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Sleeping Is Giving In
Wednesday January 9, 2008
Thursday June 7, 2007
This shall be remembered as my Gatorade Summer.I drink too much of it, if that's possible. I drink too much Gatorade, because I will not drink carbonated, sugar-poisoned soda anymore. That would put acid in my muscle tissues and deposit layers of fat in my gut. I am 37. I don't need the paunchy midsection, and at my age, I have to do more to keep it off.That's right. Brian's on a health kick this year. I'm sure my mid-life crisis has something to do with it, but I'm trying to tell myself it's a good idea.Every night after work, I go to an all-night gym and torture myself. I lift weights until my arms, chest, shoulders and back tremble from the exertion. It doesn't take long. Then I get on a treadmill and jog until my face is slick with sweat, until my lungs and guts are burning. I don't cheat, either. I have a personal trainer who meets me every night. I've already paid him to make sure I'm miserable for my own good.That's not the worst part. When I get home, exhausted and quite thirsty, I must consume a homemade drink of water + vanilla-flavored whey/protein powder. It sickens me, because it has the consistency and color of milk, and I hate milk. I drink it down as fast as I can. It takes 14 large gulps for my mouth to take it all. I nearly gag on it. But I must take all 14 gulps at once. If I stopped, I wouldn't be able to take another sip.I need the protein and amino acids, and I need them right after my workout. If I didn't take that awful shake, I'd waste all the pain I put myself through.All the rest of the time, it's gatorade, gatorade, gatorade. Or water. Soda has acid in it, and that acid would make my muscles quite sore after my workouts, which I already learned the hard way. I've been doing this for two months now. I don't get sore anymore. I get tired.Why do I do it? Because I've never seen myself at my best, physically. I was never athletic, except during high school, when I took karate lessons and joined the school wrestling team. But I was so skinny then, that even in my best shape I looked gaunt. Frankly, the acne didn't help either. Like I said, I have never presented myself, physically, at my full potential. For at least a few years, I want to find out what it's like.There's more: I am writing a novel, and have been for some months now. I've kept it to myself, and it has kept me from blogging. All my life, people told me I should write a book and try to get it published. The writing's always been the easy part. The HARD part, for me, is staying on a long project (like a novel) until I have completed it. I want to do it at least once, and see if I can publish it. For those of you who are regulars at my blog, worry not: the novel WILL BE depressing enough to be worthy of my name. Of course, it'll be more than that too, just as my blog is.Beyond all this, I'm happy. My daughter is entering high school this fall. She's as beautiful as ever and getting great marks in her classes. I have great friends, and not-so-great friends who get my unyielding support anyway. My love life is in a nice place, safe even from me, so far. Unspoken obsessions still grip me, as they always will. They power my engines of melancholy, so that I can keep passing it on to you. Don't worry that I'm falling apart. I won't. Don't think of me as a hermit, bitter and lonesome and lost, because I'm not. I am vibrant, strong and often happy.Unfortunately, now it's 10 p.m., and I have to go to the gym and torture myself again.~ Brian
Me with Kira, May 21, 2007 -- just before she left to spend the summer in Japan.
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Monday May 21, 2007
 There's an hour left in the day. I still don't have much to say. Or maybe there's just too much. I can't tell the difference, honestly. But there is this: I'm back.
I kind of miss the readers who've been missing me. Only a person suffocating in his own vanity could say that. But I'm saying it, because it's true — and because I'm suffocating. Also because I underestimated the connection some people felt to me. I didn't expect anybody would ask me to come back. But several did, and they stayed at it all through the winter and spring.
Now, at the risk of going down like another bad sequel, I will continue to do what I did for most of last year. I will write and post my writings here. If it's not as wonderful as you all remember, then forgive me, in advance.
If it's even BETTER, let me know.
Ok. That's enough for tonight. I had a secret deadline for this and it's all but expired. This was a hectic day. So hectic, I'm too tired to tell you about it now.
Goodnight ~~
PS: Happy Birthday, Michele.
