Print Story Missed Me.
You fall in ways to an open fire,
You got no taste for his desire.
He brings you in to warm your bones,
He's the reason why you came, and the reason why you'll have to go.

Things that were bad for me that I miss.



Smoking.

It's 2am and the air outside is cool and tastes moist, tastes slightly of rain and of childhood walks to school.  The grass, where it exists, is covered in drops of dew.  Sky as big as your head, as big as big, filled with masses of layers of pinpoint stars, suns and galaxies and every sort of generation of man.  The world itself seems hushed, stilled, only the occassional car or airplane, lonely travellers all temporary members of the same loose club.

I'd rub my eyes, weary and half-dead from the sheer effort of my hours.  I'd pull a box of smokes out of a pocket, put one between my lips, and pause.

Maybe I should give these things up?  Spark, light, inhale, relax.  Chemical warfare raging, cancer trying to take root, lungs baked hard and crystalline.  Exhale.  The world turns, observed.  Moments pass.

Drinking.

A primer in self indulgent nonsense.

It's what made me then.  The writer writes.  Sometimes the writer has a muse that comes from the lack of defense a bottle of whiskey can provide.

Before that, it was any excuse to party.  All of it escape.  That high speed high octane burning need to jettison the world in our wake, succomb to the death trip, the glory and beauty of giving up and giving in.  Shed the dusty hard worn clothes and just fall face first into a vat of poison.  Nights at Ralph's in Worcester, funding Richie's kid's future college years with heavy tips and hours and hours of alcohol-induced wisdom.  Parties with Dell folks, all of them, every last one a heavy drinker and a heavy partier because what else can you do when you're in that machine?  Numb yourself, find solace in dizzy spinning air.

Escape was fun because it was manic and necessary and it required walking on an edge so thin.  It was a cheap, easy, self-indlugent thing, fast medicine, weak and unruly.  Fun because of what it fueled, fun because it amplified every moment, made the grinding of the machine fade into a low hum.

One time, I found myself (at 18 years of age) at a party filled with gang members, tattooed and hardcore, me the only guy who didn't speak prison spanish.  By the end of the night I was sitting on a porch with four of them, deep in conversation, a team.

The strangest things made their way up through the vapor.  I'd fall in love a hundred times a bottle, the emotions so ready to come spilling out.

Weightlifting.

If you fuck up, you die.  At the minimum, you are injured in ways you don't want to think about.  At the minimum, 300 pounds onto your chest from 3 feet is a bad idea.

Staring at the bar, arms hanging off to the sides, stretching the chest, getting blood into muscle, breathing deep and slow, I'd lose focus.  I'd lose the room.  Noises gone, no yammering from the spandex and curler set, no grunting from the reps in the mirror set.  I'd lose my focus, relax for a second.  Then, breathe in.  Hands out, slightly wider than my shoulders, grasp the bar.  Grip it, find the balance point of the wrists by pushing slightly, rotating until the weight feels transmitted into bone.  Breathe in once more, then before I'm ready, push.

Off the bar, weight in the air, every millimeter of correction a waste of energy that will be needed on the way back up.  Every mis-calculation in time and space a chance to crush the lungs under the weight.  Pull down, an active motion, the weight doesn't just fall.  It is steadied down, slowly.  The bar just grazes the chest, and that's the trigger.  You push, explode, try try try try.  If you don't make it, no spotter, you have to dump the weight.  If you don't make it, you might snap your arm off in the recoil of dumping 150 pounds off of one side.  Push push push, the last few inches coming hard now, you can feel the giving up right there, you can feel the weakness, the lack.  Like a relief, like a lake of cold water, you can feel the last of your strength leaving you, prickling nerves firing their last, hands numb, dead.

Motorcycles.

There was that one trip to Albuquerque from Las Cruces.  It's about 220 miles.  The bike in question was a borrowed sportbike, a friend's ride.  The destination was chosen because the girlfriend was a counsellor at a camp that was buried deep in the forests of northwestern New Mexico, and she had a weekend off, and Albuquerque was the closest middle ground.  I'd packed a backpack and a tankbag with a weekend's worth of stuff.  Then I'd hopped on the bike in the pre-dawn dark of a Friday morning.

I made the trip in a very short period of time.  That long straight road, a few side trips to twisty county roads, fast as hell in some spots, faster than that in others, relaxing and rolling off the throttle on my own schedule, I put in hours and hours of time just soaking in the feeling.  It felt like naked nerves, like wind and rain and creation.  The desert in deep summer browns, the storm I had to pull over for, the back roads and tiny towns and the living breathing One.  Just me coupled with everything.  Just all of us, there.  Fast and alive and stupid and young and possible.

Women.

Not that I've given up women, since I am married to one and she's the very best woman I have ever known.  But there was a period of time when women gave me ups and downs like a good bad drug habit.  Like the world on fire.  At nineteen years old, already heading for a headful of ashes and whiskey, my eyes bloodshot with premature angst, I found myself working in an office full of divorced or nearly divorced disfunctional legal secretaries.  Packed into an office: twenty women between 25 and 50 years of age and ten lawyers who were the perfect antithesis to my youth and wreckless vitality.  It was an atavistic office, a time warp into Eisenhower-era suits and furnishings, dark and wood paneled with men who still expected dinner on the table, dog with slippers, pipe loaded and ready.

