I had chinese food for lunch today. When I was done I discovered not one, not two, but three fortune cookies at the bottom of the bag. I ate them one at a time and read the fortunes. In order this is what they said.
The weekend ahead predicts enjoyment.
It's up to you to make the next movie.
The first blow does not fell the tree.
Interesting. Very, very interesting...
Anyway here's a quick rundown of the past few days.
Friday. Long day at work. Playing some video games with The Rookie. Just chilling. Called it an early night. Saturday. Pre-Father's Day lunch with dad , Adge's graduation party, Year One at Garden State, late dinner at Land & Sea. Sunday. Bayonne to pick up James, Marlboro to pick up Corey, Philly for Wizard World. Awesome day. P.F. Chang's in Freehold for dinner, pick up Collette and Michelle, Wizards for the rest of the night. Monday. Another ass day at work. Glen Rock to get my new painting framed. New Memorial School for Little Sister's graduation. Pick up Alyssa and head over to Wizards for Collette's 21st. Several hours of drinking and bullshit later I'm standing in my living room trying to figure out how I repeatedly find myself in odd situations. Tuesday. Work. Work. Work. Odd voices? Work. Home.
We all caught up? Exellent.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Me: A Sideways Photo Album
Ah, the way the years have gone by. So it's over five years now since I graduated college and we're rapidly approaching my ten year high school reunion. I have friends who are hitting 30, friends who are married, friends who are popping out kids. And here I am. Just being me. Not sure how I feel about that exactly. So today I was looking at some old pictures and I decided to do something I rarely do...share them.
Skip ahead another few years. This is December 2003. Few interesting things to note about this picture, although I was already well past 300 lbs in this picture I don't think I look all that bad. I also look ridiculously happy and that is quite simply because I was. And this isn't the bullshit happy smile. This is a real me smile. I kind of like that. Coincidentally I'm fairly certain this photo was taken on the day I started this blog.
I use this one as my Facebook photo most of the time. It's a very "me" picture. I'm older, fatter, uglier, and going bald too boot. Good times. This one was taken in February I think.
And then this is me right now. Ok, not right now exactly, but like four minutes ago. So as right now as you're going to get unless you're sitting across from me staring right at me.
But you get the point. Not that there really was a point. I'm just trying to avoid going out and drinking by myself again tonight, or working on contracts and bids, or going home and doing absolutely nothing. In reality I'm just avoiding reality. Even if only for a few moments.
And it sort of makes me feel better.
So well done.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
June 17th, 1995
My little sister turns fourteen today. To celebrate I took her over to the Shops at Riverside to pick out a new purse. The night's running total? 1 Coach Purse: $298, 1 Matching Coach Wallet: $98, 4 Godiva Truffles: $8.80, 3 Godiva Hot Chocolates: $10.50, 1 Godiva Chocolate Strawberry: $6.50, 3 Mr.Cupcake Cupcakes: $6, 1 Rice Krispy Treat: $2.50.
Someone else can add that up while I stand off to the side and cry a little.
I'm not totally ok with her being fourteen (especially because I made her repeat 12 and never let her be 13...if you're wondering if I have the power to do that you don't know me. Up until the last month or two whenever anyone asked her how old she was she would quickly answer "Twelve!" with a wary glance in my direction. Recently it changed to "Almost fourteen."). I'm definitely not ok with her going to high school. But I guess I don't really have a choice, now do I?
So last night as we sat around and drank our hot chocolate Little Sister, Rookie and I had the following conversation.
Lila: "Chris, you're going bald."
Me: "I know."
Lila: "I don't like that, make it stop."
Me: "Doesn't work like that. I'll get balder and balder and balder and then I'll die."
Lila: "Chris! No! You can't."
Me: "Everybody dies eventually."
Lila: "No, I mean you can't go bald. You'll be scary looking if you're bald."
Danny: "Lila! What are you talking about?"
Me: "Thanks Dan."
Danny: "He's scary looking now."
Me: "Nice."
Gotta love my family...
Someone else can add that up while I stand off to the side and cry a little.
I'm not totally ok with her being fourteen (especially because I made her repeat 12 and never let her be 13...if you're wondering if I have the power to do that you don't know me. Up until the last month or two whenever anyone asked her how old she was she would quickly answer "Twelve!" with a wary glance in my direction. Recently it changed to "Almost fourteen."). I'm definitely not ok with her going to high school. But I guess I don't really have a choice, now do I?
So last night as we sat around and drank our hot chocolate Little Sister, Rookie and I had the following conversation.
Lila: "Chris, you're going bald."
Me: "I know."
Lila: "I don't like that, make it stop."
Me: "Doesn't work like that. I'll get balder and balder and balder and then I'll die."
Lila: "Chris! No! You can't."
Me: "Everybody dies eventually."
Lila: "No, I mean you can't go bald. You'll be scary looking if you're bald."
Danny: "Lila! What are you talking about?"
Me: "Thanks Dan."
Danny: "He's scary looking now."
Me: "Nice."
Gotta love my family...
Friday, June 12, 2009
Fried-Daze: I'm Drinking Milk
Monday night was pleasant and somewhat cathartic. You should never underestimate the rejuvenating abilities of spilling your guts to someone who absolutely does not give a shit. The entire mental health profession is built on the concept. I prefer for my therapists to be barely dressed and have Eastern European accents. To each their own.
I have absolutely no recollection of Tuesday at all. None. I remember being in the office at three in the morning while the thunder shook the entire trailer and then I remember Wednesday. That's all.
Wednesday I hit the youth room, taught the kids to play Farkle (although the voracity of my score keeping can come into question), had a much needed long overdue conversation with Mrs.K, and then stopped at the Wiz for a quick drink. (Lesson to be learned, you want me to buy a round of shots all you have to do is send me a text message that says "Wiz?" and wait fifteen minutes or so. I didn't even know who texted me, yet within a half hour I was knocking back a shot of Knob Creek and moving on to whatever was next.)
Thursday we took a look at some new busses, I was proven right about something I knew I was right about all along, and I ducked out a bit early to go to High Mountain for my sister's lip-sync. Back in 6th grade I did a lip-sync when it was student council only activity. It was fun, but we actually lip-synced. These kids just dance around and make asses out of themselves. There were a few good ones, but for most of the night Rookie and I sat in the back and cracked jokes. Last week at my sister's dance I saw Rookie and a couple of his buddies sitting on the steps. I jokingly admonished them for their ridiculously long hair and told them they all needed haircuts. Last night I saw two of them, one had buzzed his head and the other had cut his hair really short. I chuckled. Afterwards I wandered for a bit and commited a sufficient number of sins to ensure that my final judgement will, at the very least, be interesting.
This morning I was at the liquor store (more on that later) and on my way out I saw Forti and his wife walking with their new baby. I hadn't seen the baby in person yet, but now that I have I can assure you that she's just as cute as the pictures. After a few minutes of chatting I was off to the bakery to pick up a cake. See it was our yard guys 50th birthday last week and we'd missed it. He's a good guy, little slow, drinks too much. But a good guy. So to make up for it we bought everyone lunch, picked up two birthday cakes, and I stopped at the liquour store and bought him two cases of Heineken and a mini-keg. It gets time to cut the cake and we give him the beer and my father hands him a small black bag. When he opens the black bag inside is an inflatable sex doll. I don't know what creeps me out more, that my 70 year old father thought it was appropriate to give one of his workers an inflatable sex doll for their birthday or that he apparently knew where to buy one. After lunch I hit up the bank, and stopped by the barbershop. My hair had grown into an unruly mop in the past month and I needed to get it chopped down to size. I haven't really shaved my head since I started balding so today I figured fuck it and had it buzzed to a 3 1/2. I figured the baldspot would show pretty clearly (and it does) but what I wasn't figuring on was the gigantic bald patch below the baldspot. The barber pointed it out before he cut there so I wouldn't think he did, and then reminded me that I mentioned last time that my hair had been coming out in clumps before telling me that I should probably get that looked at. Fuck. I thought I was past that. Either way I'm not worried about how it looks. I'm a fat old balding man. My haircut is the least of my worries.
And now I'm sitting at my desk drinking milk for some reason and wondering what I'm doing for the next few days. Whatever it is I'm sure it will be a blast...and somehow end up costing me thousands of dollars just like everyone else.
