Here comes a rant

Sometimes the instability of life is the only true constant. Funny that, too, coming from a guy who took a graduate course on the holocaust and learned all about the banality of evil, the dull grinding of trauma. I’ve felt the awesome oppressive power of the mundane, believed it to be king, truthfully. But life these last months—6 months I think—has been a total denial of this. Then again, I can’t say this analogous to a kind of evil, good things have happened, but at a cost, a high cost, one that has required a forward looking stance. I am beset by both fear and elation, mania, joy, relief, regret, and the demand for sacrifice. I’m being vague today. I don’t care. I’m exhausted with specificity right now.

I love Shannon and I love Mariann. Writing that is…creepy, and knowing I must now seal myself off from M is frightening. But I have to do it in order to be happy with S, so that M can heal, so that I can heal. Peace of Mind. Dunno if I’ve ever had it. Reckon it is like being fine and dandy at the same time. As Carlin once noted, he was only both fine AND dandy for an hour, but no one was around to ask him how he was doing. I live in a state far more extreme: I am great and terrible at the same time.

I am completely certain and uncertain. And let’s face it, I tend to be wholly uncertain by nature, so this certainty thing? Damn, haven’t felt that way since college, maybe high school. And for a while I was completely certain, with no signs of uncertainty. Now they both battle for dominance and I am trying desperately to embrace the certainty that I embraced, drunkenly for three months. (Forgive the ranting pace of this entry)

I am laughing one moment with S, and crying the next as I think about Mariann or recollect the life we had together. I’ve wondered to myself, half-seriously, if things would be better if the three of us were polyamorous, and formed a gloriously immoral unit of shared love and support. But even if that were true, Jesus, the shared trauma among us, the concentrated nature of our suffering, that radioactive taint of mistrust and violation, would be…atomic in explosive potential. Guess that is why fantasy is fantasy, you can dream about it, without considering the stark curving of the lines, the logic that would hold that fantasy together.

Damnit, I’m never going to get that Vegas hooker am I? I swear to god if I ever break up with S, I am jumping on a fucking plane and going right there and BUYING a damn threesome (but nooooooooooooo I had to confront my feelings about a crush and send the world off kilter, dang nabbit)

Abandonment

Since the break up I've been forced to deal with a few unsavory issues: the trauma (always the trauma), my feelings for M, and its impact on my feelings for S.

I abandoned M. There's no other way to look at it. Granted, I was wounded and scared and didn't have a fucking clue what to do, but every time she says "you left me" what she really means is I abandoned her, that's a pretty rough revelation. It has put me off kilter. I made the mistake of telling M I still loved her (It's true, but I crossed a line, that I would always love her). This was as much news to me as it was to her. I didn't even think to stop myself; I just blurted it out in the middle of a tense, tear filled argument.

She's chided me for being selfish....and so has S, for different but related reasons. I feel lost and confused, torn between the two of them. Mind you, this is several months AFTER the break up, AFTER I spent so much time pursuing S, of sending her declaration after declaration of love...and being 100% certain of it.
S hurt me twice along the way, bringing me to tears, abandoning me in my weakest moment, to return a few weeks later after reconciliation and an ultimatum.

After all that goo-goo ga-ga, I write S a flippant letter asking for space, man, is it flippant. One of those "seemed like a good idea at the time" letters. I had in effect, S pointed out, abandoned HER. And she read love letter after love letter to illustrate the point. So now I'm back with her. And..and.. I could go on and on about this. There's a lot of details I'm leaving out simply because it's so damn exhausting.

And I told M I was breaking up with S, so on top of everything else, I think I lied to M! Ack!

I've been blasted for being selfish by all sides, and they're right. I just wish I could figure out a way to behave responsibly. In a way that isn't cravenly selfish.

Did I mention I wrote the letter on the advice of my therapist?

I'm not exactly batting a thousand here.

I...live...again

I'm back. And I just read the last entry. My god. How the status quo has changed. I am a creature of emotional extremes. Here is the long and short of it:

1. I broke up with G, who will now be called M.
2. I have entered into a relationship with S.
Who is S? S=the blackbelt, the Muy Thai striker.
3. I have acquired my blue belt in Judo
4. I have, finally, and with much effort, gained my blue belt in BJJ

It seems unfair, narratively speaking. For two years life was in a holding pattern of sorts. This blog represented the diary of an emotionally scarred white-belt, struggling to figure out where he stood with his girlfriend. Then when I return, everything has changed....well, I'm still emotionally scarred. I seem to be stuck with that. It's been an exhausting 6 months, and it would have made for great blog fodder! Alas, the record of that is hidden from the world, a flurry of epistolaries, texts, and posts, that is still going on today.