And me, poor and angsty and starving at times, sometimes single and sometimes didn't care.  Imagine the consequences.

Some of them, it never got physical.  I'd just hang out with them, be with them, talk with them until breakfast.  Careful and considerate.  I wasn't interested, really, in sex without consequence.  And though the opportunities presented themselves, and though my friends laughed about me being a slut, I was rarely involved at that level.

It's amazing, really: most women just wanted someone to share time with, whether it was crazy drunken dancing and screaming out of car windows at the world, or a quiet night with a movie and bad microwave popcorn.  The sex was offered, sometimes accepted, normally refused.  I held myself to a higher standard of behavior whenever possible, whenever my morals weren't compromised by the drink or the cadence of my life.  I tell this to people, and they don't believe me, or they do and call me a fool.

Sometimes I agree with them.  For the most part, though?  I got to enjoy more than just the hormonal rush, and all without any sort of baggage the next day at work.

That energy, those women, they helped raise me.  Helped shape how I am, who I am.  And prepared me for life with a woman who is all the things women are: deeply passionate, smart, funny, loving, emotional, and completely...totally...goddamn crazy.

The End.

< I'm so excited | BBC White season: 'Rivers of Blood' >
Missed Me. | 25 comments (25 topical, 0 hidden) | Trackback
Solitary lifting by georgeha (4.00 / 1) #1 Wed May 17, 2006 at 04:55:04 AM EST
Once in a while I would lift alone, and while I was only benching 140 (roughly bodyweight), there were a few times I had to roll the barbell down my body to get free.

That goes in the dumb college kids stuff, along with frequent alcohol abuse and riding pillion without a helmet.

When I grew up, I almost rigged up some safety lines in the basement to lift with, but got a Y membership instead.


This reads like a career retrospective by Rogerborg (4.00 / 1) #2 Wed May 17, 2006 at 06:23:23 AM EST
Say it ain't so.

-
Metus amatores matrum compescit, non clementia.
I mentioned it by blixco (4.00 / 1) #5 Wed May 17, 2006 at 07:10:14 AM EST
in a comment today, that I've lost my blixco.

I may need to change my name.
---------------------------------
Taken out of context I must seem so strange - Ani DiFranco

[ Parent ]
Bob's taken by jimgon (4.00 / 1) #7 Wed May 17, 2006 at 07:55:19 AM EST
So I suggest Fidel.  I shall be Ramon.  Together we shall rule with an iron hand. 




---------------
Technician - "We can't even get decent physical health care. Mental health is like witchcraft here."
[ Parent ]
You haven't lost your Blixco by wiredog (4.00 / 2) #10 Wed May 17, 2006 at 09:29:57 AM EST
It's just changed.

Earth First!
(We can strip mine the rest later.)

[ Parent ]
Let's hope so. by blixco (2.00 / 0) #11 Wed May 17, 2006 at 09:37:01 AM EST
We'll see if this trend continues, see what new voice my writing has.
---------------------------------
Taken out of context I must seem so strange - Ani DiFranco
[ Parent ]
despite by Kellnerin (4.00 / 1) #13 Wed May 17, 2006 at 10:57:48 AM EST
the things you've given up, there is still blixco that remains. I can feel it vibrating behind this LCD glow. I can't wait to see what the trend will lead to, but whatever it is, you will own it. You write the voice, it does not write you.

--
"later" meant either "when you walk around the corner" or "oatmeal."
[ Parent ]
Good stuff, man by zarathus (4.00 / 1) #3 Wed May 17, 2006 at 06:41:11 AM EST
Honestly, I'm trying to not hate on you today because I really like the way you wrote this story.  You make it look so God Damn Easy!  I've got a story or two brewin' in my brain and I hate that I haven't made time to get them written down.

----------
Blogger - n. Someone with nothing to say writing for someone with nothing to do.
Thanks. by blixco (2.00 / 0) #6 Wed May 17, 2006 at 07:23:21 AM EST
I've been off my game for so long, it's touhg to get back into it.  I'm going to try and write more. Lack of time is a big thing, though.

I hope you find some time to get things down on paper...er...screen?  Anyhow.  Make time!
---------------------------------
Taken out of context I must seem so strange - Ani DiFranco

[ Parent ]
i have come to realize by 256 (4.00 / 1) #4 Wed May 17, 2006 at 06:54:43 AM EST
that there are always more things that are bad for me. there is something to be said for giving things up; but it will certainly never replace that (for me at least) hard to come by running analysis of what is reasonable.

things i have given up that were bad for me:

meat
television
marijuana
buddhism

the list of things that are bad for me in which i still indulge is much longer.
---
I don't think anyone's ever really died from smoking. --ni

Huffing Oven Cleaner by jimgon (4.00 / 2) #8 Wed May 17, 2006 at 07:56:41 AM EST
Actually I used Right Guard.  I just couldn't huff something that would kill my skin.  But that was a long time ago and a very different person. 




