Friendships Down

I’ve given up on the concept of friendship and it seems as though I am behind the trend as it were with regards to this.  Everytime I mention friendship to people in my life whether they be people I consider friends or acquaintances I always get a similar response.  People always reply with something to the effect of: “Oh yeah, we hardly have friends anymore.  This isn’t high school.”  Which kind of perturbs me.  Perhaps it is because of my social mimicry but I have a habit of trying to maintain relationships from my past and I have noticed an alarming trend of people simply not doing the same with regards to me.  Yes, it is more than likely personal.  They probably have elected to not bother to carry on relationships with me in particular.  That hurts.  Also it is the fact that people approaching my age simply don’t carry on relationships with people from their past no matter how well intended and friendly those people remain toward them.  It doesn’t help that social media and hypomanic episodes have conspired to make me seem like more than a bit of a wanker, especially with my blend of dark humour and pedantic fastidious adherence to science based logic.  Seriously, people need to stop spamming social media with anti-vax, anti-GMO, anti-abortion, republican, anti-human, superstitious, religious bullshit.  It has to stop.  We are past the dark ages.

I quit facebook several days ago.  It was bad for my state of mind and I came to the realization as mentioned above that I was tied to people who mean exactly nothing to me.  They circulate shit-information that because of my hypomanic nature I then have to crusade against which makes me look like an asshole which does not make ANYONE like me any more regardless how correct I am.  Funny thing about pissing on peoples parades, even if they are the bad guys you still look like the shithead for ruining the party.  So I left that scene.

Things seem to be proceeding with the lady.  I decided today I wasn’t going to be manic and I was going to avoid texting her.  I wasn’t sure if she would text me or not but I said ‘fuck it’ and left it alone.  Sure enough she texted me and we started a cute conversation that lead from not only our next date but to it being at her place and how she was going to have to put in effort to make that happen.  I admitted that I felt like a bit of a jerk to put her to the trouble but she still seemed keen on hosting me, all of this after suggesting that it would be easier for us to make out whilst watching a movie.  Seeing as we are in our thirties and we can no longer do this at a theater and get away with it.  Also, we both smoke so the ability to pause to take breaks to accommodate that is handy and we can also talk and get to know one another, movies at a theater are lousy for dates in my opinion.  So, I think that I better understand her now and I finally have more of a reading on her.

The problem that I face now though is how to proceed.  I have kind of given up on other people.  When you enter into a relationship you socialize and share one anothers social existence.  You introduce friends to your significant other and vice versa.  I am totally getting ahead of myself, the reason that I even mention it though is that we had this discussion.  She mentioned that she wanted to strike that healthy balance of settled down but not dead.  To which I agreed.  I really do want to socialize, unfortunately the idea of maintaining friends has become a batch of plates that I do not have the wherewithal to attend to the spinning of.  I want to go to dinner parties and cook meals.  I want to share wines and the like, but the actual tracking of persons for doing this with has become tedious.  Exhausting.  If they don’t invite me I am likely to just scrap it and read books and hopefully write a few.  I don’t know that this is what the new woman in my life will want, though she is a reader which excites me.  Like, it actually makes me sexually aroused and I don’t know why.  Something about a slutty librarian pops into my mind.  Will I ever shake this playboy mentality?  I fucking hope not.

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A Second Date/Bonus Post

As the title would suggest I had my second rendez-vous with the woman I am now dating.  We have arranged for a third so that makes it officially a trend.  She is difficult to read and I am not entirely certain what her intentions of me are.  She has made it difficult for me to end both of these meetings with a kiss.  I can’t say as to why.  We met through a dating app, so she had seen pictures of me and selected me based on appearance and on this particular date admitted to finding me attractive.  I know that there is more to it than simply looks and I fathom that she is likely still feeling me out.  Yet, for the most part she hardly asks me questions.  It seems so unusual to me.  Again, she is more than happy to arrange to meet again for a later date, this time in swimwear as we will be engaging in paddle boarding.  Perhaps she is attempting to assess my physique?  I am in reasonably good shape especially given my age though I have one marginal issue…  I have a disproportionate abdominal muscle cluster.  I know… It sounds like I’m bragging and it would except that this ever so slightly makes it look as though I have a small potbelly.  Which I don’t.  It is pure muscle.  My friends tease me about it all the time, until I tell one of them to punch it and they nearly break their wrist.  My chest is a tad too small as well so this accentuates the appearance of this.  I refuse to do situps or core workouts and try desperately to work my upper body and chest as much as possible.  Ah well, I am not remotely obese and other than this slight thing I am a very attractive man.  All of my problems are in my skull…

Thus far from what I have learned of this woman I like her and she turns me on.  The entire time that I am with her my eyes scan her from head to toe and take in every little detail of her.  From the width of her chin and the way it’s recessed ever so slightly to her fine fingers.  She is very attractive though maybe not the most beautiful woman on the planet but she is ringing my every bell right now and it is quite frankly bothering me a little.  I keep thinking of the Weezer song “Why Bother?”  I feel like I am going to get myself worked up about her and it isn’t going to work out.  I want to warn you before you comment on this post that if you aren’t at least forty years of age and haven’t been through at least two marriages or a good twenty year successful relationship, or twenty plus relationships don’t offer me advice.  I know way the fuck more than you and I won’t be condescended to by children.  It’s patronizing and fucking annoying.  It is my biggest fucking pet peeve, I recently had a twenty five year old woman do this to me in public and I almost killed her.  No lady, no matter how much you think you’ve gotten around I definitely have more relationship experience than you, yes I might be bad at it, but you aren’t skilled yourself having just now gotten engaged.  You have no right to preach, shut your fucking pie hole.  End of.  I was instead polite and walked away for fear of being arrested.

