August 30th, 2013

I promise the next note will be the conclusion to Analog; swear it. No really, I swear.

“Coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous.” -Einstein

        I can't make this stuff up.

        You wouldn't be interested in a short retelling of a Friday night in my world? Okay, stop reading.

If you are- follow me on this text based adventure!

Let's start when I wrote my last blog post "Green-Eyed Monster". I jotted down some of my thoughts around four in the afternoon. (This is currently off the list; being edited.) I was jealous of my close friend, Tyler the Hair Gel. I won't go into the details of why or what, but needless to say, I was jealous. I don't run from confrontation. I embrace it, sometimes even thriving in debate or passionate wordplay. 

        I was texting him pretty regularly. Words like asshole, jerk, dickface, chucklehead, and douchebag were exchanged.  You know, the words of modern day poets and scholars. In any case, between us, these words are the ways we affectionately communicate with each other. It's a pretty strange friendship, but I wouldn't trade it for anything.
        He shows up at my house to talk about it out of the blue. This is why we get along. He's not afraid to sort crap out and doesn't run from positive conflict. Even in the event that I'm being irrationally stupid or angry, like I was, he showed up anyway to sift through the emotional garbage.

        Fast forward a bit.

        We sort through crap and start chewin' the fat like usual. My favorite thing to do lately is sit on a curb somewhere and have a smoke with him. Not a real smoke, but one of those clove cigarettes (Djarum Bali Hai's this time)... you know, the classy way to get lung gunk installed. We sat in front of my house and talked about whatever we talked about. I don't remember specifically, but it's always hilarious and good-hearted; even when we use words like asshole, jerk, dickface, chucklehead, or douchebag.
        It's right about this time I decided I was going to reach out to this girl I've been talking to a bit. I texted her to see if she wanted to hit a movie later. Texting, yeah, don't judge me- I already think it's stupid. Regardless, that's what I ended up doing. She returned with a suggestion of some ice cream. I'll never turn down ice cream. I'll leave the details of that part of the night out. Not my place to tell the whole internet. Long story short, I had a good time.
        I checked my phone after parting ways with her. Tyler was downtown at Dublin's and wanted me to come hang out with a few friends. Already in that general area, I thought "why the hell not?" The clock was hovering dangerously close to midnight, but I'd been pumping myself with caffeine all day and was feeling pretty sociable. On the way over to that side of town 'Times Like These' (Here's a link.) hit my speakers. I don't know what it was about this song but I turned it down and started talking at the sky again, to the big man upstairs.
        The conversations must be getting pretty repetitive for his inbox. Always I ask for a sign and for the wisdom and insight to see such a sign when it presents itself. To be open to not walking right by one, oblivious. I feel like one of those people that just doesn't take the hint lately. Nevertheless, this is what I open dialog about. Maybe it should be considered monologue?
        As I pull in to a parking spot on Main Street, the song ends. Some group of half-drunk "tough guys" whistle something or other about my truck. I'm sorry I keep my truck clean I guess? I feel pretty badass in a leather jacket. I realize this is silly, because I'm a 140 pounds soaking wet. Cross the street at the white walking man, present my terribly photographed license to the bouncer sitting at the door, walk in and see the trio. I sit myself down and look around at the crowd, interesting group people. There's a bunch of yelling conversation going on, the live band was loud--- and terrible. I've never heard someone slaughter Billy Jean so... so... it was awful. I imagined that I could do a better rendition by putting a guitar into a blender; chasing it with some spare gravel and a stray cat that just happens to be in heat.
        To my overall point and theme. I ran into her not twenty minutes after ending my conversation with the Sky. Is that a sign? You tell me. As you'd guess it, that love on sight thing kinda plagues me, but she's trying to move on and I'm trying to move on so I didn't press the issue. I felt like I was going to start secreting poetry from every pore or something. I wanted to tell her how beautiful she still looks, how my heart still races, that kind of really terribly cheesy cliche verbiage. So instead, I decided to try my hand at twerking. I'm kidding, don't picture that.
        We moved on and I tried not to stick around as to make her uncomfortable or anything. In any case, the deep sloppy bass of that dingy dark room was not doing anything for me anyway. Though I did want to clap for the guy attempting to do his best impersonation of a dancing robot. It was not a good impersonation of a dancing robot. By the by, the crew moved on to Murphy's to check out the happenings down there.
        Outside the night sky at that pub, the women were stupidly good-looking. We kept pushing each other to walk up and mingle and flirt, but whenever one of us got the courage (I wasn't interested *see above) we pretty much got shot down. A fourth of us were even dressed in suits! I would like to say that the very intoxicated duder that walked up and introduced himself as 'Bobby America' was absolutely hilarious. This cat had a fake mullet, cowboy boots, and an awful patriotic tank top on to go with his persona. Oh man, it was terrible.
        To bring this inane run-on text to an end and validate my point; I'm torn between what are coincidences and what are indeed otherworldly signals from some greater being. Only thing I can really do is continue to question my faith and solidify what I believe. Just maybe things will become clearer with enough time. If you're out there reading this, and you know who you are, I'm still head over heels. Am I sorry? No.
        In even simpler summary: Thanks to a pretty girl letting me buy her an ice cream, great friends, and Bobby America; the Black Dog stayed home last night.