And a final note before I go...to whoever (if they do exist) was so kind as to worry about me out loud to a common friend in the past weeks, good looking out. Totally uneccesary but good looking out. I've never really restrained myself in the stupid little things I write here, even when I know people are reading. It just would seem sort of dishonest. Sometimes I reword things, or dance around others, but I rarely restrain myself. Sure there are no longer posts with titles like "Things To Masturbate to While Drunk" and no longer stories that start with lines like "So there was this deaf girl with a gigantic dildo.." or "There I was, trying to get this Jehovah's witness to blow me..." but that largely reflects my ever mutating sense of humor, and not some new found late blooming sense of self-restraint. I am, as I always have been, an intensely and passionately honest and upfront person. There's nothing about me that the whole world can't know if they don't ask the right questions. I've got nothing to hide and plenty of (mostly shitty) stories to tell. But do not let this barely edited, rarely censored, often unfiltered slice of my mind confuse you in any way shape or form about the voracity with which I attack every aspect of my life. My name is Christian Palomba. I am many things. But above all...I'm still here.
I have absolutely no recollection of Tuesday at all. None. I remember being in the office at three in the morning while the thunder shook the entire trailer and then I remember Wednesday. That's all.
Wednesday I hit the youth room, taught the kids to play Farkle (although the voracity of my score keeping can come into question), had a much needed long overdue conversation with Mrs.K, and then stopped at the Wiz for a quick drink. (Lesson to be learned, you want me to buy a round of shots all you have to do is send me a text message that says "Wiz?" and wait fifteen minutes or so. I didn't even know who texted me, yet within a half hour I was knocking back a shot of Knob Creek and moving on to whatever was next.)
Thursday we took a look at some new busses, I was proven right about something I knew I was right about all along, and I ducked out a bit early to go to High Mountain for my sister's lip-sync. Back in 6th grade I did a lip-sync when it was student council only activity. It was fun, but we actually lip-synced. These kids just dance around and make asses out of themselves. There were a few good ones, but for most of the night Rookie and I sat in the back and cracked jokes. Last week at my sister's dance I saw Rookie and a couple of his buddies sitting on the steps. I jokingly admonished them for their ridiculously long hair and told them they all needed haircuts. Last night I saw two of them, one had buzzed his head and the other had cut his hair really short. I chuckled. Afterwards I wandered for a bit and commited a sufficient number of sins to ensure that my final judgement will, at the very least, be interesting.
This morning I was at the liquor store (more on that later) and on my way out I saw Forti and his wife walking with their new baby. I hadn't seen the baby in person yet, but now that I have I can assure you that she's just as cute as the pictures. After a few minutes of chatting I was off to the bakery to pick up a cake. See it was our yard guys 50th birthday last week and we'd missed it. He's a good guy, little slow, drinks too much. But a good guy. So to make up for it we bought everyone lunch, picked up two birthday cakes, and I stopped at the liquour store and bought him two cases of Heineken and a mini-keg. It gets time to cut the cake and we give him the beer and my father hands him a small black bag. When he opens the black bag inside is an inflatable sex doll. I don't know what creeps me out more, that my 70 year old father thought it was appropriate to give one of his workers an inflatable sex doll for their birthday or that he apparently knew where to buy one. After lunch I hit up the bank, and stopped by the barbershop. My hair had grown into an unruly mop in the past month and I needed to get it chopped down to size. I haven't really shaved my head since I started balding so today I figured fuck it and had it buzzed to a 3 1/2. I figured the baldspot would show pretty clearly (and it does) but what I wasn't figuring on was the gigantic bald patch below the baldspot. The barber pointed it out before he cut there so I wouldn't think he did, and then reminded me that I mentioned last time that my hair had been coming out in clumps before telling me that I should probably get that looked at. Fuck. I thought I was past that. Either way I'm not worried about how it looks. I'm a fat old balding man. My haircut is the least of my worries.
And now I'm sitting at my desk drinking milk for some reason and wondering what I'm doing for the next few days. Whatever it is I'm sure it will be a blast...and somehow end up costing me thousands of dollars just like everyone else.
And a final note before I go...to whoever (if they do exist) was so kind as to worry about me out loud to a common friend in the past weeks, good looking out. Totally uneccesary but good looking out. I've never really restrained myself in the stupid little things I write here, even when I know people are reading. It just would seem sort of dishonest. Sometimes I reword things, or dance around others, but I rarely restrain myself. Sure there are no longer posts with titles like "Things To Masturbate to While Drunk" and no longer stories that start with lines like "So there was this deaf girl with a gigantic dildo.." or "There I was, trying to get this Jehovah's witness to blow me..." but that largely reflects my ever mutating sense of humor, and not some new found late blooming sense of self-restraint. I am, as I always have been, an intensely and passionately honest and upfront person. There's nothing about me that the whole world can't know if they don't ask the right questions. I've got nothing to hide and plenty of (mostly shitty) stories to tell. But do not let this barely edited, rarely censored, often unfiltered slice of my mind confuse you in any way shape or form about the voracity with which I attack every aspect of my life. My name is Christian Palomba. I am many things. But above all...I'm still here.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Status Quo?
While I try and craft a new entry from the leftover remnants of everything I've ever stood for here is a chronological listing of every Facebook Status Message I've ever written...
March 5th, 12:07pm: "Christian Palomba is rapidly redefining the scope and meaning of the word "Incredulous".
March 6th, 1:51am: "Christian Palomba knows which way the wind blows."
March 6th, 4:12pm: "Christian Palomba is slightly in awre of how strange his life can be."
March 7th, 2:55am: "Christian Palomba would really like to know what the hell just happened."
March 9th, 2:21am: "Christian Palomba this Watchmen would have been better if there was slightly less penis or slightly more pants in it."
arch 9th, 12:40pm: "Christian Palomba feels like a pig shat in his head."
March 10th, 11:17pm: "Christian Palomba feels really old and tired...because he is really old and tired."
March 15th, 8:15am: "Christian Palomba is so ridiculously screwed."
March 15th, 9:07pm: "Christian Palomba is sort of surprised we all survived that one."
March 16th, 1:38am: "Christian Palomba has never tasted person."
March 17th, 5:30pm: "Christian Palomba is enjoying the only day of the year where he actually admits to being 37.5% Irish..."
March 18th, 3:44pm: "Christian Palomba would like to be doing something productive except his computer seems to have just realized it is an antique."
March 18th, 10:22pm: "Christian Palomba is loving lost."
March 19th, 3:28pm: "Christian Palomba is about to raise some hell."
March 20th, 3:22am: "Christian Palomba is a little worse for the wear, but still right here."
March 20th, 7:50pm: "Christian Palomba so say we all..."
March 20th, 11:51pm: "Christian Palomba is hearing nothing but the rain."
March 23rd, 1:32am: "Christian Palomba is like hey, uh, you wanna see my Iron Man?"
March 24th, 12:11pm: "Christian Palomba is Christian Palomba in a Christian Palomba production of The Christian Palomba Story."
March 24th, 7:42pm: "Christian Palomba is going offline to set up his new computer...this might take awhile."
March 25th, 2:55pm: "Christian Palomba is almost up and running...god damn network."
March 25th, 6:38pm: "Christian Palomba is not very happy with his network right now."
March 26th, 7:53pm: "Christian Palomba has a cool new computer, a cool new printer, and a cool new camera...but still isn't connected to his goddamn network."
March 28th, 6:25pm: "Christian Palomba has absolutely nothing to do for the next twelve hours...remarkable."
March 30th, 1:32am: "Christian Palomba knows."
April 1st, 9:46am: "Christian Palomba is finding entirely too man things entirely too amusing just this moment."
April 2nd, 6:32pm: "Christian Palomba is like "You gotta be kidding me."
April 4th, 7:04am: "Christian Palomba is thinking he probably should've stayed home and cleaned instead of going out last night...because this office just ain't agreeing with him right now."
April 4th, 5:55pm: "Christian Palomba is all tied up in nothing."
April 6th, 2:54am: "Christian Palomba feels like his head is about to explode..."
April 6th, 12:33pm: "Christian Palomba thinks it's entirely too early in the day to need a drink, and yet..."
April 6th, 4:29pm: "Christian Palomba is creating."
April 8th, 12:36am: "Christian Palomba thinks it's funny how that happens, and wonders if it would be even funnier if it wasn't."
April 9th, 12:53pm: "Christian Palomba can't quite believe it."
April 12th, 4:25pm: "Christian Palomba says you can't stop me...you can't even slow me down."
