Head towards the light

What a nice weekend. Spent it with Bossman, Daisy, (bretts water loving pit) and Saucy, my brand new baby blue pit. Well not the color baby blue, but the age, and type. Something funny happened this weekend. A couple funny things actually. But one that hung over all the rest, and kind of made me reevaluate not only the rest of my life, but my current situation.

For reasons unbeknownst to me, I get caught up when I talk to Bossman. I trip on my words, over them, fumble into the abyss that is my mind and get so hung up on saying things the way I want, I often say nothing at all. I’ve begun to worry that this may cause him to think I’m not the brightest monkey in the barrel, which is a little concerning. Is it just because I really like him? I get nervous and can’t think of something clever and witty to say? Have I smoked myself into oblivion, and completely lost my ability to communicate verbally? I can still write, at least sometimes, and it should carry that I still be able to speak. But I can’t speak when he’s around. Its not that I have nothing to say, its that I’m in complete shock of what he is saying and can’t find the right tools to reference my emotions.

When he talks about revenue, I understand, but I don’t think in terms of that, money or gross or net revenue. I don’t think about shit like that. And when he starts talking about business I find myself wandering down an entirely different path. On something more metaphysical, albeit a bit arrogant to claim that my path is metaphysical and his is physically and primarily financial. He is business minded through and through, down to the newspaper he reads and the books on his nightstand. He understands life in a solid way, where the foundation for a corporation has been laid, and all that he has to do is build upon it, constructing skyscrapers out of rubble and dust.

I have yet to create the foundation for my life, as I feel it is constantly changing, and to devote myself to such a predetermined structure would defeat the purpose of rising to a new sun everyday. I am constantly in awe of him because while our lives can run very parallel, we have such different foundations for our buildings that sometimes its difficult to trace back to the origins of the thought.

He says: They probably gross about 1.2 a month. That isn’t shit.

Me: 1.2 million dollars is a shitload of money. I don’t understand how you speak of it as nothing so easily.

He says: Its not a lot of money for a business.

Me: 1.2 million dollars is a shitload of money. Even if it has to be split up among business men.

He says: But they could lose it all the next day. With a few bad business moves it could all be gone.

Me: Well you aren’t less alive because you could at any moment die.

He says: That’s what I am saying. None of it means shit.

Me: oh.

Have I allowed myself to put this man on a pedastool? Have I started to view him as so high above me that I don’t even understand the simple language he speaks? No one has ever explained business in such perfectly understandable terms as he. And still I build a wall of frustration. Not necessarily because I don’t understand what he is saying, but because I didn’t already think his thought. And I can’t be upset with myself for not thinking his thoughts because they are his, and that is what makes him special. So last night, I spent a few moments doubting myself, and my worth, and questioning whether he is hanging out with me for the sake of hanging out with Penny Flame, or because he is intrigued by me, and every part thereof, as I am him.

We sat almost facing, and had to wait for the laundry to be done (saucy being the good dog she is had a little accident and ended up getting shit on his shirt, and shorts), and he motioned to move to the chaise lounge chair. As soon as I lay down next to him, things settled in my mind, at least a little.

As we snuggled under the stars I realize he probably doesn’t care that I don’t understand some of the things he is talking about. He doesn’t mind sharing his juicy brain with me, from business, to marriage matters (he, just like brett, will be a life long bachelor, and falling severely in love, and the kind of love where you want to be with someone every second of every day, with either man will only cause irreparable damage to the female psyche), to his desire to quit his job and safari through Africa, or drop 40k on a future moon trip. And I’ve had friends who spoke like this before, but none of them could ever back it up. None of them actually believed that the institution of marriage is fundamentally flawed, they just say it because it makes them feel stronger. As much as I don’t believe that one person will be able to satisfy every faucet of my desiring nature, I am a romantic at heart, and try to maintain this hard cold outlook to preserve that soft pink tissue of my heart that I hope to one day give to one person, in full. I don’t think you should have to verify in front of God and the great state of California that you will love this one person for all of eternity, but I can’t say that if a man whom I loved dearly proposed, I would not be excited. True romantic, with harsh realistic views.

And I’ve had friends say they are going to drop everything and leave. I’ve said the same thing. “I’m going to buy a house in the middle of the desert and do nothing but paint and think,” and at the end of the day, I do not have the means nor the patience to exist with and for myself in the middle of the desert. As solitary as I am, I need people in my life. I need shreds of normalcy, and I crave a tiny bit of regularity. There is nothing regular about saying fuck it, and taking a year off to safari and explore. He could do it. This intimidates me. Not because I would miss him, because yes, I would but the mind lets go and time moves on, but because he has the courage to face the world as I do not. If I quit my job I would be lost. I have obviously invested to much of my identity in being Penny Flame.

And I have friends who talk about doing things and going places. Becoming someone. And I myself have lagged, although my wheels are now in motion, and the train is slowly leaving the station. Everyone I know is still sitting at Union Station waiting for a train whose arrival he is unsure of. They are buying newspapers to read on the way down, or chain smoking cigarettes because just maybe the train will show up soon. But they sit, nonetheless, motionless, in a big cold station. And each is alone fighting his own war, and the war is with words like “I am going to” or “I’’m this close” or “I was going to but…”, and what amazes me is that Bossman says only “I did” or “I am” and there is no hesitation is his movement through life. It is a thoroughly well thought out game, and he is always playing offensive. He is constantly making moves.

I am honestly a bit jealous that he figured it out so quick, the way best to run his life, and I think that it’s a combination of nerves, jealousy, and awe that keep me semi-silent around him. And I’m still not sure how to deal with it other than in a journal entry, posthumous to the whirl of thoughts overwhelming my head when he and I kick it.

I suppose my safest bet is to watch with open eyes instead of squinting in his harsh light. Maybe I can figure it out too.

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~ by Penny Flame on August 1, 2008.

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