At one point I considered terminating this blog, ending it once and for all. I wasn't updating, and let's face it, I'm not exactly on google's top ten. But I didn't, the epistalaries represent a shared space, but this blog represents an exclusively private one, and I still need that, still want that. And with that in mind, I've come back.

I'm in an odd position, forging a new love as I mourn the loss of another. Yes, I see now that I did love M, but I FEARED not loving her, I feared lying to myself, I never lied to her the way I thought I might. How do I know I love/d her? The tears man, the tears. All the while S fills me with joy and exhiliaration. It's not a bipolar existence, but hot damn, I'm some kinda crazed pin ball machine looking for a little...equilibrium, balance. Damnit, I've got practice in an hour, and I'm fighting a headache, blech. Fear not, this represents a return to regularly scheduled blogging. (I think this helps me stay on task in respect to writing as a whole)

In JKD...

I'd have written about this much sooner but the tournament happened...then I got caught up in writing a poem about the crush, even though the event I wanted to relay is about her. What can I say? My need to express myself through the poem took over.

I was paired with her in JKD 1. We were practicing responses to the lead Now-Tek (hooking kick). Our legs touched. She scratched me with her big toe. It may have drawn blood. She didn't know it happened. I told her. She apologized. I didn't want her apology, I just wanted her acknowledgment that this moment happened, even if her understanding of it was drastically different than mine. I kept thinking this is the most physical contact we would ever have, and I savored it quietly. She's amiable and likes to laugh. I did not have to hide my smiles, just that goofy glazed over twinkle that effects both drunks and the lovestruck.

The sexual symbolism of her drawing my blood was immediate (to me). Here she is with a chastity ring (I still haven't pressed her if this is a promise ring or a purity right for the wedding) and I'm the one cut open. If I was the virgin in this situation, what was lost/gained? Certainly nothing so practical as my first time working with a girl in a martial context. I didn't reveal anything of import, nor did she. It is more primal than that; she pierced me, and I delight in the wound. I'm supposed to be bound to another and she cut through that carelessly, unknowingly. She barely broke skin, but the force caries on to the center. Hmph, none of that translates into a smooth lost/gained binary opposition. I've certainly lost, but what have I gained here? I do not know.

I'm reaching that point where sincerity turns saccharine. Sincerity, the genuine, is the hardest thing in the world to express, especially when it's connected to love and suffering.

And all the while I am a failure and traitor, try as I may, I have not served G well.

A curse

It's 2 am. In the middle of july, her air conditioner is broken. She's stripped to nothing and the bed cover sticks to her skin. At that moment, when she is alone with her chastity ring, I want her to think of me and thirst....

Starting with the tourney

I did okay. 2nd place finishes. In my "secret identity" I offered up regular updates, so I don't feel the need to really talk about it here. I was unable to pass the guard when I needed to, and I've got to work on half-guard defense and get more "live" take down practice

Measure for improvement

When BJJ is the simplest thing in your life, you ain't doin' something right! That being said, a new phenomena is taking place in my training which indicates that ever elusive and vaguely quantifiable rubric known as progress: I'm catching newbies in triangles. Yes, me with the stocky, muscular legs of a full-back fused to the body of a disney-fied fairy is catching dudes in triangles. I'm not hitting them on experienced guys--I never seem to hit much of anything on them--but it's a start.

Also, the brown belt taught me how to do a flying armbar, but more importantly, he showed me a way to SET-UP the flying armbar with the awesome power of deception.

So yeah, my personal life is a mess, and my professional life looks like the innards of a jelly fish, but my BJJ is goin' places.

Now if I could just clone myself and alter time I'd be set!

I need more radiaton therapy

Spent the weekend at the beach house with parents and G. My mom thinks we're soul mates, yet all I see is dusk; the sun setting on our relationship. If G gets this job, she will have no reason to leave Tallahassee. And I don't think I can bring myself to move back there. All the while, an unreciprocated crush has me feeling foolish and distant and alone. I haven't voiced any of my concerns to G, maybe I should.

