Waiting For My Rocket To Come
Posted on | December 13, 2009
I was chatting, as I am wont to do, on another chat home.
It was a nice chat and that person on the other end of the internet spectrum suggested that I should continue to write on my blog. That’s it’s been far too long. And while I can’t disagree with them there’s far too many distractions that come with life to keep me occupied. And also, what the hell do I say?
But, alas, I’m here. Now. I’ll do my best.
There is a condition prevalent to us Northerners when winter comes. There’s a depression that communally sets in like patrons at a Starbucks all wanting the same grande mocha latte with a dusting of chocolate at the same time.
Winter.
I watched, with sad dispatch, the leaves committing mass suicide, leaping from branches as if it were the Great Depression and they were a banker who jumped from the 13th floor leaving behind a family of six kids.
I’ll be blunt.
Winter depresses the fuck out of me.
It’s not the white, fluffy, snow. That’s beautiful. It’s not the crisp nights when you can see your breath dancing in front of you, fogging up your glasses. That’s refreshing. It’s the fact that the sun has abandoned us.
“Good day sunlight
I’d like to say how truly bright you are
You don’t know me
But I know you, see you’re my favourite star.”
Jason Mraz “Who Needs Shelter”
There has been so much going on and so little inspiration of how to write about it that I’ve been lacking, once again, in my blog updates.
There are a multitude of reasons.
I still can’t get into my blog the way I used to. It’s my damned computer. It’s not recognizing the program which made drunken blogs so damned easy. Hmmmm, maybe that’s a good thing? I can think of ONE who’s glad the nights of spirited induced paragraphs are a thing of the past.
Or are they? Stay tuned!
It’s also been because the feedback has been waning. Not putting it to you, the readers, that it’s somehow your responsibility but the days of just writing for myself have long past. I was starting to feel like my voice was in a vacuum. That I was just blurbing for myself. And I’m FAR too needy a man for that.
So I’ve gone back to school.
It’s been humbling, tough, and invigorating at the same time. Walking into the institution for the first time I was struck how much like high school it was. There were lockers and really hot guys. And that they are of age makes it all the better. I don’t feel so much like a predator because, hell, they’re over 18 and fair bait. But there I am, clutching my binder like a grade 9 girl, feeling lost and insecure.
The goal is to be in the top ten of my class. It’s not working out like I wanted but maybe I’m in the top 20 so I can live with that. 90’s in one class but 70’s in the other. Like I said - humbling.
Doing work full time and going to school one day a week isn’t tough. It’s the bloody homework. Reading articles that if they just put in a car chase or unrequited love story, would make it far more interesting. It’s so dry I’m begging for a protagonist I don’t want to fall asleep too.
It’s good that I don’t have Rufus1 anymore because spare time is a luxury. Sunday’s2 are my day for fluffing, folding, and myself.
But I keep re-chanting, over and over like a Buddhist with his mantra, “It’s for my future…it’s for my future…it’s for…” You get the idea.
I was accused, however, at a certain place - which I can’t mention because of legalities - of abuse and racism. That killed me. I’m dealing with people now who are out to get me. It’s tough and hard not to feel paranoid about the situation.
Of course, and I’m loathe to say this, it’s someone who’s Black. It was almost a situation of having to parade my non-white friends to show this jury that, no, I’m not, indeed, racist. But isn’t that racism in and of itself? “Hey! Non-white friend, could you say you like me. Oh it’s because you’re NOT white that I need you.” That’s so racist.
And the abuse part? Well I was exonerated, completely, but it’s a moot point when people have a perception of you that doesn’t actually exist other than in their minds. So it’s become a wee bit of a Witch hunt of late. Misdemeanors that should be over looked are now being scrupulously examined like a coroner on a Jane Doe.
It’s a tough environment to be in. Watching what you say constantly is a harsh reality. But if you want to float in the pool you have to make nice. Smile, nod and don’t get involved.
That’s been a hit of a huge magnitude. But I now just keep my tongue wrapped up in the roof of my mouth and say nothing. Even when those who are accusing are breaking rules and being lazy.
Bitter?
Sorry.
I’m trying to keep this light and lightly informative. But it’s hard when you feel like you’re spinning your wheels, doing your best and there are digs that puncture the surface.
What’s that song? “Counting Your Blessings”? Yeah, that Bing Crosby song, from “White Christmas”. I’m trying to remember that.
When life hands you lemons you make lemonade. Only I like add Vodka. Makes it go down smoother and after 10 glasses you forget why you’re pissed off.
I also had to let go another friend who I thought it could work but it’s not going to. He’s an ex3 that just shut down and right now I don’t have the time or the patience. But I also recognize that it’s me. I have amazing friends who love me and keep me in the loop. He never will. So why bother? It’s been years. I’m sure he would say I didn’t try but again perception. I just got tired of promises made that were never fulfilled.
He told me the shoe wouldn’t drop and he dropped it.
Fear, I guess.
So I cut the umbilical. Let him breathe on his own.
“What about taking this empty cup and filling it up
with a little bit more of innocence.
I haven’t had enough
It’s probably because when you’re young
It’s okay to be easily ignored.
I’d like to believe it was all about love for a child.”
Jason Mraz “Love For The Child”
Okay back to the light, Scoundrel.
Life isn’t bad. I have someone who makes me feel special, loved in that way that makes you gooey. I have a job that, for the most part, I enjoy. I have friends who make me a king.
So what’s the bitching about?
I don’t know. I guess I find that easier to write about. Maybe that’s why I write. To purge the demons and help remind me that my life is pretty, damned, sweet.
So why do I want to run away? Why do I want to abandon what I have here and just start over? A freshly washed blackboard with no echos of chalk graffiti? No innuendo or rumour or even history that defines me?
Grass is greener, Scoundrel. Grass is greener.
More wine. Yup, that’s what the doctor ordered.
White, thank you.
Oh, shit. Was that racist?
Comments
3 Responses to “Waiting For My Rocket To Come”
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December 14th, 2009 @ 8:41 am
Robb, your writing is just fine. You still use your words as a brush stroke, finely painting an image for all of us to see and read. Nicely done.
January 1st, 2010 @ 11:09 pm
Keep writing even if the comments are slow or not there. People are reading. …I have you bookmarked on my firefox and click it every now and then …I’m always glad that I did too …keep up the good work
…Hugz
January 11th, 2010 @ 10:48 am
I love reading your stories, it keeps me close when I am far. Remember, we are only dealt what we can handle. Love you