Grumpy

I haven’t posted here in months. My bad. I could keep on posting stuff I’d written previously, but the main purpose of me having a blog is to encourage me to write.

So I’ll write tonight.

Spent last night (and most of the morning) at my friend Caleb’s place. It was, technically, a LAN party, but I was attending with the ulterior motive of just spending time with my friends. Jake was there, too. Of course. I don’t often feel that way, but sometimes it’s good to just hang around them. And with both Caleb and Jake being in school, opportunities like this won’t happen very often.

I discovered something about myself last night, too. Caleb was only trying to be a good host, and look after my comfort and needs… but it made me feel very uncomfortable. I reacted with irritation towards him (and Becky, his girlfriend). Caleb seemed hurt — and why wouldn’t he be? I didn’t offer an explanation because I didn’t realize it at the time. But in retrospect I was able to dredge it up from the depths of my subconscious.

I feel uneasy, perhaps because I want to relax in the presence of my friends; I’d rather that my friends and I were equals. Or maybe it’s the feeling that I want to be self-sufficient, that I can take care of myself.

Speaking of which, I just took a phone call from my dad. His birthday is tomorrow, and he’s invited me out to dinner. He is insisting on paying. Which triggered this same sense I am speaking of. I told him, flatly, that I will go, but I am paying, and he seemed taken aback by that. He couldn’t fathom it.

I don’t want to be bought. Grrr. Why is my response to family and friends spending money or time or effort on me to become stubborn and angry? This is not, apparently, a universal reaction. But it’s a very real one to me. It’s cause for meditation.

Spinning

A poem I wrote, inspired by my ex-girlfriend (just to show that I’m not completely bitter):

Spinning

Voices softly singing of passion
over the bass line and piano
she opened the door and stepped out
and inhaled the night air
while spinning like the stars
while beaming like the stars.

In a way, the song was in her
warming her from her skin on in
her pulse stronger, following along
with the drummer keeping time
while spinning like the stars
while beaming like the stars.

His voice fit in her ears
washing around the curves
Breathing like a lover
Softly, eagerly, adoring her
while spinning like the stars
while beaming like the stars.

Shivered, pivoted on her axis
Her hair tumbling around her face
pulling her arms in so that she
feels her spin increase
she’s spinning like the stars
she’s shining like a star.

Chirp

I’ll start with a story I started after a huge fight with my ex-girlfriend:

*****
Title: Chirp

The phone rang, and Gordon glanced at the caller ID box on the kitchen counter to verify what he already knew. It was Amy, calling for the fourth time today. The fourth time since he’d reached the end of his patience and told her what a bitch she was being.

Phones don’t really ring these days, he thought briefly, as he pulled a beer out of the fridge. They beep, or chirp, or whistle. Lots of phones sing, or at least sound out the notes of a song. When would language catch up to technology?

As the phone chirped a second time, he mentally poked at his anger, to see if it was still inflamed and sore. Goddamn it! Yep. Still mad. Still upset. He dug in the drawer for a bottle opener.

As the third and fourth beeps (tones?) announced themselves, he was weighing the benefit of talking to her and straightening this out, against the very real possibility that he might still be so angry that he would say or do something that might make things worse. There was also the possibility that doing nothing (like, say, not answering the phone) might make things worse. However, he was prepared to deal with the consequences of that action. He came to his decision (don’t pick up the phone, you’re not in control yet) just as it became a moot point; after the fourth ring, the call, and the woman he loved at the other end of the telespatial connection, routed off into voice mail.

He could almost hear the phone sigh out of frustration at not having made the connection. Why do you even have me, if you’re not going to use me when a call comes in? it seemed to ask.

As he poured his beer into a chilled pilsner glass (he was feeling classy), he reflected on the events leading up to today. She’d been in a bad mood all week, and he had been patient with her. They had gone out to dinner Wednesday night, but when he’d picked her up from work she had been very quiet and withdrawn. They had only been going out a few months, but he already knew that when she was quiet like that, it was better not to say anything. Frustrating, but at the time he’d swallowed his frustration. She had briefly mentioned that she wanted to go lay down for a while, so instead of going to the restaurant, he drove her to his apartment. She disappeared into the bedroom and he picked up a book he’d been reading and sat on the couch.

Was he being supportive? Or more of an enabler? He couldn’t decide which. He tried to put it out of his mind. A half-hour later, when she came out of the bedroom, he was surprised to see her in running gear rather than dinner clothes. “I need to exercise,” she’d announced flatly, and had promptly walked out the door. He stewed on the couch for a while, then had gone out to get a sandwich, which he displayed proudly on the coffee table, half-eaten, when she returned. They had fought over his impulsiveness but hadn’t come close to discussing her distance and need for solitude, which only fanned his frustration. They watched a movie in relative silence, he had tried offering her a snack or a beer or glass of wine halfway through, but she refused. They retired to bed early and did not have sex.

In the morning she had seemed in a better mood, but through the rest of the work week had returned to her distance and aloofness. At one point, when he had called her, she had mentioned that she had just gotten off the phone with a friend of hers who was going through a divorce. It was Gordon’s failing that he was always suspicious of his girlfriends’ male friends, despite their protests that it was just friendship, so the fact that Amy became upset and even more moody after talking to this particular male friend caught his attention. She had rushed him off the phone, claiming to be busy, and asked him to call her later that night. He had gone home, went to the gym, and then collapsed into bed, instead, which led to another angry phone call from her the next morning. Again, he’d swallowed his frustration.
*****

It’s unfinished, and since the anger and frustration it grew out of has vanished, it’ll likely remain unfinished.