April 12th, 1:40pm: "Christian Palomba knows the whole world isn't out to get him...just a very small yet determined part of it."
April 14th, 12:24pm: "Christian Palomba is contemplating the vast and wonderous way that this world works...and wishing it was socially acceptable to drink at work."
April 15th, 3:26pm: "Christian Palomba is not reinventing the wheel...he's just reimagining it."
April 16th, 9:02pm: "Christian Palomba is walking..."
April 19th, 2:36am: "Christian Palomba knows the name, but can't quite place the face."
April 20th, 1:06pm: "Christian Palomba fears heinous fuckery most foul is afoot."
April 22nd, 12:20am: "Christian Palomba can't quite think of a status message to describe these past few days."
April 22nd, 12:21am: "Christian Palomba doesn't know exactly where these stories are going, but he's pretty damn certain how they're going to end. Yeah...that works."
April 23rd, 2:37am: "Christian Palomba is something something something and a half."
April 23rd, 12:27pm: "Christian Palomba apparently has very soft hands."
April 24th, 3:46pm: "Christian Palomba is suffering from a slight excess of undue fuckery, but should have it all cleared up forthwith."
April 26th, 1:25pm: "Christian Palomba is a wee bit under the weather, but since when has that stopped him from trying to have a good time?"
April 27th, 2:11am: "Christian Palomba is pretty goddamn beat."
April 27th, 10:56pm: "Christian Palomba is waiting..."
April 29th, 5:50pm: "Christian Palomba is laughing quite a bit right now, and intends to continue to do so for the forseeable future."
April 30th, 5:43pm: "Christian Palomba thinks alyssa devine is really hot"
May 3rd, 11:35am: "Christian Palomba just realized he's been wearing the same shirt for three straight days."
May 4th, 2:50pm: "Christian Palomba wonders how much trouble he could cause in a real short stretch of time if he really put his mind to it."
May 5th, 6:42pm: "Christian Palomba's going to get lousy tonight so he can get loud tomorrow. There's some sorting coming down the pike right about now. Should be fun."
May 6th, 1:02am: "Christian Palomba is thinking that probably wasn't the smartest thing he's ever done."
May 7th, 2:52am: "Christian Palomba is totally uncalled for."
May 8th, 1:21pm: "Christian Palomba is going to a dinner with the Bishop this evening...anyone want to guess how many ways this can go wrong?"
May 10th, 4:46am: "Christian Palomba never stops, never slows down, never surrenders..."
May 11th, 12:26am: "Christian Palomba needs a nap."
May 12th, 10:04pm: "Christian Palomba has had enough of the office for one day, and is now going home."
May 13th, 2:10pm: "Christian Palomba is ten types of tired...but still has a long afternoon in front of him."
May 14th, 3:39pm: "Christian Palomba is busy, then not busy, then busy, then not busy, then busy, then not busy...goddammit day make up your mind."
May 14th, 8:46pm: "Christian Palomba needs alcohol and food, preferrably in that order."
May 15th, 12:08pm: "Christian Palomba is really beginning to wonder which way the wind is blowing ...and if we're all going to last long enough to find out."
May 17th, 3:35pm: "Christian Palomba knows."
May 17th, 11:51pm: "Christian Palomba thinks this Dr.Pepper tastes really good...because you're a whore."
May 19th, 12:12am: "Christian Palomba says it's like playing Risk and you feel like you're doing pretty well and then all of a sudden you're stuck in Indonesia staring out at Siam with like a million of the other guys guys on it and you realize for one glaringly painful moment, "I am totally dicked right now."'
May 20th, 12:50am: "Christian Palomba wonders what you were doing down by the watermelons?"
May 20th, 10:20pm: "Christian Palomba has the answers, but can't quite find the questions."
May 22nd, 10:33pm: "Christian Palomba kills giants."
May 23rd, 4:51pm: "Christian Palomba would take pleasure in gutting you boy."
May 24th, 1:57am: "Christian Palomba is chaos..."
May 24th, 11:57pm: "Christian Palomba if it looks like Eric Bana, sounds like Eric Bana, and smells like Eric Bana it must be...Eric Bana."
May 25th, 10:15pm: "Christian Palomba needs a shave and a scotch."
May 27th, 2:50pm: "Christian Palomba is watching the world burn down on a close circuit television."
May 27th, 5:27pm: "Christian Palomba is aiming to have himself one hell of a night...not sure exactly how yet though."
May 27th, 10:19pm: "Christian Palomba is starting to wonder if the big sign over my life reads "Trouble: Open For Business"'
May 28th, 10:25pm: "Christian Palomba is out wandering for just a bit."
May 29th, 5:37pm: "Christian Palomba says, "You know that little voice in the back of your head that tells you when something you're about to do is a bad idea? Right now he's screaming."'
May 30th, 7:10pm: "Christian Palomba's got a fiddle and a box of matches."
June 1st, 4:16pm: "Christian Palomba says "There are days in a man's life where the illusion of a future he will never have is all that is necessary to sustain him."'
June 2nd, 10:12pm: "Christian Palomba is ten types of tired."
June 3rd, 12:44pm: "Christian Palomba going to get just a little bit silly...just a little bit."
June 4th, 3:10pm: "Christian Palomba makes the wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round."
June 6th, 7:39pm: "Christian Palomba is wondering how after weeks of being so busy he could barely breathe...tonight he finds himself sort of bored."
June 7th, 10:38pm: "Christian Palomba needs a drink..."
June 8th, 10:15am: "Christian Palomba needs a drink..."
June 8th, 8:59pm: "Christian Palomba is not quite ready to call it a night...but will probably wish he had in the morning."
June 9th, 3:05am: "Christian Palomba lives to fight another day."
June 11th, 1:38pm: "Christian Palomba is the status quo."
March 5th, 12:07pm: "Christian Palomba is rapidly redefining the scope and meaning of the word "Incredulous".
March 6th, 1:51am: "Christian Palomba knows which way the wind blows."
March 6th, 4:12pm: "Christian Palomba is slightly in awre of how strange his life can be."
March 7th, 2:55am: "Christian Palomba would really like to know what the hell just happened."
March 9th, 2:21am: "Christian Palomba this Watchmen would have been better if there was slightly less penis or slightly more pants in it."
arch 9th, 12:40pm: "Christian Palomba feels like a pig shat in his head."
March 10th, 11:17pm: "Christian Palomba feels really old and tired...because he is really old and tired."
March 15th, 8:15am: "Christian Palomba is so ridiculously screwed."
March 15th, 9:07pm: "Christian Palomba is sort of surprised we all survived that one."
March 16th, 1:38am: "Christian Palomba has never tasted person."
March 17th, 5:30pm: "Christian Palomba is enjoying the only day of the year where he actually admits to being 37.5% Irish..."
March 18th, 3:44pm: "Christian Palomba would like to be doing something productive except his computer seems to have just realized it is an antique."
March 18th, 10:22pm: "Christian Palomba is loving lost."
March 19th, 3:28pm: "Christian Palomba is about to raise some hell."
March 20th, 3:22am: "Christian Palomba is a little worse for the wear, but still right here."
March 20th, 7:50pm: "Christian Palomba so say we all..."
March 20th, 11:51pm: "Christian Palomba is hearing nothing but the rain."
March 23rd, 1:32am: "Christian Palomba is like hey, uh, you wanna see my Iron Man?"
March 24th, 12:11pm: "Christian Palomba is Christian Palomba in a Christian Palomba production of The Christian Palomba Story."
March 24th, 7:42pm: "Christian Palomba is going offline to set up his new computer...this might take awhile."
March 25th, 2:55pm: "Christian Palomba is almost up and running...god damn network."
March 25th, 6:38pm: "Christian Palomba is not very happy with his network right now."
March 26th, 7:53pm: "Christian Palomba has a cool new computer, a cool new printer, and a cool new camera...but still isn't connected to his goddamn network."
March 28th, 6:25pm: "Christian Palomba has absolutely nothing to do for the next twelve hours...remarkable."
March 30th, 1:32am: "Christian Palomba knows."
April 1st, 9:46am: "Christian Palomba is finding entirely too man things entirely too amusing just this moment."
April 2nd, 6:32pm: "Christian Palomba is like "You gotta be kidding me."
April 4th, 7:04am: "Christian Palomba is thinking he probably should've stayed home and cleaned instead of going out last night...because this office just ain't agreeing with him right now."
April 4th, 5:55pm: "Christian Palomba is all tied up in nothing."