BJJ Turbo

The tournament is less than a week away, Wed. will be my last crossfit workout, thursday my last bjj workout. I'm feelin' a little nervous, having all those little doubts and fears I enjoy vanquishing with a rear naked. Guard passing and armbar escapes will take most of my energy this week. Since the tournament is in Charlotte I've recruited a friend to come with me. Very thankful for him, known him since I was 6, because as much as I hate driving up to Charlotte at the ass crack of dawn, the idea of driving back, after several sustained beatings, makes me wanna cry. Just think, I win this, I get a samurai sword.

I've been trying to war game my opponents, get some idea of whom my the unknown opposition will be. It may be under 140, but I still may be on the small side of the scale. I should expect some guys to cut weight, possibly as high as from 160. I will probably see a smattering of high school wrestling converts (I think college wrestling experience pretty much equals intermediate group in the eyes of these judges). It's also plausible I will see guys smaller than me. It has been a over a year since I've grappled someone unconditionally smaller than me. Will have to watch my base, and shouldn't be surprised if a smaller guy turns out to be stronger/faster/smellier than me.
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I need to be ready for attacks primarily from the guard and take downs. I need to use my judo throws and sweeps, and if he's a wrestler, be ready to go for a sub off a failed sweep attempt.

This the men's over 30 age bracket. I have no idea what to expect conditioning wise, and it wouldn't surprise me if the division was folded into another.

Could have been worse

Went to the first counseling session today. It was tolerable. Having been through therapy before I had an idea what to expect. The therapist was an outgoing guy, throwing out plenty of questions, but filled with personal anecdotes, unusual in my experience. My therapist always played the cipher, impassive, sparse, never mentioning his personal life.

He asked us why we were here, which I figured he would, so I answered first since I'd given it some thought. Much of what was said is stuff I've said here, minus MOST of the profanities. The one exception being when he asked me how I felt about my sister, "I fucking hate her."

If my parents commit to it, like I hope they will, they will be the ones seeing the therapist most of the time, then I'll be brought back in, or rotated with the babykicker, assuming she ever agrees to participate (not holding my breath)

Cough/Hack

Lord God, the last week was awful, just awful. If it wasn't all the damn fighting, it was the bacteria; largely due to the blinding sunshine and humidity of psychic distress, I was a pitree (sp???) dish of coughing, pink eye, insomnia, and laryngitis. Oh what fun the last week was, I meant to examine the relationship between me and G, but reality forced my gaze elsewhere.


So what now? I don't have a lot of time tonight for writing, so just gonna throw a few things out there:

1. Am having a lot second thoughts about a job in the insurance industry
but without the money, I may never get out of here.
2. Having second thoughts about the U of Phoenix position,
but without the money, I may never get out of here.
3. My sister scares me, don't think I've ever made that clear;
something is wrong with her be it psychopathy or some other related disorder
4. G and I had a fight over my friggin sister?? I would rather G say to me
"I just can't forgive you for leaving/the rape/whatever, goodbye" than to end it
because of the goddamn baby-kicker.
5. Tournament in 2 weeks, under 140 beginner divisions. I am gonna crush the
competition. I have A LOT of stuff to work out.
6. The one benefit to everything, is it's left too emotionally exhausted to
obsess over my JKD crush, I have just enough emotional energy for one
fantasy a day.

Ugh unpacked even further

Another golden moment.

My father rode in backwards on a white horse, late as usual, his interference kicking dust and shit and bad bad luck. The fighting commenced anew. It was all out movie time and babykicker wanted her Oscar. Papi said something--I don't remember what--and I retorted, viciously and unfairly, "shut-up, you don't mean anything to me." I am after all still brimming with anger at his misdeeds. Babykicker stepped in, exclaiming how I shouldn't talk that away about people who "put shelter over our heads" My eyes widened. This deserved instant mockery. The nasty little child who constantly calls mom a bitch, papi a motherfucker, who does nothing--NOTHING!!--except sleep and eat and scream. Yes,Babykicker, who behaves as if she does us all a favor by staying here, had found Jesus.

This was a craven attempt to woo my father, she's always manipulating him to get what she wants. This time though, my mockery was straight and acerbic and long with sarcasm, for a hemi-demi-semi moment, I think she actually felt foolish.