Point is, I’m hypomanic and I overanalyze.  I know that it has the potential to ruin things.  It always has and always will.  I want this one, I like her.  Sometimes you just know and I want to know that she feels the same and I really don’t in her case.  I’m getting no readings off of her.  None, which is really strange but not definitive.  I’ve had a zero reading turn into a long term relationship before.  I’ve had an attempt to blow a woman off turn into a long term relationship before.  I’m not generally the hopeful sort but I think that my best bet on this one is to stay positive and ride it out.  See what happens.  I already have the feeling that I am going to be crushed if it doesn’t work out but fuck, if I’m in for a penny I’m in for a pound.  May as well go full hog and throw myself in completely at this point I have nothing to lose.

What follows is a post from many weeks ago that I wrote about half way and then for whatever reason never posted.  There are some things in here that I felt I wanted to share so I thought I would include it with this.  Enjoy.

Humble Offerings/Character Flaws:

I adore science fiction over fantasy because to me it is a place that we are yet to go.  It is still possible as opposed to simply a fluffy flight of the imagination.  Don’t take me wrong, I enjoy a fine departure from reality.  However, let us be perfectly reasonable, casting fireballs that launch from our bare hands isn’t likely to come to us by way of raw magic but rather technology and therefore science fiction will inspire minds to get us to that point.  Whereas fantasy is simply nonsense.  Beautiful nonsense, but silly gibberish all the same.  It is vacuous drivel that leads nowhere.  Science fiction has given us everything that we have today.  Cell phones, jets, rockets, satellites, helicopters, you name it.  Anything even remotely cool that you can think of technologically that exists science fiction described it first, perhaps only in some strange mutant, doppelganger version of what we have now but it did.  Fantasy describes things primarily that never were and more than likely will never be, which isn’t inspirational, it is disappointing and hope dashing.  Which is why I kind of dislike Disney.  Don’t get me wrong as a child I loved it and have warm memories of it.   It didn’t traumatize me to discover it was all a big sham.  Though, imagine a world where instead of hooking kids on imaginary garbage that never will be, we got them hooked on things they could yet help develop…

I liken myself in many regards to Data from Star Trek, The Next Generation.  Superior in many regards to most human beings, yet not really a real human.  I have skills that many will never develop nor care to.  Yet they can socialize comfortably in ways that I have serious problems with that are not readily obvious.  Now, obviously I am not superhuman like Data.  I mean, that character is vastly superior to me in so many ways, obviously.  I am not the same, I just feel similar in some regards.  Like how in some ways my emotions are not functional.  Though adversely, there are times when my emotions are far too intense (like in the episodes where they give him the emotion chip).   I guess what I mean is that I feel like an incomplete android.  I feel like I can relate to the struggle of looking around at humanoids in my proximity and having to construct my character and perpetually build upon myself based on their behaviours.

My medications have seemed to top out as it were.  Most of my old behaviours are back to some degree and I don’t feel particularly great.  Suicidal ideation has been sneaking back into my thoughts.  I recognize it so I can deal with it and I am in no threat so don’t worry.  However, I linger on the fantasy like an old familiar lover.  I don’t know why this is so comfortable for me, as well as so comforting.  Should it be?  I find myself anxious and fraught, tumultuous with racing thoughts and incapable of focusing on my writing.  When I finally do it feels like it comes out rough and lacks flow.  For my regular readers (I assume there are those who have visited here more than once, perhaps I am delusional) there must have been a few snippets here or there that you found enchanting to read.  Some prose here on my blog that was charming or had panache.  Not to sound arrogant (though I frequently do so to hell with it) but my literary writing is even more like that.  My blog is not what I would call stylish nor a fine example of my skills.  So what I mean by rough and lacks flow is that it begins to churn out as less perhaps even than blog style word making.  Not exactly the most pleasing to read, which of course can always be corrected later so long as the ideas are there.  It just takes the joy out of writing for me.  Then the racing thoughts wash away what I was trying to call to mind anyway and it doesn’t matter.