April 6th, 2:54am: "Christian Palomba feels like his head is about to explode..."
April 6th, 12:33pm: "Christian Palomba thinks it's entirely too early in the day to need a drink, and yet..."
April 6th, 4:29pm: "Christian Palomba is creating."
April 8th, 12:36am: "Christian Palomba thinks it's funny how that happens, and wonders if it would be even funnier if it wasn't."
April 9th, 12:53pm: "Christian Palomba can't quite believe it."
April 12th, 4:25pm: "Christian Palomba says you can't stop me...you can't even slow me down."
April 12th, 1:40pm: "Christian Palomba knows the whole world isn't out to get him...just a very small yet determined part of it."
April 14th, 12:24pm: "Christian Palomba is contemplating the vast and wonderous way that this world works...and wishing it was socially acceptable to drink at work."
April 15th, 3:26pm: "Christian Palomba is not reinventing the wheel...he's just reimagining it."
April 16th, 9:02pm: "Christian Palomba is walking..."
April 19th, 2:36am: "Christian Palomba knows the name, but can't quite place the face."
April 20th, 1:06pm: "Christian Palomba fears heinous fuckery most foul is afoot."
April 22nd, 12:20am: "Christian Palomba can't quite think of a status message to describe these past few days."
April 22nd, 12:21am: "Christian Palomba doesn't know exactly where these stories are going, but he's pretty damn certain how they're going to end. Yeah...that works."
April 23rd, 2:37am: "Christian Palomba is something something something and a half."
April 23rd, 12:27pm: "Christian Palomba apparently has very soft hands."
April 24th, 3:46pm: "Christian Palomba is suffering from a slight excess of undue fuckery, but should have it all cleared up forthwith."
April 26th, 1:25pm: "Christian Palomba is a wee bit under the weather, but since when has that stopped him from trying to have a good time?"
April 27th, 2:11am: "Christian Palomba is pretty goddamn beat."
April 27th, 10:56pm: "Christian Palomba is waiting..."
April 29th, 5:50pm: "Christian Palomba is laughing quite a bit right now, and intends to continue to do so for the forseeable future."
April 30th, 5:43pm: "Christian Palomba thinks alyssa devine is really hot"
May 3rd, 11:35am: "Christian Palomba just realized he's been wearing the same shirt for three straight days."
May 4th, 2:50pm: "Christian Palomba wonders how much trouble he could cause in a real short stretch of time if he really put his mind to it."
May 5th, 6:42pm: "Christian Palomba's going to get lousy tonight so he can get loud tomorrow. There's some sorting coming down the pike right about now. Should be fun."
May 6th, 1:02am: "Christian Palomba is thinking that probably wasn't the smartest thing he's ever done."
May 7th, 2:52am: "Christian Palomba is totally uncalled for."
May 8th, 1:21pm: "Christian Palomba is going to a dinner with the Bishop this evening...anyone want to guess how many ways this can go wrong?"
May 10th, 4:46am: "Christian Palomba never stops, never slows down, never surrenders..."
May 11th, 12:26am: "Christian Palomba needs a nap."
May 12th, 10:04pm: "Christian Palomba has had enough of the office for one day, and is now going home."
May 13th, 2:10pm: "Christian Palomba is ten types of tired...but still has a long afternoon in front of him."
May 14th, 3:39pm: "Christian Palomba is busy, then not busy, then busy, then not busy, then busy, then not busy...goddammit day make up your mind."
May 14th, 8:46pm: "Christian Palomba needs alcohol and food, preferrably in that order."
May 15th, 12:08pm: "Christian Palomba is really beginning to wonder which way the wind is blowing ...and if we're all going to last long enough to find out."
May 17th, 3:35pm: "Christian Palomba knows."
May 17th, 11:51pm: "Christian Palomba thinks this Dr.Pepper tastes really good...because you're a whore."
May 19th, 12:12am: "Christian Palomba says it's like playing Risk and you feel like you're doing pretty well and then all of a sudden you're stuck in Indonesia staring out at Siam with like a million of the other guys guys on it and you realize for one glaringly painful moment, "I am totally dicked right now."'
May 20th, 12:50am: "Christian Palomba wonders what you were doing down by the watermelons?"
May 20th, 10:20pm: "Christian Palomba has the answers, but can't quite find the questions."
May 22nd, 10:33pm: "Christian Palomba kills giants."
May 23rd, 4:51pm: "Christian Palomba would take pleasure in gutting you boy."
May 24th, 1:57am: "Christian Palomba is chaos..."
May 24th, 11:57pm: "Christian Palomba if it looks like Eric Bana, sounds like Eric Bana, and smells like Eric Bana it must be...Eric Bana."
May 25th, 10:15pm: "Christian Palomba needs a shave and a scotch."
May 27th, 2:50pm: "Christian Palomba is watching the world burn down on a close circuit television."
May 27th, 5:27pm: "Christian Palomba is aiming to have himself one hell of a night...not sure exactly how yet though."
May 27th, 10:19pm: "Christian Palomba is starting to wonder if the big sign over my life reads "Trouble: Open For Business"'
May 28th, 10:25pm: "Christian Palomba is out wandering for just a bit."
May 29th, 5:37pm: "Christian Palomba says, "You know that little voice in the back of your head that tells you when something you're about to do is a bad idea? Right now he's screaming."'
May 30th, 7:10pm: "Christian Palomba's got a fiddle and a box of matches."
June 1st, 4:16pm: "Christian Palomba says "There are days in a man's life where the illusion of a future he will never have is all that is necessary to sustain him."'
June 2nd, 10:12pm: "Christian Palomba is ten types of tired."
June 3rd, 12:44pm: "Christian Palomba going to get just a little bit silly...just a little bit."
June 4th, 3:10pm: "Christian Palomba makes the wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round."
June 6th, 7:39pm: "Christian Palomba is wondering how after weeks of being so busy he could barely breathe...tonight he finds himself sort of bored."
June 7th, 10:38pm: "Christian Palomba needs a drink..."
June 8th, 10:15am: "Christian Palomba needs a drink..."
June 8th, 8:59pm: "Christian Palomba is not quite ready to call it a night...but will probably wish he had in the morning."
June 9th, 3:05am: "Christian Palomba lives to fight another day."
June 11th, 1:38pm: "Christian Palomba is the status quo."
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Mr.Jimmy Vs. The Long Ass Werewolves And Another Odd Dream
I must have done a lot of drugs when I was younger and then totally blocked it out. I can think of no other reason for dreams like this.
It starts like it's mid-scene in a horror movie. There are a little over a twenty of us, some I know, some I don't, running through the streets of a burning city being chased by a pack of werewolf type monsters. We round a corner and run into a pile of debris blocking our path. Some in the group scramble over the debris rather easily, others struggle. I find myself with two other men trying to help several young women over the pile when the werewolves catch up to us. They tear one of the other men apart and are about to set upon us when an older man who was already at the top of the pile begins to fire at them with a silver plated shotgun screaming, "Mr.Jimmy's gonna getcha!". The first wolf he hits explodes giving us all enough time to find something to fight back with. More wolves are coming and we're fighting valiantly but losing. Mr.Jimmy is relentless though. He fires, reloads, barely takes aim and fires again destroying wolf after wolf. But they just keep coming. And now the other survivors are swarming back over the pile, there are werewolves on the other side as well. We're trapped on top of this pile but the number of wolves is dwindling now. We've lost a lot of people, but we've almost got them beat. And then the big wolf comes. We can hear it before we can see it, I'm holding one fairly large wolf off by the throat and beating it with a crowbar when the big werewolf comes bounding down the street leaps clear over a half dozen burning cars and lands right in front of Mr.Jimmy. The old man's already killed a dozen of the wolves but with this monster staring at him from mere inches away he hesitates...and then he's gone. Blood, guts, and the gun all that's left of him as the big wolf howls up at the moon. The gun's not ten feet away from me. I finish off the wolf I'm entangled with and make a mad dash for Mr.Jimmy's silver plated shotgun.