State of the dogs

This particular fight was largely facilitated by continued hygiene problems with the dogs: everyone shitting and peeing where they're not supposed to. Snuggles and Princeton have ALWAYS had issues, and Fern (babykicker's dog) is nuts (most likely the result of abuse). But Radar wasn't just house trained, I took him to a handler for weeks and weeks of clicker training. Moving back home has been a disaster on that front. One of the babykicker's favorite excuses is that all the other dogs have issues so why is Fern's behavior an issue? (She pees and shits in other people's rooms) This tactic is particularly irksome, considering the effort I've put into Radar's house training. For the record, last night I tried to say, "look, all the dogs have accidents, no one is denying that, but Fern is doing X,Y, and Z. Just put her in a crate when you leave and you will reduce the number of accidents" Babykicker wouldn't hear it. She seemed to be obstinate about that fact....I'm sorry I just fantasized about caving her face in MMA style....she seemed to be obstinate just to be obstinate.

Now I will confess to this, I think I called her a miserable cunt a little while before I said that, I don't remember, so things were already bad and probably past the point of reason. But that's part of why I called her a miserable cunt in the first place. Frustration. She NEVER listens to reasons, rejects all criticism as a personal act (and will turn around say I can't take criticism)....sorry fantasized about choking her out....Yeah, this is bad.
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For example, she called me anorexic. Huh??? I eat all the time. She's the one with eating problems.

I'm sorry, this was supposed to be about the dogs, and I'm back to talking about her. The point I was moving towards is I think a lot of the dog issues may be acting out. This is their way of handling all the negative energy, loving them isn't enough. I have to get out of this house. I have to get Radar out of this house. Someone in this house is going to snap big time, I'd rather it not be me.

Ugh revisited

Ok, I don't even know where to pick up from, since the whole thing got derailed when I called my girlfriend for a little support, little being the operative word. I was in tears over the epic fail that is moving back home. I'm worse off, She's worse off, Radar's worse off. Sigh, it wasn't really bad until the babykicker moved back in.

"That's the closest thing to an apology you offered,"
"Really? Are you kidding? I've spent the last year apologizing! I have to shave my beard" Yup. Like I said, the operative word is "little."

What's left for us?

When I speak do people listen? How vague am I?

I think my faith in US has been exhausted, broken.

Ugh

Have *YOU* had a knockdown drag-out fight with your family lately? Happy Father's Day!!!


How odd it is that this seems to be the only way I learn anything about the babykicker. I admit, sad and pathetic all around.

Soooooooooooooo, this time things began between mom and my "sister" over doggie behavior (poop, pee, etc.) Man, I don't even feel like going into the details. I got involved (Her dog pees and craps in my room), and it was a down hill thrill ride from there. Here are a few choice moments:

Me: "You're a miserable cunt." My personal favorite only because it was the truth. She is a miserable cunt. It's what I really believe. Hmm, that is only one moment. Please, cut me some slack, this fight isn't even 30 minutes old.

Ah, but I did say this is the time when I learn something new about the babykicker. I was quite astounded when she boasted of her talents. To which talents does she speak of? Once upon a time, she was a dancer, a very good one. Then she fucked her life up and did squat. Well, as I said, she boasted of her talents. She was such a good dancer she got accepted to Vanderbilt---she went to Cal Arts and failed out in a semester. And what was the other one? She was a good writer. Really? When did this happen? When does she even write??? She either sleeps or is with her boyfriend. Regardless, I'm not sure if she's even seen anything I've written so I don't know how she can make the comparison.

She's delusional. Seriously. She's trying to win a argument with talents she's thrown in the crapper?

That pretty much sums up my rebuttal too, except....my monitor keeps going on out me.....Was talking to G...I'll return to the fight later.

Radiation Therapy

So my crush is engaged, due to be married in a few months. I found this out last night during JKD. In about ten seconds, I knew what my next blog post would be be about, title included. I was given a huge dose of radiation therapy.

Knowing she will be married soon places another ethical roadblock in my way; it prevents me from cultivating any sort of relationship with her, which in turns prevents me from destroying my relationship with G. Stupidity is radioactive. One blunder becomes two, two becomes three, and then those around you begin to blunder and stumble. Stupidity spreads like the halo at the base of a mushroom cloud.

In this case though the treatment is radioactive too. It burns, god, does it burn. The school girl crazies giggling through my marrow are ground into Saharan dust. I'm sweating the butterfly fever through my hair; she is my first gray hair, my second, and my third. The bush and tangles clumped in my hand, as I stand in a hot shower. Old guilt, a stirring for someone not named G, is replaced by new guilt, fatigue from the crush itself, because I am still left to wonder: Can it still work between us? Is it too late? Am I still losing her? And the sad answer is an emaciated, forlorn yes.