---------------
Technician - "We can't even get decent physical health care. Mental health is like witchcraft here."
Hey, by blixco (2.00 / 0) #9 Wed May 17, 2006 at 08:52:04 AM EST
you haven't been washed downstream yet?
---------------------------------
Taken out of context I must seem so strange - Ani DiFranco
[ Parent ]
Surprisingly no by jimgon (4.00 / 1) #12 Wed May 17, 2006 at 10:20:39 AM EST
Even more suprising the basement is bone dry.  I think this has more to do with thirsty ants and termites and nothing to do with the amount of groundwater though.  All the real heavy rain hit the North Shore and Northern New England.  Worcester just got a good soaking.  The city didn't even make soup. 




---------------
Technician - "We can't even get decent physical health care. Mental health is like witchcraft here."
[ Parent ]
Hi. by moonvine (4.00 / 2) #14 Wed May 17, 2006 at 11:04:34 AM EST

I miss the not knowing parts of my life. You know the time where you thought you could one day know it all... and then you grow up and slowly "learn" that you know nothing about anything, and that as far as i have thus far experienced, it, ultimately is not even remotely a certain possibility to know anything. Not even an itty bitty something. I miss that part of my life a lot. Even though, now, i wonder if there is any value in knowing anything at all!


your last diary was stunning and bittersweet. thanks.


Hey! by blixco (4.00 / 1) #15 Wed May 17, 2006 at 11:49:46 AM EST
Yeah, I think when my nephew in California was about 5 and he knew...just KNEW for a FACT...that he could fly?  That's when I realized I'd never be an astronaut.

Thanks!  It's good to hear from you.
---------------------------------
Taken out of context I must seem so strange - Ani DiFranco

[ Parent ]
I know your secret. by moonvine (4.00 / 1) #19 Wed May 17, 2006 at 03:26:22 PM EST

ani was born 09/23


moonie was born 9/23


[ Parent ]
Shhhhh. by blixco (2.00 / 0) #20 Wed May 17, 2006 at 03:32:22 PM EST
9/27 and 9/29 are both significant for me, as well.
---------------------------------
Taken out of context I must seem so strange - Ani DiFranco
[ Parent ]
I call bullshit! by greyrat (4.00 / 1) #16 Wed May 17, 2006 at 12:05:00 PM EST
"The sex was offered, sometimes accepted, normally refused."

No I simply can't believe that women went around offering. Puh! Maybe vaguely hinting in a way that could easily be backed out of or twisted in to a "no I was just being friendly", but definitely NOT offered.

Nineteen year old by blixco (2.00 / 0) #17 Wed May 17, 2006 at 12:20:40 PM EST
male, single-ish, at the beck and call of women who, for lack of a better term, were horny as all hell = the occassional offer.
---------------------------------
Taken out of context I must seem so strange - Ani DiFranco
[ Parent ]
Hmmmm. I'll take that unde advisement. by greyrat (4.00 / 1) #18 Wed May 17, 2006 at 01:53:35 PM EST
But I'm still thinking it's bullshit.

Freakin' lucky bastard...

[ Parent ]
Dude. by grendel (4.00 / 2) #21 Wed May 17, 2006 at 04:07:27 PM EST
I feel the distinct need to say something to you. I think I get it. Sort of. I'm still on almost every vice you listed, I'm just doing them differently. Doing the whole moderate adult gig now. I think sometimes oing cold would be better. not this half myself, half what I'm supposed to become.

but again, how much are defined by our habits... our actions... well totally, I guess, but anyway, I'm going to give this some more thought. I gotta go. Now.

I had a dream by blixco (4.00 / 1) #23 Thu May 18, 2006 at 03:08:20 AM EST
last night that Laurea and myself abandoned you at someone's house.  You were supposed to stay there the night, but we borrowed your car and drive 800 miles away, to your old house.  We let ourselves in, fed a dog that was there, and explained to your mother that:

You are OK.  The world works this way sometimes.  There's nothing to worry about.
---------------------------------
Taken out of context I must seem so strange - Ani DiFranco

[ Parent ]
Last night? by grendel (4.00 / 1) #24 Thu May 18, 2006 at 04:02:31 PM EST
Weird. I had a dream that I was sitting in a strangers' house talking with them about odd little things. What I remeber discussing specifically is why I cut all my hair off a couple months ago.

[ Parent ]
great story...sounds like you have grown by dakini (4.00 / 1) #22 Wed May 17, 2006 at 05:31:42 PM EST
up..and the past is a great teacher and the memories are fantastic!!

I really do miss by calla (4.00 / 1) #25 Sun May 21, 2006 at 03:48:58 PM EST
the certainty that religion gave me.

Maintaining belief in religious bullshit had too high a price.

"Are Linux chicks worth it?" fencepost

Missed Me. | 25 comments (25 topical, 0 hidden) | Trackback