My Psychotic Break, And Other Tales

Many, many things happened over my vacation that made it a real report worthy event, and I am loathe to type it all out in prose form. Almost as though the magic would leech out of my mind if I were to type it all out.

But speaking of "out of my mind" I still will share it. Because I appreciate that there are eyes reading these words of mine at this very moment. Especially those of the Irish--(Scott, Steve, I'm sure you understand).

1. I rode on four planes and none of them crashed, even though as far as I'm concerned any one of them could have at any conceivable moment. Because I'm just saying. Six thousand pounds of steel jetting through the air thanks to the two explosive blenders nailed onto the shreddable, actually-shaking-when-there's-turbulence wings. I'm JUST saying.

2. The Star Wars Convention filled with my generation and down. Costumed, outfitted, brave community standing up in their element, ashamed of nothing and no one. I will have pictures and comment more when I post them. There were whole families of Jedi, which second to My Hero's (which is one-of-a-kind) is my favorite costume in the world. And so it makes sense that my favorite Convention event was the Jedi Academy where a curly-headed balding man and his lovely, red-headed assistant tutored kids from maybe 3 years old to probably 11 or 12, and most notably a lad in a wheelchair who appeared to have MS, in seven moves with their plastic lightsabres, and then they faced Darth Vader one by one. The Jedi Master had his hand on each of their shoulders and coached them through the moves, effectively fighting Darth like a true Jedi. Those who know me know what captured my heart and brought the tears to my eyes here; the guidance of a strong father-figure helping them each fight the battle against darkness. (That the Jedi Master had a slight Scottish brogue and enunciated like a Shakespearian didn't hurt either.)

3. Bonding more with My Friend The Doctor, and learning how to dislike him at times without hating him or wanting to flee forever away from him. Because despite all his qualities, he's got a pretty sour attitude about life. This is one of the reasons he doesn't appreciate my hero-worship. He seems to hate people. He has a bad temper and little to no patience. And here he is with a doctorate in psychology and is about to become a licensed psychologist. Yes, the stories you've heard about us are true. We're as crazy, if not moreso, than our clients. More's the miracle when we manage to actually do someone some good, which he and I have also done. So go figure.

4. Hanging out with My Hero. He let me into his life. I entered his beautiful home, I played with his dogs, and I rode in his economically friendly car. We walked and we talked and we walked and talked some more. Then we rejoined his wife and her family and I lived a new reality. One that didn't involve costumes. One where the superpowers consisted of Interesting Conversation, Appropriately Engaging Strangers, and Fitting In. I then used these powers again as he took me into the inner circle of his friends. The people in his life that did not live thousands of miles away and type their love to him through the internet. The people who "knew him when" and made fun of him as only real friends can. He brought me into his circle. He made me special because he trusted me with this secret life. In other words Jimmy Olsen got to hang out in the Fortress of Solitude while Clark hung up his cape, peeled off his boots, and had a nice cuppa joe.

5. California became solid in my mind. I will from henceforth understand most, if not all, of the vehicles in which California is the setting. I know what its' sky is now. I know what its' beaches are. Its' flat-topped, pastel-colored commercial buildings. Its' towering palm trees. The smog that makes every morning a day threatened with drizzle until it burns off near to noon. Its' internally lit street signs. Its' poverty. Its' immigrant population. Its' economic disparity. Its' breezy golden air. I understand it now and I like it.