[ 100 % ] *Apologies for any terrible grammar errors or run-ons, I wrote this in about 15 minutes. Out to door! Away!

Vanity, Solomon, & 'gen·u·ine·ness'

Mandatory listening today: "Word Forward" Foo Fighters [YouTube Link]

“Enjoy life with the woman whom you love all the days of your fleeting life which He has given to you under the sun; for this is your reward"...Ecclesiastes 9:9 ” 

I promise I'll finish 'Analog' soon enough; it's got a positive ending, but right now is time for this:
Bitter today.  Very bitter. *The overall tone of this note will probably be pretty negative.

The world has finally broken me of trying to be altruistic; at least for the time being. Altruism does nothing but get you stepped on. It's in the nature of most people to take all they can get. I feel like a withered husk of a man. I've been sucked dry of all ambition and inspiration to continue to be a "good" person; tossed aside like yesterday's garbage.

There was a point where everyday I told myself that it's not about me, it's about leaving no negative impact on the world. That's all we can hope to do for our lives. However, this is a pipe-dream. Because even the best laid plans... blah blah blah. I can consider what I'm doing to be positive and good, but it can always be interpreted in a negative or self-serving light. Even the prettiest woman on the planet can be cast into the "ugly" misnomer by being the victim of poor lighting.

Every seemingly selfless act of sacrifice or kindness can be defined as the opposite, depending on how you look at it. I've been working my way through Ecclesiastes this week. Bit by bit I consume that scripture and let it resonate before consuming more. Initially, it's very pessimistic, but it becomes very instructive. It should be noted that I'm not a 'Bible person' in any sense of the meaning. The general theme of this particular Old Testament book is to describe the absolute vanity of the human experience.

Today I am drastically losing to this depression. 

This is my point. It is not possible to be 100% genuine all the time. Even Gandhi had selfish moments. There is a time for preservation and time for sacrifice. I'm not capable of giving all of myself all of the time, despite what I'd like to think. Despite the idea of the man I want to be, it's not just possible... and I realize that. I can't rid my mind of all the selfish thoughts. It is not possible for anyone to be that perfect. We are all flawed people. There is a subtle beauty to that statement. Perfection is not beautiful- despite what today's media will tell you about beauty and fashion.

Embracing the world's flaws and recognizing that they are indeed very much real is the only way to really plausibly exist. Nothing can be covered up with a fresh coat of paint or the most expensive make-up forever. Things fade, the world decays.

--Today also marks two weeks since I've said a word to her or looked up anything about her. Ultimately I continue to think about her as the one, unless I magically wake up one day with a new clarity or realization. That hasn't happened for about three years though, so I won't hold my breath. Waking up an old man and still kicking myself over the 'one that got away' is, well, something I just don't want to happen.