The big wolf gets there first and smacks me away, I'm hurting but it's given one of the other guys the opportunity to get a hold of the gun. He picks it up with a big grin on his face, brings it around so it's pointing at the big wolf, and pulls the trigger. Nothing happens. He panics, the big wolf takes him down. The gun falls pretty much on top of me, along with what's left of the other guy. I'm scrambling now, dodging the big wolf's claws and looking for Mr.Jimmy's remains hoping to find a shotgun shell or two so I can kill this big honking wolf that's currently trying to eat me and these other very nice people who seem to be standing around screaming or pissing their pants instead of trying to help me. I'm just about to cut and run when I see out of the corner of my eye two shotgun shells on top of the pile of debris. I rush back up to the top of the pile, grab the shells and turn to see the big wolf charging right at me. Shit.
I crack the shotgun, re-load, snap it back into place (in my head I hear Ash growling "This...is my boomstick.") and jab it into the maw of the snarling monster as he leaps to attack me. "Enough with the fucking werewolves already!" I scream as I discharge the explosive shell directly into the beast's face. It explodes rather pleasantly sending hairy little chunks of werewolf all over the other survivors. I stumble down the pile of werewolf corpses and debris and join the rest of the survivors to discuss what's next.
~
I'm not entirely sure what the next dream meant (as opposed to the last dream which I'm pretty sure meant I fucking hate werewolves), or when exactly it took place. It's sort of flitted in and out of my consciousness for the last few hours. I think it was a lingerer from Monday night mostly because I swear I could taste scotch during the dream (aside: while sitting at the bar on Monday night, just after the bartender nearly hugged me to death, she asked if I wanted my usual Glenlivet. Apparently they've begun to stock the good stuff because she asked me if I wanted the 12 year old or the 18 year old. Not wanting to drop $30 on a drink that I was three drinks past being able to appreciate already I said rather too loudly, "I'll take the 12 year old please." At which point a rather hairy gentleman sitting to my left began to chuckle loudly as he ashed his cigar in a rather Burgess Meredith as The Penguin sort of way and I all too late realized that in a place where women are the main commodity you have to be a little more careful in the way you word things, and you should always take the 18 year old.) So anyway, I'm driving my car and I'm tasting scotch. There are other people in the car with me, but I can't see who they are. I keep looking in the rear view mirror but every once and awhile I get a glimpse of the guy behind the wheel and it's not me, it's me from a long long time ago. And every time I look again I'm different, sometimes older and sometimes younger. But I don't change, just the reflection in the mirror. And then the ground starts to open up. These long dark cavernous cracks that swallow up trees and houses and everything around us. But I keep driving, and I'm dodging them all. And we round a corner into Haledon and everyone in the car with me is gone. But that's ok. Because I know I'm going to meet them. Except I get to Wizard's and it's gone. It's like it was never there, it's just a house. So I head back into Haledon (which I'd just driven through and everything was normal) but none of the Haledon bars are there either. Geez was a hairstylists and the Tavern was an appliance shop. But no bars. Everyone said to meet them at the bar, but none of the bars are there. I think maybe that they meant one of the go-go bars the guys and I frequent. So I head down to Bloomfield. The building is there and it looks exactly the same, except it's a school and not the bar. Now I'm really confused, and slightly upset. What the hell is going on? I see a guy I know standing on the corner so I hop out of the car and run over to talk to him, but he doesn't know me. I turn around to get back in my car but now it's gone too. It's cold, it's getting dark, and everything is very very quiet. And for the first time...I'm a little bit scared.
It starts like it's mid-scene in a horror movie. There are a little over a twenty of us, some I know, some I don't, running through the streets of a burning city being chased by a pack of werewolf type monsters. We round a corner and run into a pile of debris blocking our path. Some in the group scramble over the debris rather easily, others struggle. I find myself with two other men trying to help several young women over the pile when the werewolves catch up to us. They tear one of the other men apart and are about to set upon us when an older man who was already at the top of the pile begins to fire at them with a silver plated shotgun screaming, "Mr.Jimmy's gonna getcha!". The first wolf he hits explodes giving us all enough time to find something to fight back with. More wolves are coming and we're fighting valiantly but losing. Mr.Jimmy is relentless though. He fires, reloads, barely takes aim and fires again destroying wolf after wolf. But they just keep coming. And now the other survivors are swarming back over the pile, there are werewolves on the other side as well. We're trapped on top of this pile but the number of wolves is dwindling now. We've lost a lot of people, but we've almost got them beat. And then the big wolf comes. We can hear it before we can see it, I'm holding one fairly large wolf off by the throat and beating it with a crowbar when the big werewolf comes bounding down the street leaps clear over a half dozen burning cars and lands right in front of Mr.Jimmy. The old man's already killed a dozen of the wolves but with this monster staring at him from mere inches away he hesitates...and then he's gone. Blood, guts, and the gun all that's left of him as the big wolf howls up at the moon. The gun's not ten feet away from me. I finish off the wolf I'm entangled with and make a mad dash for Mr.Jimmy's silver plated shotgun.
The big wolf gets there first and smacks me away, I'm hurting but it's given one of the other guys the opportunity to get a hold of the gun. He picks it up with a big grin on his face, brings it around so it's pointing at the big wolf, and pulls the trigger. Nothing happens. He panics, the big wolf takes him down. The gun falls pretty much on top of me, along with what's left of the other guy. I'm scrambling now, dodging the big wolf's claws and looking for Mr.Jimmy's remains hoping to find a shotgun shell or two so I can kill this big honking wolf that's currently trying to eat me and these other very nice people who seem to be standing around screaming or pissing their pants instead of trying to help me. I'm just about to cut and run when I see out of the corner of my eye two shotgun shells on top of the pile of debris. I rush back up to the top of the pile, grab the shells and turn to see the big wolf charging right at me. Shit.
I crack the shotgun, re-load, snap it back into place (in my head I hear Ash growling "This...is my boomstick.") and jab it into the maw of the snarling monster as he leaps to attack me. "Enough with the fucking werewolves already!" I scream as I discharge the explosive shell directly into the beast's face. It explodes rather pleasantly sending hairy little chunks of werewolf all over the other survivors. I stumble down the pile of werewolf corpses and debris and join the rest of the survivors to discuss what's next.
~
I'm not entirely sure what the next dream meant (as opposed to the last dream which I'm pretty sure meant I fucking hate werewolves), or when exactly it took place. It's sort of flitted in and out of my consciousness for the last few hours. I think it was a lingerer from Monday night mostly because I swear I could taste scotch during the dream (aside: while sitting at the bar on Monday night, just after the bartender nearly hugged me to death, she asked if I wanted my usual Glenlivet. Apparently they've begun to stock the good stuff because she asked me if I wanted the 12 year old or the 18 year old. Not wanting to drop $30 on a drink that I was three drinks past being able to appreciate already I said rather too loudly, "I'll take the 12 year old please." At which point a rather hairy gentleman sitting to my left began to chuckle loudly as he ashed his cigar in a rather Burgess Meredith as The Penguin sort of way and I all too late realized that in a place where women are the main commodity you have to be a little more careful in the way you word things, and you should always take the 18 year old.) So anyway, I'm driving my car and I'm tasting scotch. There are other people in the car with me, but I can't see who they are. I keep looking in the rear view mirror but every once and awhile I get a glimpse of the guy behind the wheel and it's not me, it's me from a long long time ago. And every time I look again I'm different, sometimes older and sometimes younger. But I don't change, just the reflection in the mirror. And then the ground starts to open up. These long dark cavernous cracks that swallow up trees and houses and everything around us. But I keep driving, and I'm dodging them all. And we round a corner into Haledon and everyone in the car with me is gone. But that's ok. Because I know I'm going to meet them. Except I get to Wizard's and it's gone. It's like it was never there, it's just a house. So I head back into Haledon (which I'd just driven through and everything was normal) but none of the Haledon bars are there either. Geez was a hairstylists and the Tavern was an appliance shop. But no bars. Everyone said to meet them at the bar, but none of the bars are there. I think maybe that they meant one of the go-go bars the guys and I frequent. So I head down to Bloomfield. The building is there and it looks exactly the same, except it's a school and not the bar. Now I'm really confused, and slightly upset. What the hell is going on? I see a guy I know standing on the corner so I hop out of the car and run over to talk to him, but he doesn't know me. I turn around to get back in my car but now it's gone too. It's cold, it's getting dark, and everything is very very quiet. And for the first time...I'm a little bit scared.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
I Just Want To Fly
The skies are dark and filled with clouds. Without the stars I can't quite find my way.
