.

Now? It reminds me of you. The whole fucking band reminds me of you. Was it all a lie? It feels that way. You lied to get my contact information that night. Something I figured out later by asking.

But back to the poster. How do I compartmentalize? I still love it. But I loved you too and when I look at it, all that – the crap I don’t have room for – swirls around and it doesn’t feel good. The space on the wall is empty which is appropriate. And the band? They might end up relegated to a no play list.

I didn’t think I’d get hooked. Being able to successfully solve these daily word scavenger hunts has to be the reason why I dig it. I’m not competitive. My visual puzzling skills aren’t strong and I tend to lose 99% of the Words With Friends games I play.

I have mixed feelings about it selling to The New York Times. It’s understandable that the author of this version of the puzzle would want to be paid for his work. Hope you got paid well Josh Wardle.

In case anyone is wondering, Josh didn’t invent the puzzle. Here’s more on how Wordle came to be:

https://jtwoo.blogspot.com/2022/01/can-we-talk-about-wordle.html

You say you’re sorry but it’s too late now
So save it, get gone, shut up
‘Cause if you think I care ’bout you now
Well, boy, I don’t give a fuck

I figured it out. They are masters at compartmentalization. What I just realized (duh again!) is that I’m in the compartment that could be called “The Reddit threads, other silly shit textlationship”. He thinks of me only to share silly cat videos. I let myself be in fantasy land thinking it was something more. Maybe because of the way it started.

Me. Of all people. I’m the person who knows electronic comm is not a relationship. The main reason why I won’t engage much online let alone do the online dating thing. It’s onfuckingline. People are so attached to that part. I find it the most exhausting thing ever maybe because I’ve been doing it for decades. Not the dating part. Communicating electronically. It ain’t new. I’ve watched friends feel ‘dumped’ when someone they were texting with bails out on them. Yes, some of us are that lonely. We want to connect. Bad.

My biggest problem. I am one of the lonely. The too much, not enough, too old, too disarming. All the things I tell myself that reinforces the unworthiness. Not worthy of having the organic connections – the ones that feel real – become true reality. The crumbs of touch that spark the firefly feelings. Fleeting and rare, the ones I long for the most. I’ve had those. And I will admit to wanting so much for them to be real that I fell into the pit of hope I’ve been warning others about for so long.

When I think of what you went through all these years to stick around, I’m in such awe. I want to have half of your grounding. Maybe even just a speck of whatever you had that kept you tethered. Thanks for sticking around for so long.

I rely on the sky, ocean, islands and air to keep me company. (Yeah, TC counts but he’s a fucking cat). It’s not enough though I still try to fill the gaps by appreciating what’s here. But I woulda traded the weather and the pacific for the chance to have that connection I felt be mutual. Some things just aren’t meant to be. I feel like I’ve run outta chances. Happenstance airport conversations that start a spark? Not likely.

I know what you’d say, some “their loss” kinda thing. And you’d mean it but it doesn’t take the sting and the ache away.

I try to buy into all that “the people who leave us are ‘here’ in the energy” and sometimes it sorta works but not right now. It’s crap. Your gone and I just fucking miss you.