In retrospect, the high school aspect to the experience is complete. Too often I fell for girls because of some intangible thing I saw, a talent, a dreamy kaleidoscope in the center of their chi. My first crush, my VERY first crush--I was 12 or 13 at the time--was a talented actress and an amazing singer. Forgive me for reducing her to a scale, but I honestly couldn't tell you if she were a 7 an 8 a 9 or a 10. I fell for her because of the way she sang: that dizzying, whirling, out of control barf ride at the State Fair, love, was not returned. She just didn't see me that way. It happened again in high school. In my senior year there was this one girl, smart, outgoing, ambitious, confident, brilliant blonde hair. One day, we were talking. It was inside a McDonalds; I was minding my own business, listening to her, impressed, by her focus, everything she wanted to do and be, and my heart started doing backflips and moonsaults, pirouttes and handstands. It was the Olympics, and my ventricles were doing the floor routine. I was surprised by the suddenness of the thing, its divine irrationality, and as before she was not interested.

There are two things she said to me I will never forget: "you treat me like a queen" (intoxicating even as it followed rejection), and "Tigr, honestly, sometimes talking to you is like talking to a brick wall."

I have been kicked in the nuts, I've been pegged in the nuts by a soccer ball, I've been tackled so hard it tingled from my chest through to my extremities. There's been the referred pain of the hips, and the searing, buckling numbness, of being wacked in a large nerve. What she said hurt more, it shamed me; but I couldn't tell her that, I was a wall, she was right.

And college? College. College. College. At this point a descriptive history of my un-love life becomes tedious, redundant, filled with excuses and cynicism. (In other words I don't feel like writing about it). For this crush, it was her boxing. I was impressed by how quickly she absorbed the boxing, she learned to turn with her hook, in comparison to me, a fraction of the time. (the porcelain, Victorian skin of her thighs didn't hurt either) It was off to the races.

To compare G to all of this???? I am stupefied; forget about doing anything, I don't even know what to make of it. I think this is enough for now. I'm sure I'll be revisiting this in the coming weeks.

Nothing specific

I don't have to say here, just felt like I should put forth the effort to file an entry to the readership of none.

Having a crush on someone, and being in a relationship with G doesn't exactly fill me with pride. I feel foolish. On one hand I am fighting to keep my existing relationship going, an ultra marathon through death valley, under the guffaws of a laughing sun; while at the same time, I feel like a goofy high school kid again because I've gone all ballerina twinkle toes for a girl I really don't know that well, who I speak to a couple times of week, who--and I can't emphasize this enough--probably leads an ideological existence in opposition to my own. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

Shouldn't love have a button? What about an emergency brake??? I'd settle for that! I try to remind myself that the shoe was on the other foot not to long ago, that G was the one crushing on someone else, and that I was understanding and believed things would work out for the best. Don't have that sort of faith right now. The human heart is savage in its fickleness, showing no mercy to the raped, the tortured, the humiliated, like God and HIV, it does not discriminate.

Random thought: The story of Job. The trials of Job, were a manifestation of God's love for Job, the whole "where were you when I made the stars" speech was because God didn't think Job would understand how much love could hurt. Probably not, but I'll wager I'm closer to the truth than I know.

The Job Front

I passed that damn insurance licensing examine. Hooray for me. Also, more U of Phoenix "boot camp" this week.

Radar got hosed, man!

My puppy dog has been on the short end of the stick this morning. He was stuck in the crate while I took my parents dogs to the vet for rabies shots. He was quite vocal in his protest. The injustice poured from his throat with all the eloquence of a fat man sitting on a set of bag pipes.

Afterwords, I came home, picked him up, and took all three dogs to the groomer's. I was informed that Petsmart policy stated that dogs had to wait 48 hrs after getting the rabies shots because blah blah blah, but since Radar was good to go I left him there: poor, poor puppy dog.

What I've been up to

Posting on this blog has been sparse, I know, I know, "he's always got an excuse" But in this case I've been trying to establish myself on dailykos, in the hopes of a) making a meaningful contribution to political debate and b)cultivate an audience, one that might be interested in my creative writing as well as my critical output. Dare to dream, I know.

Speaking of daring to dream, that friggin' nerve in my left leg is the in-law from hell. The good news is I can do most of the workouts and train at the dojo, but I can't run on the damn thing without feelin' pain. I will do my best to be patient. After the tournament on July 11, I will go into rehab mode.