It has been a mindfuckingly awkward month. Don't get me wrong I've spent a great deal of time with some of my favorite people, done a few fun things, and worked very hard but still had time for myself. You can't really ask for more than that. It was a pretty well rounded month as well. I spent a ton of money, but I also made a ton of money. I've shared in some highs and some lows with people I care a great deal about. I've had some fantastic conversations, seen some great movies, drank quite a bit of scotch, and laughed more than any man has any right to.
But it was a trying month. Some things have been said by entirely too many people about entirely too many things that six months ago probably would have had me standing on a ledge wondering which which way to leap. But I thank God and everyone I know every single day that I'm not where I was six months ago, or six months before that, or six months before that. Like everyone else I go through my phases...it's one of the few things still human about me. And if I was now where I was six or seven months ago I'm certain I would find myself in a much worse place. So thank God I could be there for the people that needed me in the past month, thank God that there were so many great people there for me when I needed them, and thank God I had someone to talk to tonight when I just needed to vent the excess pressure for an hour or so and walk away as if nothing happened at all.
I said some things tonight that I've never said out loud and as I said them I felt a tremendous weight lift from my shoulders. It was as if I knew all along what I needed to say, but I could never find anyone to say it to. So tonight I vented, and I bitched and I moaned, and I sort of got it all out there in a situation where not a single thing I ever say or do will ever matter. And when I was finished, although I seemed so much worse off than I was when I started, I was actually far far better. It didn't matter who was listening, just that someone was.
It was an unbelievably nice feeling.
I sort of hope that's how people feel when they come to me to talk.
So at 2 A.M. as the clouds grew thicker, the lighting began to flash, and the thunder began to rumble I realized that tonight (and by extension these past few days) ended up being pretty damn good.
And in the most ridiculous roundabout way I've discovered something else.
Christian Palomba never stops, never surrenders, never slows down.
I've already weathered the storm.
Now bring on the rain.
It has been a mindfuckingly awkward month. Don't get me wrong I've spent a great deal of time with some of my favorite people, done a few fun things, and worked very hard but still had time for myself. You can't really ask for more than that. It was a pretty well rounded month as well. I spent a ton of money, but I also made a ton of money. I've shared in some highs and some lows with people I care a great deal about. I've had some fantastic conversations, seen some great movies, drank quite a bit of scotch, and laughed more than any man has any right to.
But it was a trying month. Some things have been said by entirely too many people about entirely too many things that six months ago probably would have had me standing on a ledge wondering which which way to leap. But I thank God and everyone I know every single day that I'm not where I was six months ago, or six months before that, or six months before that. Like everyone else I go through my phases...it's one of the few things still human about me. And if I was now where I was six or seven months ago I'm certain I would find myself in a much worse place. So thank God I could be there for the people that needed me in the past month, thank God that there were so many great people there for me when I needed them, and thank God I had someone to talk to tonight when I just needed to vent the excess pressure for an hour or so and walk away as if nothing happened at all.
I said some things tonight that I've never said out loud and as I said them I felt a tremendous weight lift from my shoulders. It was as if I knew all along what I needed to say, but I could never find anyone to say it to. So tonight I vented, and I bitched and I moaned, and I sort of got it all out there in a situation where not a single thing I ever say or do will ever matter. And when I was finished, although I seemed so much worse off than I was when I started, I was actually far far better. It didn't matter who was listening, just that someone was.
It was an unbelievably nice feeling.
I sort of hope that's how people feel when they come to me to talk.
So at 2 A.M. as the clouds grew thicker, the lighting began to flash, and the thunder began to rumble I realized that tonight (and by extension these past few days) ended up being pretty damn good.
And in the most ridiculous roundabout way I've discovered something else.
Christian Palomba never stops, never surrenders, never slows down.
I've already weathered the storm.
Now bring on the rain.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Bits of Lost Posts: Original Gangster, Latent Lament, The Gribble, and Waiting or Wanting
Original Gangster
"And as the pressure builds up, as things start to go south, as everyone and everything seems stacked against you there's this moment. This moment where you realize you're in over your head. In that moment only two things can happen. You can lose your shit right then and there or you can pull it all together and do everything you can to just scrape by. In that moment life makes all the decisions for you. No more waiting, no more worrying, no more ways to prolong the inevitable. You either call it quits...or you survive."
Latent Lament
"I'm sick of pretending that just because I've never really been in love that I don't know what it is to be heartbroken. I get it. I really do. The ones you want never seem to want you. And the ones that want you, you never seem to want. But you never really get the one you want until you get the one you want. And that's only if you're lucky. Some of us? No luck at all. No...there's all sorts of heartbreak kid, don't make the mistake of thinking any one is any worse than all the rest."
The Gribble
"He's a mistake on top of an error on top of a fuck-up, and to make it worse rational thought has never been one of his strong points. That boy would slit you open and watch the shit pour out just as soon as look at you. No, you don't need to be afraid of me. You've just got to be afraid that I won't stop him when he comes for you."
Waiting or Wanting
"When I was a little kid I used to stand in the window and stare down the hill, waiting for my father to come and visit. I did it everyday, even when he hadn't said he was coming. My old man got out of work at 5:30 and I'd stand in front of that window from then until my mother made me come to the table for dinner. More days than not he didn't show, even when he promised he would. I remember that feeling. That waiting, that wanting. I remember it very clearly. And that's sort of what I'm feeling now...except I don't know what it is I want, and I already know that just waiting won't do any good at all."
"And as the pressure builds up, as things start to go south, as everyone and everything seems stacked against you there's this moment. This moment where you realize you're in over your head. In that moment only two things can happen. You can lose your shit right then and there or you can pull it all together and do everything you can to just scrape by. In that moment life makes all the decisions for you. No more waiting, no more worrying, no more ways to prolong the inevitable. You either call it quits...or you survive."
Latent Lament
"I'm sick of pretending that just because I've never really been in love that I don't know what it is to be heartbroken. I get it. I really do. The ones you want never seem to want you. And the ones that want you, you never seem to want. But you never really get the one you want until you get the one you want. And that's only if you're lucky. Some of us? No luck at all. No...there's all sorts of heartbreak kid, don't make the mistake of thinking any one is any worse than all the rest."
The Gribble
"He's a mistake on top of an error on top of a fuck-up, and to make it worse rational thought has never been one of his strong points. That boy would slit you open and watch the shit pour out just as soon as look at you. No, you don't need to be afraid of me. You've just got to be afraid that I won't stop him when he comes for you."
Waiting or Wanting
"When I was a little kid I used to stand in the window and stare down the hill, waiting for my father to come and visit. I did it everyday, even when he hadn't said he was coming. My old man got out of work at 5:30 and I'd stand in front of that window from then until my mother made me come to the table for dinner. More days than not he didn't show, even when he promised he would. I remember that feeling. That waiting, that wanting. I remember it very clearly. And that's sort of what I'm feeling now...except I don't know what it is I want, and I already know that just waiting won't do any good at all."
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Angsty
At one in the morning I was doing hills on my treadmill while watching Rome and trying to convince myself that I haven't taken a major step backwards as far as exercise goes in the past few weeks.
At two in the morning I decided to see if I could mix some kicks into my fairly lame heavy bag routine, results were better than could be expected (meaning I didn't hurt myself too badly and rocketed the damn bag halfway across the basement at least twice even though several of my "kicks" barely shook the thing).
By four in the morning I had taken a cold shower and climbed into bed soaking wet and spent the next little while staring at the ceiling debating whether or not to shave my head and embrace my growing baldness and if it would be a good idea to buy some khakis and a few polo shirts that aren't black or dark blue.
At nine I was back on the treadmill, watching Rome again, feeling even worse than I did eight hours before.
By noon I had given up on the spring wardrobe, was severely doubting the whole head shaving thing, and couldn't decide if tonight held greater potential for salvation or disaster.
Damn. It's going to be another long one isn't it?
At two in the morning I decided to see if I could mix some kicks into my fairly lame heavy bag routine, results were better than could be expected (meaning I didn't hurt myself too badly and rocketed the damn bag halfway across the basement at least twice even though several of my "kicks" barely shook the thing).
By four in the morning I had taken a cold shower and climbed into bed soaking wet and spent the next little while staring at the ceiling debating whether or not to shave my head and embrace my growing baldness and if it would be a good idea to buy some khakis and a few polo shirts that aren't black or dark blue.
At nine I was back on the treadmill, watching Rome again, feeling even worse than I did eight hours before.
By noon I had given up on the spring wardrobe, was severely doubting the whole head shaving thing, and couldn't decide if tonight held greater potential for salvation or disaster.