To sum up my bullshit for today (pardon the rambling):
True beauty exists when you recognize something for it's flaws and faults, and still manage to love it anyway. There is no perfection; save for some ideas in math I guess. I doodled in my math classes; so I wouldn't know for sure.

Analog [Part 2.5 | Interlude]

Looks like what drives me crazy
Don't have no effect on you--
But I'm gonna keep on at it
Till it drives you crazy, too.”
 -Langston Hughes

We should take a breather from the tale of the walk for a bit. I need to talk about a weird connection I have for a few paragraphs once again. Bear with me.

I don’t believe in a lot of silly things, but I do have a curious mind. Mankind just can’t explain everything there is with science. I don’t know if I’d go as far to say I believe in ghosts, or superpowers- but I believe that for every ten-thousand fake palm-readers out there, there has to be at least one that has true abilities. For every-ten thousand self-proclaimed psychics on the planet… there has to be that one; just one that can do something that borders on ridiculous. [9/3/2013: I poached this paragraph for an English paper that just happened to be related; it's not plagiarism if It's my own work right? Good.]

The reasons I say this is because since I’ve met her; I’ve had this connection I can’t shut off. My close friend Tyler asked me the other week if I believed in ‘astral-projection’ and that sort of fantastical tomfoolery. We weren’t drinking, but it was the kind of truthful conversation you can only have with very close friends, or when you’re inebriated to the point of wobbling.

Sitting there, an evening last week, I stared at the moon as we burned some old ruined furniture in the make-shift fire pit. The stars were just starting to peak out and a cool breeze pushed the long blades of glass back and forth. Something about a roaring fire under the starlit sky; coupled with Looking Glass Radio on Pandora creates this pure magic atmosphere. I’m not sure of the entire equation that adds up to create that ‘mood,’ but those things are... well... magic.

I’m getting off topic here. The conversation was enlightening. I was glad that someone I knew so well had experienced something sort of close to this kind of connection to someone else that I had been having. The feeling is supernatural. There’s no other way to put it in words. I don’t know if any of you have had that; but just knowing when I loved one was having a good time, thousands of miles away. Having a gnawing pit in the stomach when you, when I, feel like that other being is having a stressful day.

As of this typing this sentence, it’s been nearly two weeks since I’ve had any sort of interaction with this person. And every day I fight with my brain in the morning about this ‘connection.’ Feels like I’m being haunted by a non-frightening ghost.

Sensible? Not one iota. The first thing in the morning that brings a smile to my face is remembering that terrifically intoxicating laugh, those hauntingly beautiful eyes. Those thoughts spin around me, in a good way. Every morning, every single morning, my eyes slowly open and I smile. The first thought it always good in my mind, but it also means I’m still fucking nuts. Is this is realizing that my heart still works? If so that’s a reason to smile I think.

The difference between now and months ago, is I finally accept it. There is no more trying to sever that tie. There was a time where the first half hour of the day was spent disregarding this feeling; telling myself that it was stupid and irrational and served no purpose. I just accept it now as part of who I am.  Out of the millions of little pieces in my body and soul containing parts of what make up Brett Steven Hamre… one bit will always be that.

You’d think after following all the ‘rules’ in the ‘book’ about getting over someone I’d feel less of something, but I don’t. Honestly, I don’t.  Again, proving once more I’m meant for the isolating confines of one of those loony bins. 

Continue to move forward Hamre. One step at a time.

In any case, back to the walk...

[Next: http://bwtbd.blogspot.com/2013/09/analog-part-3.html] 

Analog [Part 2]

“All truly great thoughts are conceived while walking.” - Friedrich Nietzsche

 I crossed the streets headed towards West Boulevard. I waited patiently at every crosswalk; seems I hit every single orange blinking hand that night.

I reached down into my pocket, and felt the smooth plastic of the cassette case. I know why I was heading this way. I should just swing by quick and drop this off.