6. I had a brush with real schizophrenia. I woke up one night with my palms afire. There were no real flames, and I didn't actually see any, but they burned. Like there were a billion bugs crawling over them, they burned. I rubbed my hands together so hard I thought they would combust. That scratched the itch viscerally, causing my heart to pound and my breath to ooze up from my lungs like the wax in a lava lamp. And then the itching would come back again, worst. I woke up MFTD with this and had to turn on the light. I enlisted his help by asking him to get on the computer and find out why it might be happening, all the while realizing that I already thought I knew why. It was all over. I had finally lost my mind. There was very apparently nothing on my hands, but they would not stop itching. I gripped handtowels and wrung them, pacing back and forth like Lady MacBeth cursing at her "damned spot." The coarse terrycloth scoured my flesh until the skin peeled. Meanwhile, I'm verbally diarrhetic with freeform prose, tracing my psychotic break back to my mother who was mentally ill. MFTD is trying to field my questions and reassure me that I'm not going crazy, but the more I think about it, the more my palms itch. Finally he calmed me enough to read his internet findings. I'm having an allergic reaction to something. Was it the shellfish I ate earlier that day at Rendondo Beach? Or was it the sand I scooped in my palms as I knelt under a hazy Pacific Coast sky? Or maybe my sheets were infested with the infamous bedbugs we've all heard about. Whatever it was, listening to the reassurances of MFTD calmed me down long enough for him to take me to the Rite Aid on Wilshire Blvd. at 2:00am for Benadryl. By the time we returned to the hotel, the pill was swallowed and the itching stopped. I put myself back to the same possibly lice-ridden bed, exhausted and embarassed. In the morning, I woke up bespotted in a rash. Whichever the cause, I was relieved to see it was indeed physical and not mental. As much. Benadryl is now my new best friend. The itching is gone and the rash is faded to just a stipling up my forearms. And I don't cough as much as I used to, as an added bonus. Well, in fact, I don't cough at all anymore--as long as I'm on the Benadryl.

But now I know what it feels like to have a psychotic break. And I'm glad I'm in the business of helping the others who suffer from it. If for no other reason, I want to stay alive for them, if not myself.

7. I reconnected with my friend who moved out to the coast last year. By accident. He was lost at the convention and walked right by me as I sat on a chair feeling vaguely lonely. At that point MFTD was on a distant line in a galaxy far, far away getting autographs, and My Hero hadn't been available yet to meet me. I had been wondering if he ever really would (and I should've trusted him, but because sometimes disappointments happen, especially in This Redeemable Life of mine, I was gearing myself for it) and so I called Grim Reaper while sitting and watching people, but he wasn't home so I had to leave a message, and just as I closed my phone, this friend walks by me. I cried out his name and scooped him up in a huge embrace. (He is smaller than me). Coincidence? I think not. He at first could not believe it was me. Then he was mad it was me. Because I hadn't told him I'd be there. And I hadn't communicated with him much since his move. And out of the group of us (Grim Jester and my other D&D buddies) he and I hung out before when he lived in New York City. But when he left to pursue and achieve his dreams, I guess my jealousy made me leave him to it. He and Grim Jester kept conversation, but he was out of my sight, and so, out of my mind. We've made up now. I met his California friends and then we had dinner and pie the next night on a very Greenwich Village-type street in Northern LA.

8. On the plane ride home, I made Ali Larter smile as she boarded with us. YUP. Ali Larter, who played Nikki/Jessica on Heroes, the best show on television, was a passenger on our plane. And not in first class either. And that made two stars from the TV show that I've made smile. Both blonde. Both pretty. And before our plane took off, I called My Hero to let him know that I had gotten home safe the night before and that Ali Larter, a "Hero," was on my plane--and that I appreciated him more than I could actually, literally (and so didn't) say for the time he had spent with me. But he was the grateful one, he said, that I drove out to meet him since he had so much to do and couldn't really afford to spend travel time to hang out with me like I wanted. And I was just senseless with misunderstanding. He was grateful that I went to see him? HE was grateful?? And then he called me again today to make sure I was back in New Jersey safely. And I finally felt the wall come down. See #4 above.

So that's all right then.

9. My manuscript was waiting for me, returned unread, from the publisher. Seems they changed the policy I found on the internet. Either that or the nice secretary who I though had my back gave it to the wrong imprint. I thought I was submitting it to Patrick Nielsen-Hayden at TOR books, but the rejection form letter came from St. Martin's Press. So either that or Patrick found it so beneath contempt that he just slapped a generic "we don't read unagented materials" letter in my SASE. Even though his wife was nice enough to stop by my blog back in the day. So I guess I'd better start sending the manuscript to agents now instead of publishers. At least I have more "published work" under my belt now as I approach these landsharks.

So anyway I'm back. Let's talk!