In addition to my conditions I have a particular living and working situation that I have mentioned before that exacerbates and possibly is of itself a depressive issue.  I live in a remote area for my job with little access to many things that I hold dear and enjoy, such as friends and family.  Very few of the things that I enjoy are present here.  I actually like the big city and I am in a deep woods, very rural situation out here.  I like having access to nice clothing stores.  This place doesn’t have an H&M for all my little staples and accessories… No Old Navy for men’s v-neck t-shirts…  No American Eagle for jeans that fit me (I have the proportions of a male model so I have to get teenager sizes, I know poor me right?!).  This is all really superficial shit, but I like being in the city.  Before I lost my therapists (rejected them for being substandard) I complained of lack of stimulus.  They suggested that if I wanted culture that the local symphony was playing at the theatre.  I’m sorry, I’ve seen a philharmonic live.  Seeing volunteer farmers play cello is about as exciting to me as watching them butcher cows.  Less actually.  The landscape out here is desolate to me, don’t get me wrong if you are the rural type and like all that Duck Dynasty, hillbilly, inbred nonsense, this place would probably be heaven.

Would the location matter?  My dark vision makes nearly every landscape look this way.

Fluctuation/Distraction

I have nothing but time on my hands.  Loads of free time.  I should be using it to write.  I have a creative mind mixed with racing thoughts that should be churning out short stories and pages upon pages of a novel.  Instead it is driving me to distraction.  I find myself constantly doing anything but.  I will watch crappy movies or play video games.  My room is a mess but I refuse to clean it even though it is driving me crazy.  I actually really hate messes and filth.  I prefer a tidy organized and clean space.  Yet here I am in a tossed and filthy room doing anything I can to distract myself from doing anything of value.  I am wasting my life.  I have limitless untapped potential.  I have no doubts that I am a literary genius, capable of writing the next great American novel and here I am farting around on Facebook and watching porn.  I don’t even update my blog anymore.  My meds have been adjusted yet again and I don’t even know that they are making a difference anymore.

On another note, I have been recommended for psychotherapy and I am awaiting a reply from the therapist (not sure which one yet, but there are two options and both are very good, if one doesn’t work out I will be moved to the other).  I have very high hopes for this because from what I understand I will not be handled by a clock watcher or a moralizer.  I do not need my mental care crammed into a time frame nor my bizarre behaviour judged by a religious zealot (the exact opposite in my mind of legitimate psychological care).  I would like to finally have legitimate ongoing mental health care from someone that I connect with.  Other than Dr. Saint that is.  He isn’t a therapist, he is a PEZ dispenser.  A way overqualified and really cool one.

I feel at present like I could be the subject of a Ramones song.  Sitting around in my underwear on psych meds in single room accommodations that are filthy eating mini-ravioli from the can.  Quite the picture huh?  Actually, that is almost the perfect Ramones song… Too bad they are dead.  That’s another thing.  We now live in a world without the Ramones.  Makes me sad a little.  I grew up a punk kid.  It kind of put me in a strange place beyond what I later discovered to be my disorder.  You see I was always intelligent and well spoken.  But I was an urchin.  A gutter rat.  My family is working middle class all the way.  We had a nice house, alas that was about all.  Not much has changed except that the house is long gone and nobody has managed to replace it so we have moved down on the social ladder.  The Grey family are prolific white trash breeders, scattered to all the corners of the map and smearing our DNA over all the other races.  I have cousins of every colour.  I feel rather fortunate in that regard actually.  Here I am, the best and brightest of the bunch, eldest male bearing the name of my generation.  Mid-thirties, vasectomy with no children out of his first marriage going rapidly down the same road as his father’s older brother.  Family curse catching up to him.  To be fair my sister is brighter than I am, though between the two of us I am more inclined to write a best-seller.  Also, she has wed and not passed on the family name.

I feel like a male version of the ladies from “Grey Gardens”.  Just another way in which my chosen moniker suits me I suppose.  A forgotten relic of something great.  Swept under the rug.  Intentionally not thought of for the painful memories associated with it.  ‘Oh no, let’s not think on him, I can’t bear to remember all that potential gone to waste.  He was so vivacious and he threw it all away.  I don’t like thinking about the time when we all abandoned him, it makes me feel guilty.’  I imagine that the people who I once knew have consciences, which in fact they do not.  You know, now that I think about it I can’t even remember when exactly my friends gave up on me.  You would think that there would be some event.  Something that I had done to them, something bad.  Alas, no.  Most of them just stopped supporting me.  I still supported them.  I went to their shows.  I bought their CD’s.  I spread their art and shouted their causes.  I helped them out.  I listened and gave advice.  Then silence.  Almost every relationship that I have ever had has been extremely one sided.  I don’t know why I put up with it.  I think from this day going forward I am going to make it very clear up-front that my relationships benefit me and fuck you.  I expect to be alone and not make too many friends, which is fine.  I think that this has been my goal lately anyway.

I’m sure I have much more to say but staying focused has been difficult lately and as you can see for yourself above I am parsing topics so I am just going to leave it here.  Dr. Saint upped my dosages.  I slept with a high school sweetheart from my past and it was a tad more awkward than I wanted it to be.  My sister visited for her birthday.  I’ve attempted several dates and none were exceptional but I met one recently that I have my fingers crossed for… We meet again tomorrow.  I just hope my manic ass doesn’t mess it up.
Anyway, I hope that I can manage to update more frequently.