Right here, at the stop sign on the corner of Kansas City Street and 9th, I started to have an open dialog with God.  I asked him to show me some kind of sign. I would settle for anything right now. I could feel the cold grasp of depression and negative thoughts starting to seep their way into my capped head. I talk about that sense of slipping… knowing what comes next and not being able to talk yourself out of it.Many people wouldn't really consider myself religious, including myself, but I've found a firmer grasp on my faith lately. Going through this... brain shit. 

So I focused on the shuffling of my feet.

I started analyzing my gait. I compared myself to other people around me and their motions. I studied the running children, chasing parents, even the slightly drunk locals doing their version of ‘parkour’ off of city benches and trash cans. They must have thought I was drunk; having an open conversation with myself in public like I was.

Measuring it against my shallow, tired, dragging steps; I started to notice more of the world around me. The sidewalk was clean and new at the start of my journey, but as I made my way towards the residential area of West Boulevard I noticed cracks. Small and cosmetic at first, they quickly turned into potholes and apparent mantraps. This pavement had seen its fair share of traffic. Old, almost ancient, crumbling concrete stretched out ahead of me. Overgrown bushes and weeds sprang out like miniature jungles out of the neglected yards.

I forgot where it was exactly, but I noticed something right below my shoes, one word.

TIME

‘Time’ is the word that triggered this fire. Click. Deep in my chest something came to life. I walked past it at first, but quickly doubled back. It was spray-painted in nearly neon green. Must have been hastily tagged, there was obviously no stencil used. It wasn’t clean or pretty, but it said what it said. I slowly moved toward on the path and the idea began to resonate with me. You must have had that feeling before; when you’re almost asleep and you jolt up with a start like someone punched you... or that unmistakable feeling of falling backwards. Oh? Just me then.

What purpose would someone have to put that word right there? Was this the big guy upstairs having a laugh? He must have enlisted some hoodlum to place this in my path the previous night. At first, I chalk it up to coincidence. It can’t be some sign; that’s stupid science-fiction stuff. What does this one word mean anyway? The thought didn’t go away though. It persisted and I couldn’t shake it. Again, I reached into my pocket. I was going to drop this tape off dammit. It’s why I came this way… right? It had to be.

I made my why to my destination and opened up the box. It was the middle one, ‘C’ I think, I dropped stuff off here before. Off-shade of white, tannish colored mail boxes were in front of me. I sat here for a minute, staring at the stupid tape in my hand. I ran my thumbs smoothly across this analog thing like it was made of cursed silver; or some fictional jewelry fated for a one-way trip to Mt. Doom. (There’s your weekly geek reference.)

Time.

I shrugged this idea off again and placed this bit of plastic neatly in the center of the box. I turned to walk away, but that same feeling hit me in the chest again. I doubted making this action. (*See Brett’s ‘gut feeling.’)  I took the tape back and tucked it safely in my back pocket.

I started a one-sided conversation again. I swear that little kid across the street thought I was nuts.

[ Next: http://bwtbd.blogspot.com/2013/08/analog-25-interlude.html ]

Analog [Part 1]

I’m going to quote Dave Grohl, because I can. It’s my note. I do what I want.

“People are so into digital recording now they forgot how easy analog recording can be.” –D. Grohl

This has no deeper meaning, but it’s from Dave- so it is law. 

I walked for four or five miles last night; no real planned destination- just walked. When a man walks I don’t think much thought goes into it. One foot in front of the other, right? It’s interesting when you’re 'soul-searching' and analyzing yourself how many little things jump out at you. I, for one, tend to scuff my shoes on the sidewalk when I’m meandering, when I have no real purpose. The soles slide roughly across the cracked pavement and this creates a rather therapeutic sound to me.

This constant pace… this subtle nuance that I don’t tend to notice usually. Most of my friends would tell you I walk too fast usually. “Purpose-driven” or “in a hurry,” they would remark. I always got that when I worked at an electronics retailer. Customers would exclaim I was going to run someone over. (As if 130~lb me would be capable of that, maybe a small child; maybe one of those in the stuffed animal leashes parents put on them these days.)