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Friday December 29, 2006
High above the gloom, I see a golden window, And I know it's the last light Left on for me. What's she doing now? Waiting up, I guess. This new love, is it true love? Is it safe yet to confess? What's she thinking now? Of hearts strewn out like litter? Of promises left bitter? Of warnings from her friends? Cracked walks and crooked stairs, Lead me to her hair, So it can fall on me like darkness, And help me forget today. Because it’s late and I’m coming home, With my jokes nobody laughs at, With my smile nobody gives back, Useless pennies in my pockets. She’ll ask where I’ve been and scold me, Then cross the room to hold me. I’ll let her warmth enfold me, And then we'll go to bed. I won't ask why she feels this way, I'm just lucky to have her today. Nobody knows about tomorrow, So I ask the stars, Can I borrow her one more day? High above the gloom, I see a golden window, And I know it's the last light Left on for me. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  Happy New Year --- If this is the end, I want to say it's been wonderful having great readers here.I wish I could have done more, commented more, spent more time.Anyway ...Thank you, thank you, thank you.~ Brian---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Wednesday December 27, 2006
She said, "I don't tolerate mind games."And her words still skittered across his mind like little black bugs as he walked quickly up the crooked boulevard, past old, brick-red buildings, past cracked windows and empty doorways."Well," said he, to the reckless wind in his face, "what might be a mind game to you could be a natural reaction on my part to one of your many, many idiosyncracies. Ever think of THAT?"Yeah. That's what he should have said to her. But did he? No."Just because you don't TOLERATE mind games, well, that sure as hell doesn't mean you don't PLAY them, now does it?"Another good one. Woulda knocked her back big time. But did he say it? No.The wind howled down on him, a chilly embrace. He turned up his collar and thrust his hands into the pockets of his long jacket as the breeze tore at and tussled his dirty blonde hair.She sure did smell good. Just before the fight started over . . . over whatever. She'd sprayed some kind of perfume on, and he'd been hanging around the bathroom door, listening to the buzz of her hair dryer, contemplating the great sex they likely would have been having, oh, right about now. If only she hadn't . . ."i don't tolerate mind games . . ." he whined to himself, an angry imitation of her. "if you're gonna pick at me all night with your mind games, then forget it. just go home."Man that he is, he strode straight for the door, opened it, waited a second or two for her to reconsider her brash ultimatum, and calmly walked out.The slamming of the door had really been more for the overall effect. An exclamation point on his authority as the MAN in the relationship. Now, he feared that it made him look childish, petulant. Impotent.He could picture her rolling her eyes as he walked off, applying her eyeshadow without even so much as a twitch when the door slammed. He hated her."Put on that mascara," he said to the cold, gathering dark. "Put it on nice and pretty and then go out and screw some poor chump. Bitch."The wind stopped. He spotted an empty vodka bottle on the sidewalk. He kicked it off the curb, sent it skidding and rolling across the street. It didn't break."Straddle the cowboy who emptied that bottle over there. I don't care." He chuckled, kept on walking. The wind picked up again.He crossed a few more blocks in silence. Shades of black began to ink the purple sky. An icy sliver of moon hung over him, like a knife.He hungered for the sex everybody else in the world was having at this moment. But since he wasn't actually hard down there, he knew he craved something more ungraspable than a naked tit.But sex always took his mind off ungraspable things.She said she didn't tolerate mind games. The People's Republic of Emily does not "tolerate" mind games. Whoop-dee-freaking-doo."Oh yeah? But I'M supposed to tolerate your little mood swings, right?"Whammo! Another great comeback. Where was it when he needed it?What had he said? When she issued her little declaration about mind games, what did he say back to her? Something that sounded a lot better in the heat of the moment than it did now, in the chill of a black, lonely night."Why don't you like mind games? Are you tired of losing?"That look she gave him then, it shrunk all his internal organs. His mind scrambled back over the entire history of their eight-month long relationship, trying to unearth any victory for him, any loss for her. No data matched the search request.As he stood there, gritting his teeth and flaring his cheekbones, all masculine-like, h is mind went blank. And before he knew it, he was walking out the door and slamming it, ruining his evening and probably the whole weekend, too.Now, he shook his wrist out of one coat sleeve and checked his watch. 11:48 p.m.She'd looked and smelled so good. Probably had even put on that black thong he got for her back in August. He couldn't let himself imagine some other guy easing that thing off her hips. He'd go crazy.A block ahead, he spotted one of technology's dying breeds: a phone booth. As his feet brought him closer to it, he plotted what he would say to her. How to step inside the phone booth and apologize, without turning into SuperWuss.
"Hey there . . . yeah, I guess I ruined our night, I know . . . I know . . . but I wanted to tell you how good you looked tonight, and how good you smelled, and how I've been wishing we didn't have that stupid fight . . . so what are you doing now? . . . yeah? . . . awwww . . . would you like me to bring you some make-up cookies? . . . some make-up nookie?"He dug a quarter, two dimes and three pennies out of his pocket, put the quarter and one of the dimes into the slot and dialed her number. He felt warm again now, warm on the inside.A man apologizes. A man sets things right. That's what a good woman expects a good man to do. To think she'd probably been sitting around glumly, waiting for him to come around, it pained him. He hoped she wouldn't be stubborn now, just because it took him four or five hours to call.He put the receiver to his ear. It rang twice. No answer. Three times. No answer. Six times. No answer, no machine. Nine times. Nothing. Twelve times. Nothing.She wasn't home.He stepped back and threw the receiver against the plastic wall of the phone booth. He picked it up and put it to his ear again. Still ringing. Still no answer.He hung the payphone up and could feel both rage and the bitter wind overwhelming him. Staying sober the past several hours had been a waste of good judgement after all. He turned back up the boulevard and resumed his walking, anger quickening his pace.She said, "I don't tolerate mind games."And the words slithered across his mind like black snakes, hissing and full of poison. A woman knows a million phrases that can magically start an argument. That's one of the most popular."I'm not playing mind games, honey. God dammit. I'm just trying to hold onto you, and it's getting harder than hell."That's what he should have said. Because that would have been the truth, ladies and jints. He'd been losing her for weeksTonight, she'd slipped free of his grasp, forever. The night crashed on him like a wave. The stars winked out. The wind howled. The boulevard stretched for blocks and miles and years. He kept on walking, fading into the night.He had nowhere to go.
** Thanks for reading, everybody. I'll have one more post for you in 2006. **
By the way ~ here's a "recent" picture of my bad haircut. But it was taken two weeks ago and 10 days after the actual cutting, so it's not as horrible as it was.
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