Damn. It's going to be another long one isn't it?
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Delusional
The fly keeps crawling across my knuckles reminding me that despite what seems to be a sea of words swarming across my computer screen I haven't typed a single thing in hours. It's frustrating. The idea that what I think just happened didn't really happen. The notion that, even for a moment, I'm slipping...again.
One minute I feel like I could put my fist through the wall and the next my arms are so weak I can barely lift them off my desk. My head tilts back and to the right like my neck is suddenly not strong enough to support it and I find myself looking out the bottom of my eyes less I be stuck staring at the ceiling. Everything I think just seems slower, not less intelligent or less interesting necessarily...just slower. I wonder if this is what dying feels like.
My lips are dry, my throat is raw, my eyelids feel like they weigh a thousand pounds. Dry little coughs rack my body, the pain in my chest resonating with each subsequent gasp. When I clear my throat to try and speak it's like my ribs are cracking with each word making everything I say sound more...painful...then it's meant to.
I'm so fucking tired. I'm so fucking spent. And yet that feeling stirs inside me, that voice echoes in the back of my head, those little blue sparks ignite behind my eyes and I know. It's not over yet. It is not over yet.
The raven sits high up in the corner and asks if I remember where he came from while the dark wolf lurks in the shadows staring hungrily at my heel.
All I have to do is sign the paper and I can go home.
All I have to do is agree with something I know is wrong and everyone will get off my case.
All I have to do is pretend to forget and everything will fall right into place.
All I have to do is do it all.
Just like it's always been.
Just like it always will be.
There is no light...we run on.
One minute I feel like I could put my fist through the wall and the next my arms are so weak I can barely lift them off my desk. My head tilts back and to the right like my neck is suddenly not strong enough to support it and I find myself looking out the bottom of my eyes less I be stuck staring at the ceiling. Everything I think just seems slower, not less intelligent or less interesting necessarily...just slower. I wonder if this is what dying feels like.
My lips are dry, my throat is raw, my eyelids feel like they weigh a thousand pounds. Dry little coughs rack my body, the pain in my chest resonating with each subsequent gasp. When I clear my throat to try and speak it's like my ribs are cracking with each word making everything I say sound more...painful...then it's meant to.
I'm so fucking tired. I'm so fucking spent. And yet that feeling stirs inside me, that voice echoes in the back of my head, those little blue sparks ignite behind my eyes and I know. It's not over yet. It is not over yet.
The raven sits high up in the corner and asks if I remember where he came from while the dark wolf lurks in the shadows staring hungrily at my heel.
All I have to do is sign the paper and I can go home.
All I have to do is agree with something I know is wrong and everyone will get off my case.
All I have to do is pretend to forget and everything will fall right into place.
All I have to do is do it all.
Just like it's always been.
Just like it always will be.
There is no light...we run on.
Left-Over Dreams
"There are days in a man's life where the illusion of a future he will never have is all that is necessary to sustain him." - Edward Allen Rigby, from Piccadilly Dreams
I haven't been writing much about my dreams lately, mostly because none have been substantial. Here are a few short ones from the past week that stuck with me.
Risk
I'm standing outside a 7-11 with these guys I used to know when some kid runs up to us and tells us that there are movie stars right down the street. We get all excited (or as excited about anything as I ever get) and run down the street. Seth Rogen and Bill Hader are standing outside the theater and they want us to come in and watch their new movie. We all go in and find ourselves in a packed theater. Rogen and Hader are standing near the front of the theater now and they tell us how proud of the movie they just made was, but they tell us they wrote and directed the film but weren't in it. People are a little disappointed but watch it anyway. It's not a comedy, it's really bad, but it's short so no one leaves. When it gets to the end Rogen and Hader go around with clipboards asking us what we all thought. Everyone lies and says it was amazing. They give us all board games to say thank-you and then we go and stand outside of 7-11 again.
Literary
I'm in a large university library. I'm standing at the end of one aisle reading a book when I look up and see a girl standing with her back to me at the other end of the aisle. She's staring out the window at something, but I can't see what. I can't see her face but I already know she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I walk up to her just wanting to say hello, but she reacts as if we know each other and she's been waiting for me. She hugs me. We sit on the floor, me leaning against the end of a bookshelf, her leaning against me. We begin to kiss. I have no idea what I'm doing, but she does so it works out. I close my eyes. She breaks the kiss and she's just resting her head on my chest. I suddenly realize I don't remember what she looks like, so I open my eyes and look down. She's gone. But it still feels like she's leaning against me. I'm confused. I look up out the window, but there's nothing there.
On Empty
This one freaked me out a little. I'm in this restaurant we had dinner in last night. It's exactly like it was last night. We're even eating the same things (two orders of buffalo chicken sliders, one order of french dip sliders, and one corned beef sandwich a water, a diet coke, and two sprites). This all seemed very important. But I wasn't sure I was dreaming. We go to get into the car, but for some reason I use the auto-start. The engine revs but then sputters out. I'm worried I'm out of gas. When I get into the car it won't start either. But as I grip the steering wheel the engine roars to life. We keep driving but the fuel light comes on and the car just feels like it's handling lighter. Everyone seems real nervous because they don't want to get stuck out in the wilderness with me. For some reason driving from Clifton to North Haledon in this dream involved going through miles and miles of dense forest. We're going up this one hill when the engine sputters out again. Everyone panics, but as I grip the wheel tighter in frustration the engine charges up again. I realize that the tighter I squeeze the steering wheel the more power the car has. By the time I drop everyone off and pull into my driveway my hands hurt from being clenched so tightly for so long and my knuckles are pure white. I roll into the driveway, let go of the wheel, and the car dies. As I walk away it lets out a moan and falls into a million pieces.
This morning I get in my car and the fuel light comes on as soon as I start it up.
Hallways
I'm standing in a dark hallway running my hand against the walls to find my way. The way the walls feel reminds me of the walls in grammy-in-the-chair's nursing home when I was a little boy. I know that's not where I am though. I'm stepping on something large and heavy but I can't see what it is. I stumble a few times but don't take my hand of the wall, I'm afraid if I do I'll be lost forever. I hear other people up ahead and I call out to them. I recognize the voices but can't place them. I round a corner and hit a dead end. I'm feeling my way around to make sure there's no door when I find myself touching someone. There's a quiet sigh, it's a woman. She's sleeping. Standing up. My right palm is on her side but my fingers are still on the wall, my left on her hand. I gently squeeze her hand to see if she'll wake up, but she doesn't. I try whispering in her ear, but that doesn't work either. From somewhere in the distance there's a large explosion, and in a brief glare of light I see that I know who the woman is. It's dark again and I know I need to find my way out, but I can't wake her, and I won't leave her. I try to push her but she won't budge. I try to carry her but even though she's small I can't lift her up. I sit down the floor and for the first time take my right hand off the wall altogether. I reach up and hold her hand trying to think of what to do next.
Mixed Signals
I'm sitting in the youth room, but it's not really the youth room, it's more like the basement of my father's new house. Then I get a phonecall I can't take in front of everyone so I excuse myself and head down a long hallway that's not there in real life. When I get to the end of the hallway there's a mens' room and a ladies' room. I go into the men's room and lean against the door of one of the stalls while I take the phonecall. There's a girl on the other end of the line and she asks me where I've been, she sounds upset. I tell her I've been busy though I don't know why I have to tell her anything. She tells me we're through, I ask who she is. She says I damn well know who she is and that she's breaking up with me. I tell her she has the wrong guy, but there's no convincing her. She sounds so sad I can't even argue with her anymore. I ask why she's sad and she says it's because of me. I ask what I did and she says I know what I did. I say I'm sorry even though I have no idea what she's talking about. She says it doesn't sound like I mean it, so I find myself standing in this imaginary bathroom pretending to beg forgiveness from a girl I don't know about something I know I didn't do. When I finally hang up I'm actually a little upset, when I walk out of the bathroom everyone looks at me for some explanation as to what just happened. I just shrug and say, "Women, you can't say enough about them. You can't say anything to them." And then when I realize I'm quoting myself in a dream after having a pretend argument with a stranger in an imaginary bathroom I begin to laugh so hard it actually wakes me up.
"When you're lost in the woods and you find a path you follow the damn thing no matter where it leads. You just have to hope it leads out." - Lazarus Jones, from Piccadilly Dreams
I haven't been writing much about my dreams lately, mostly because none have been substantial. Here are a few short ones from the past week that stuck with me.