See, I spent a chunk of the day getting books for this college thing I’m attempting ($$$) and splicing together and analog mix tape. A cassette?! Who the hell does that anymore?

Let me explain. Even growing up in the digital age and knowing my way around the binary switches of a monolithic operation system—I believe that the analog medium is something truly magic. The old and beat-up Sony radio my dad used to take on camping trips; listening to scratchy songs from my mom’s 45 record collection (I’m looking at you ‘A Horse With No Name’), cutting together the best songs from Weird Al’s first CDs into a Brett’s Greatest Most Awesome Weirdest Mixiest Mix… these are examples of analog wizardry at its finest. If you can tell me that you can’t hear something more pure when you compare an old Creamaudio cassette to an .mp3 from today, well, you’re doing it wrong and probably a terrible person.  

I digress. I spent a few hours figuring out how to use my old man’s top-of-the-line state-of-the-art Sony TC-FX6C stereo cassette deck. (You know:http://www.thevintageknob.org/sony-TC-FX6.html) I finally figured out how to start recording a tape. Tapes, by the way, are difficulty to find nowadays.  I piped audio from my computer to the deck, then back out to my speakers. Listen carefully to the mix. You can’t easily skip around here ladies and gents. The Song ends and doesn’t sound right, or doesn’t adequately lead into the next song properly… REDO.

Almost taking up the entire 90 minutes allotted, I felt pretty accomplished. I added a little something after the end if anyone decides to listen all the way through. I was feeling pretty good about this mix tape. The smudges on the back of the hastily written track list irritated my inner anal-retentive self, but it adds character I think. I slide the mix into my jeans to possibly hand it off to the person it’s intended for later this evening. If you’ve been following my story- you can probably guess who.

Back to the reason I was walking. I decided it would be good to get out of the house for a while, and headed down to Rapid City Summer Nights with the rents. Figured I might get a free drink or see some cute girls, that kind of thing.

When I got to Independent Ale House, well, I wasn’t feeling it. I needed to move, I needed to pound the pavement. Not for a job, not for a specific reason, not for any real purpose. I just felt like I needed to. The gut feeling I often refer to, this caused me to meander west.

Continued in next note…

[Part 2: http://bwtbd.blogspot.com/2013/08/analog-part-2.html ]

August 17th. 2013

"They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself"
-Warhol

 Each second without her seems like an age.  An entire era has passed in my head. 

Ancient and powerful civilizations have risen from nothing, mud huts.  This village has climbed to ultimate power and technical prowess; smooth marble temples and pristine golden statues. In the internal clock in my imagination an age has passed. These fictional empires have seen their cities crumble to greed and pride. They have seen the end of days. Dust now. Ruins.

The timespan in my mind's eye; an aeon.

Solid rock to granules of sand. 

People tell me that you’ll find another one, that the second love is always stronger. What about the rare lucky man that finds his the first shot? Settle for something less? pfft. Malarkey I say to the former. Malarkey.  

What if the second love is the same person, just rekindled? Questions nobody has the answer to.

How many people out there would you defiantly jump in front of an unrelenting train for? How often does an emotion like that come along and give you the strength to take up arms and wage a war against unknown odds?  Once.  I really do believe that. Once.  That feeling is worth fighting for. Even below-the-belt type fighting is acceptable-- claw, scratch, punch, spit, bite.

Fisticuffs will be had, friends.

Alas, it seems to be an effort in futility. I spend so much time sitting on my thumbs… anxiously I might add.  It seems the wall in front of me in two hundred stories tall and I only have three feet of rope. 

I continue to move toward an for an apparently aimless goal. There is no real driving force behind the man- besides the need to stay busy. The prospect of classes don’t particularly interest me, busy-work on my truck or yard upkeep just seems a stopgap to delay the dog. I'm capable of living and enjoying life and what it has to bring. It's just that the prospect of living life without that palette seems much less vivid and colorful.

Sometimes, like right now, it feels like I’m trying to stop an elephant with some fly paper.

'C'est la vie' ... is that right? 