Just In Case

Tomorrow, I'm getting on a plane and heading to California. My Friend The Doctor is sponsoring my part of the trip because he wanted to go here, but not alone. Originally I was to pony up my slice of the trip in cash, which would have gone towards what I owe him in the overall scheme of all the money I already owe him. This was how he enticed me to go. But then I had the car accident and I had to pony my money to the dealership. But he still wanted me to go. So I'm going on his dime, and what I'm supposed to give himfor money is beyond me. Payday is tomorrow, but so is my second payment for the car. And my school loan payment. Which leaves a few hundred for food for the next two weeks, plus scrimpy savings.

That financial aspect is 1 out of 3 things that are in the way of full enjoyment of this vacation.

#2 is that My Hero seems busy at the moment.

Of course I lobbied for face time with My Hero. He lives about an hour from L.A. So I'm more excited about that part of the trip than what MFTD wants to go for.

But My Hero is juggling a lot of things, and I'm ready to make any excuse for a reason that he might cancel out on me. Ultimately, I know he wouldn't want to be unavailable when he said he would see me, so he'd squeeze me in somehow, but that only seems to illustrate how sad it is that I need his company so much. The Jimmy Olsen Syndrome.

In fact, I'm not sure if anyone, anywhere, needs me as much as I've come to need them.

#3 is that I have to fly on planes to get to California. I hate planes. And we have to fly two of them there, and two of them back. Now here's what Worst-Case Scenario Man says, "Isn't it about due for a plane to crash in the US?"

Nice, right? This guy lives inside my head and it's not pretty.

So, this is my schedule;

Flight: NW 0537
From: New York-La Guardia, NY
To: Detroit-Wayne County Int'l, MI
Departure Time: May 25, 9:03 am
Arrival Time: May 25, 11:09 am

Flight: NW 0327
From: Detroit-Wayne County Int'l, MI
To: Los Angeles Int'l, CA
Departure Time: May 25, 12:05 pm
Arrival Time: May 25, 1:57 pm

Flight: NW 0770
From: Los Angeles Int'l, CA
To: Indianapolis-Int'l, IN
Departure Time: May 30, 9:45 am
Arrival Time: May 30, 4:49 pm

Flight: NW 4779
From: Indianapolis-Int'l, IN
To: New York-La Guardia, NY
Departure Time: May 30, 6:25 pm
Arrival Time: May 30, 8:36 pm

If any planes crash within this time frame, and it was one of these, then really, listen--it was for the best. If I went down and died, it's because I wasn't really going to win all these battles I'm fighting. And I would rather die now than linger in loneliness and misery and confusion and depression for another twenty years.

I go to see my shrink today, by the way. She cancelled on Tuesday so I'm seeing her today. Maybe later I'll feel "better" about death. (Which translates into not wanting the plane to go down in flames, and so will want you to be outraged for me and will also want you to carry my memory and the meager imprint I may have left on the world).

Do I have anything to uplift you with as I sign off for now? Well, I still think you all are pretty wonderful. Thanks for caring enough to read these words of mine.

See you when I see you!

Some Of Us Are Here ... None Of Us Are Here!

This is dedicated to Scott! The first random fact about himself sent me on a whirlwind of YouTubeAge.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm getting my Phoebe-dancing ON!!!!

Edit Add; after the 245th time watching it, I think what I love The Most is how they all freeze-glomp at the camera on the downbeat, right after the keywords. Guy Smiley and Cookie Monster not being the least of them. TREASURE!!!!!!

Sometimes, I Swear ...

...that I am losing my mind.

It seems that Sundays are the worst days for me. Probably because I should be going to church. But instead I went back to Spring Valley yesterday and creeped myself the hell out.

I grew up in Spring Valley. I met Childhood Bud and his sister (Friday Night Date) in Spring Valley. We grew up together, if you will, in the same apartment 'complex'. So yesterday I went back to the 'complex' as well as drove through familiar streets and parked the car in some choice locations;

1) I went to my old elementary school. I walked around the building and looked into windows. I remembered teachers and events. Mr. Silverberg. Ms. Dubin, who later became Mrs. Factor. Mrs. Rucker. I wanted to go inside so badly. There's still an unuttered sob lodged inside my chest from walking on that ground.