Risk
I'm standing outside a 7-11 with these guys I used to know when some kid runs up to us and tells us that there are movie stars right down the street. We get all excited (or as excited about anything as I ever get) and run down the street. Seth Rogen and Bill Hader are standing outside the theater and they want us to come in and watch their new movie. We all go in and find ourselves in a packed theater. Rogen and Hader are standing near the front of the theater now and they tell us how proud of the movie they just made was, but they tell us they wrote and directed the film but weren't in it. People are a little disappointed but watch it anyway. It's not a comedy, it's really bad, but it's short so no one leaves. When it gets to the end Rogen and Hader go around with clipboards asking us what we all thought. Everyone lies and says it was amazing. They give us all board games to say thank-you and then we go and stand outside of 7-11 again.
Literary
I'm in a large university library. I'm standing at the end of one aisle reading a book when I look up and see a girl standing with her back to me at the other end of the aisle. She's staring out the window at something, but I can't see what. I can't see her face but I already know she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I walk up to her just wanting to say hello, but she reacts as if we know each other and she's been waiting for me. She hugs me. We sit on the floor, me leaning against the end of a bookshelf, her leaning against me. We begin to kiss. I have no idea what I'm doing, but she does so it works out. I close my eyes. She breaks the kiss and she's just resting her head on my chest. I suddenly realize I don't remember what she looks like, so I open my eyes and look down. She's gone. But it still feels like she's leaning against me. I'm confused. I look up out the window, but there's nothing there.
On Empty
This one freaked me out a little. I'm in this restaurant we had dinner in last night. It's exactly like it was last night. We're even eating the same things (two orders of buffalo chicken sliders, one order of french dip sliders, and one corned beef sandwich a water, a diet coke, and two sprites). This all seemed very important. But I wasn't sure I was dreaming. We go to get into the car, but for some reason I use the auto-start. The engine revs but then sputters out. I'm worried I'm out of gas. When I get into the car it won't start either. But as I grip the steering wheel the engine roars to life. We keep driving but the fuel light comes on and the car just feels like it's handling lighter. Everyone seems real nervous because they don't want to get stuck out in the wilderness with me. For some reason driving from Clifton to North Haledon in this dream involved going through miles and miles of dense forest. We're going up this one hill when the engine sputters out again. Everyone panics, but as I grip the wheel tighter in frustration the engine charges up again. I realize that the tighter I squeeze the steering wheel the more power the car has. By the time I drop everyone off and pull into my driveway my hands hurt from being clenched so tightly for so long and my knuckles are pure white. I roll into the driveway, let go of the wheel, and the car dies. As I walk away it lets out a moan and falls into a million pieces.
This morning I get in my car and the fuel light comes on as soon as I start it up.
Hallways
I'm standing in a dark hallway running my hand against the walls to find my way. The way the walls feel reminds me of the walls in grammy-in-the-chair's nursing home when I was a little boy. I know that's not where I am though. I'm stepping on something large and heavy but I can't see what it is. I stumble a few times but don't take my hand of the wall, I'm afraid if I do I'll be lost forever. I hear other people up ahead and I call out to them. I recognize the voices but can't place them. I round a corner and hit a dead end. I'm feeling my way around to make sure there's no door when I find myself touching someone. There's a quiet sigh, it's a woman. She's sleeping. Standing up. My right palm is on her side but my fingers are still on the wall, my left on her hand. I gently squeeze her hand to see if she'll wake up, but she doesn't. I try whispering in her ear, but that doesn't work either. From somewhere in the distance there's a large explosion, and in a brief glare of light I see that I know who the woman is. It's dark again and I know I need to find my way out, but I can't wake her, and I won't leave her. I try to push her but she won't budge. I try to carry her but even though she's small I can't lift her up. I sit down the floor and for the first time take my right hand off the wall altogether. I reach up and hold her hand trying to think of what to do next.
Mixed Signals
I'm sitting in the youth room, but it's not really the youth room, it's more like the basement of my father's new house. Then I get a phonecall I can't take in front of everyone so I excuse myself and head down a long hallway that's not there in real life. When I get to the end of the hallway there's a mens' room and a ladies' room. I go into the men's room and lean against the door of one of the stalls while I take the phonecall. There's a girl on the other end of the line and she asks me where I've been, she sounds upset. I tell her I've been busy though I don't know why I have to tell her anything. She tells me we're through, I ask who she is. She says I damn well know who she is and that she's breaking up with me. I tell her she has the wrong guy, but there's no convincing her. She sounds so sad I can't even argue with her anymore. I ask why she's sad and she says it's because of me. I ask what I did and she says I know what I did. I say I'm sorry even though I have no idea what she's talking about. She says it doesn't sound like I mean it, so I find myself standing in this imaginary bathroom pretending to beg forgiveness from a girl I don't know about something I know I didn't do. When I finally hang up I'm actually a little upset, when I walk out of the bathroom everyone looks at me for some explanation as to what just happened. I just shrug and say, "Women, you can't say enough about them. You can't say anything to them." And then when I realize I'm quoting myself in a dream after having a pretend argument with a stranger in an imaginary bathroom I begin to laugh so hard it actually wakes me up.
"When you're lost in the woods and you find a path you follow the damn thing no matter where it leads. You just have to hope it leads out." - Lazarus Jones, from Piccadilly Dreams
Monday, June 1, 2009
Old Quotes & Scattershots: Letter Writing & Failure
It is important to me
That you know
The only thing I ever wanted
Was to be able to show you
That the truth
And what is real
Can be very different things.
- from Short Poems For Something Lost (Fall 2008)
My confidence shaken
my pride has been taken
I thought I could trust them God
I guess I was wrong.
Please tell me why God
I've been waiting so long?
- from Prayer (Spring 1997)
"At some point, between buying $100 worth of Jameson shots (Palomba & Co. killing bottles of mediocre whiskey everywhere we go since 1999) and trying not to ogle the pretty girls someone drunk ended up saying something that was actually pretty poignant, we drank to it. And then we drank to beautiful women, questionable sexuality, ceiling fans, and finally boobs.
It still all seemed remarkably dignified."
- from My Maserati Does One-Eighty-Five (Summer 2005)
"You know there's that moment, where everything slows down. Where it's just the two of you. Where the whole world is nothing but the space between you and her. That moment where your eyes give you away, and your very voice betrays you. That moment where you say the things you never meant to say. I'm afraid I've never had that moment."
- from I Know... (Winter 2005)
FADE TO BLACK (Winter 2005)
"So here we go...staring down the sunset and wondering what's next. Wondering where I'm going when I'm still trying to figure out where I came from. I've done it before and I'll do it again. I'll write about today... It was a good day. Not spectacular in any particular way, but pleasant in every little way. He said the right things, saw the right people, and when he closed his eyes at night he knew he'd done right by the world...and the world had done right by him. It was a rare day, of the sort that makes life worth living."
- from It is Written (Fall 2004)
That you know
The only thing I ever wanted
Was to be able to show you
That the truth
And what is real
Can be very different things.
- from Short Poems For Something Lost (Fall 2008)
My confidence shaken
my pride has been taken
I thought I could trust them God
I guess I was wrong.
Please tell me why God
I've been waiting so long?
- from Prayer (Spring 1997)
"At some point, between buying $100 worth of Jameson shots (Palomba & Co. killing bottles of mediocre whiskey everywhere we go since 1999) and trying not to ogle the pretty girls someone drunk ended up saying something that was actually pretty poignant, we drank to it. And then we drank to beautiful women, questionable sexuality, ceiling fans, and finally boobs.
It still all seemed remarkably dignified."
- from My Maserati Does One-Eighty-Five (Summer 2005)
"You know there's that moment, where everything slows down. Where it's just the two of you. Where the whole world is nothing but the space between you and her. That moment where your eyes give you away, and your very voice betrays you. That moment where you say the things you never meant to say. I'm afraid I've never had that moment."
- from I Know... (Winter 2005)
FADE TO BLACK (Winter 2005)
"So here we go...staring down the sunset and wondering what's next. Wondering where I'm going when I'm still trying to figure out where I came from. I've done it before and I'll do it again. I'll write about today... It was a good day. Not spectacular in any particular way, but pleasant in every little way. He said the right things, saw the right people, and when he closed his eyes at night he knew he'd done right by the world...and the world had done right by him. It was a rare day, of the sort that makes life worth living."
- from It is Written (Fall 2004)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