August 12, 2013

“The ‘Muse’ is not an artistic mystery, but a mathematical equation. The gift are those ideas you think of as you drift to sleep. The giver is that one you think of when you first awake.” - Roman Payne 

I’ve erased and typed this sentence a hundred times. 

I’m trying to get my words out on paper; these demons from my fingertips. I don’t know why writing helps the way it does, I’ve never been much of a writer. Always I was speeding through school essays and skimming pages and spark-notes for reports.

It’s the only thing since losing my closest confidant that I can do to get some of the feelings out on to the digital space. “Losing” is a terrible term, but that’s what it feels like to me ultimately. Melodramatic me. Trying to tell myself to reasonably let go. It’s so fucking hard.

I err by hanging my dirty laundry out for everyone to see, but I just don’t care what people think of me. I’m being false by keeping things inside or pretending to be okay when I’m really not. I’ve been using the phrase ‘fake it ‘til you make it’ in reference to myself a lot lately. Futility. Futility.

These last few weeks I’ve found out I am indeed a jealous person. Amplify that by always having a low sense of self-esteem and bottom tier of self-worth and you’ve got one potent concoction to prolong this misery and a formidable weapon for the Black Dog to grasp firmly in his maw.  I need to take a paragraph to scream into the void, thus follows.

Why him? Why not me? Why is one man ostensibly worth more than another? When it all boils to molecules we’re all the same basic building blocks. Our actions are what define us as individuals, not the ooey gooey particles. This is rather new for me, this feeling of wanting what someone else has. I haven’t felt this way since I was a child pining over the newest bike in the neighborhood. I'm trying very hard not to measure myself to anyone's standards, especially my own.

Let me say, one thing that I do have insane pride in for myself is my drive. Passion? Obsession? One man’s trash... I have this will for a reason. This ultimately makes me a giant blithering hypocrite. To my friends that reach out to me I suggest wise and sage advice pertaining to relationships and life, as if I know any better. Blind leading the blind some would call it. Fact of the matter is I don’t practice what I preach, plain and simple. I tell people to get away from relationships that aren’t good for them or try and hear their problems and come up with reasonably solutions. Alas, here I sit, pretending what I feel is more pure or important than that of theirs. I’m immune to my own rules don’t you know?!

Such is that divine insight that has given me this ‘willpower’ to keep me trying, almost as though I feel blessed to have found ‘true love.’ I can’t explain why I feel so passionately about this. I just do. Could all be farce or the beginnings of a man destined to spend his life in a padded room.

In a time INSANE amounts of inward reflection and soul searching- this is one thing that I desperately cling to. I’m being swept away in the shit storm of self-destructive thoughts and this is the single ancient root most secure to the earth. I cling so tightly to this one positive emotion as my sneakers slowly slip off my feet in these gale force winds. There is absolutely no explaining this eloquently in words; maybe song- if I could sing. I understand why bloodshed occurs for some. I understand why sonnets were written, ballads crafted, poems cried. This is the most powerful force in the universe.

Break from the action.

Foo Fighters comes on the radio just now. Skip it Pandora. Can’t deal with what you make me feel right now. Weezer is next, these cruel dice rolls. Okay boys, let’s try a completely different genre and station. Coldplay following; some kind of cosmic joke. These are all bands that mean something to me on a deep level and out of sheer circumstance they hit the airwaves. You having a chuckle out there God?

Songs have this power. This power to make us think they were written for this moment we’re sitting in right now. The Verve wrote Bittersweet Symphony in 1997. They had no idea they really wrote it for a boy sitting in the soft glow of a monitor in the summer of 2013, 11:11pm. He clicks on his mechanical keyboard like it’s going to save the planet from exploding. Furiously typing; quickly this young man fixes mistakes, erases improper phrases, corrects terrible grammar (for the most part). He owns this song right now. It's not yours, it's his.

The song ends. I change the station. What plays next?

Dave Matthews Band – You & Me

This is stupid. I’ll take the hint. I’ve had enough of this for tonight.

*That quote at the beginning, made my draw slack when I read it. You should read it once more. 

Breaking the Spirit

I just need a place to write down some selfish thoughts, without embellishment or stupid-ass quotes. Stupid meanings behind meanings or even proper grammar or punctuation. I just don't care right now.

Life sucks. I realize that I won't feel this way tomorrow, I realize that this moment is fleeting and will not persist.  

I may look back at this note and just delete it. I realize how childish and stupid this types of things are--- but this is part of the battle with depression and life. There isn't really any point in hiding your emotions or pretending you're stronger than you really are.

I can't be any more genuine than I already am. If you can't see that.. fuck you? I guess.

Today I let the black dog win, because I let my guard down. I truly truly let me guard down so that I could take a breather and rest. To just give in and let the punches through; sure there is temporary bruising but I can actually rest my mind. Let the hurt in.

I wonder if this is the last time I hit bottom before I give up. I wonder if this is finally it. Eventually everything runs out of juice; even persistant me. I can't tell for sure, but to be truthfully honest right now in this second-- I give up.

Check back with me later, but for now... I give up. I don't care. This is stupid. I am fully FULLY aware that what I type is childish and meaningless, self-centered drivel. Sometimes you just need an outlet and this has been mine as of late. 

An accumulation of what life has thrown my way has, ONCE again, made every second seem like an eternity and every breath wishing it was my last. I posted before that I knew I wasn't out of the tunnel yet, and probably will deal with this all my time on this blue rocky world. No amount of self-teaching, motivation, or prescription cocktail will ever cure me, it's just something I have to constantly work towards. 

I'm tired of it. 

Please don't post any positive responses; for right now- it's a waste of both your time and mine, I won't take them seriously and just want to stew for a while here. One man can only take so much torture before finally giving in. We all just have different pain thresholds. I passed mine a while ago. 

[EDIT not 24 hours later]: I'm over it, it's passed. Archiving this to remember the ups and downs.

Invidia is Latin for This

The lovesick, the betrayed, and the jealous all smell alike."
-Sidonie Gabrielle Colette

"Man is by nature competitive, combative, ambitious, jealous, envious, and vengeful."
-Arthur Keith

"Hunger, revenge, to sleep are petty foes,
But only death the jealous eyes can close."
-William Wycherley

 

There are three quotes for this note because I couldn't decide which one I liked best or made my synapses fire most fiercly. The definition of 'jealousy' that I like the most is listed third. I quote dictionary.com, "3. vigilance in maintaining or guarding something." 

This is my most recent struggle or "battle" if you will. This is a new fight for me because I've never typically been a jealous man. I've always downplayed myself over other's talents with art or smarts or whatever; but never jealous of them. I've inherently been happy for co-workers or peers that have gotten promotions or accolades, 'deserved' or otherwise. Brett the adult has never been envious much of other's laurels. Usually when someone gets this kind of positive recognition, at least one other person thinks highly enough for them to deserve it. 

So, needless to say, it's strange. It's very strange to harbor such emotions or feelings for someone I've never truly even met. Insecurity? Absolutely. Abso-fucking-lutely. Pardon my French. This person should warrant absolutely not one spare or wanton thought from me; not worth wasting my energy on.

To be clear, I've always measured myself up against other people. It's a weakness of mine. Despite this I try not to feel entitled to things that I honestly haven't worked towards as hard as others. Let's face it: some people are just granted advantages out of the gate. This is life; deal with it. "QQ" as the internet would say. Cry some more.

Trying to deal with this terrible and annoying beast, this sneaky little malignant rascal of jealousy... is tiresome. The way this brain is wired; I can't let it go. I'm obsessive about things; mulling them over and over ad infinitum. My DNA includes instructions to be enthusiastic and devoted to things I deem worthwhile. I'm a geek after all. Passionate about it. 

I'm dancing around it, but you can obviously come to the conclusion on your own that this is all about a woman.The woman. It usually is when it comes to me.

Real original.

Continue to work at this; continue give it up and let it go.

...Attempting to anyway.