2) I went to my old high school. I was shocked to realize that it is possibly a fifteen minute walk from my elementary school. Back when I lived in Spring Valley, everything seemed miles away from everything else. But I was reminded yesterday that Spring Valley is a small, unkempt little town. My high school is as big as I remember it, but forgotten was the fact that it had two baseball fields and a track behind it. I went up onto the bleachers and called Friday Night Date for remembrance sake. She texted me back that she was working. I don't know how to text in return, so we didn't connect. Good thing we didn't. I think if we did, I'd have bawled like a lunatic. I looked into the highschool windows too. I remembered a school play that Friday Night Date convinced me to join with her, to star opposite her, in the production of Neil Simon's "Plaza Suite". She was Muriel and I was Jesse Kiplinger. The part called for me to kiss her passionately. We were in high school. I wonder what the audience, and more notably, the parents, got out of it.

3) I went to Memorial Park across the brook from our apartments. Again, I actually parked the car and got out. There were HUNDREDS of people there! Apparently the Haitian population had a parade/festival yesterday, and still I left my car and walked in and among them. They all seemed born within only the last 25 years, so there was no danger running into anyone I knew, but I am suprised in hindsight that I had the courage to leave my car and plunge in. I overheard a ghetto-fabulous girl arguing with a playa the difference between "havin' A.D.D. and A.D.H.D." I swear to God. She told homeboy to get his facts straight. I could have fell OUT.

I had Tamia's new album "Between Friends" playing while I drove. She has one song called "Almost" which is a ballad about how crazy it is to miss the love you never had, and to reminisce about kisses you never gave. I played this on steady repeat.

There are so very many points of divergence that I recalled yesterday. What if I had done this, what if I had done that. I stood in spots that I had done 35 years ago. And from head to toe, I feel crammed with regrets and fear and hopelessness. It just seems hard to accept how much time and opportunities I've lost, never to recover.

But there still is the future. From where I am backwards, I am discouraged. But from where I am forward, there still is hope. I can't see it, but I just choose to believe it. I choose to believe it because without hope, I will well and truly lose my mind. Without hope, I might as well drive my car off the George Washington Bridge.

Almost
sung by Tamia
On the album "Between Friends"

(Someone's homemade video of past Tamia vids, put to the song "Almost")

[Verse 1]
Can you tell me
How can one miss what she's never had
How could I reminisce when there is no past
How could I have memories of being happy
with you boy
Could someone tell me how can this be
How could my mind pull up incidents
Recall dates and times that never happened
How could we celebrate a love that's too late
And
how could I really mean the words I'm 'bout to say

[Chorus]
I missed the times that we almost shared
I miss the love that was almost there
I miss the times that we used to kiss
At least in my dreams
Just let me take my time and reminisce
I miss the times that we never had
What happened to us we were almost there
Whoever said it's impossible to miss
What you never had
Never almost had you

I cannot believe I let you go
Or what I should say I should've grabbed you up and never let you go
I should've went out with you
I should've made you my boo boy
Yes that's one time I should've broke the rules
I should've went on a date
Should've found a way to escape
Should've turned a almost into
If it happened now its too late
How could I celebrate a love that wasn't real
And if it didn't happen
why does my heart feel

[Chorus]

You
And you seem to be the perfect one for me
You
You're all that I ever wanted
And you're my everything yes its true
Boy its hard to be close to you
My love
I know it may sound crazy
But I'm in love with you

[Chorus]
I missed the times that we almost shared
I miss the love that was almost there
I miss the times that we use to kiss
At least in my dreams
Just let me take my time and reminisce
I miss the times that we never had
What happened to us we were almost there
Whoever said it's impossible to miss
What you never had
Never almost had you

I missed the times that we almost shared
I miss the love that was almost there
I miss the times that we use to kiss
At least in my dreams
Just let me take the time and reminisce
I miss the times that we never had
What happened to us we were almost there
Whoever said its impossible to miss
What you never had
Never almost had you

Coming And Going

The Adult Hero, who I mentioned before, has signed off from his blog and bid everyone goodbye. He stated that he had finished his divorce and was helped mightily by all the commentors, so he thanked everyone and said he was moving on into dating, and he didn't want to blog about it.

So that's that with him and I wish him a happy life.

Then I realized that I had followed a link from his place to a blog from a 29 yr-old woman of color who lives in NYC. I had bopped by her place in February and was immediately chased away by her frank language and explicit lifestyle details. Yet, this was one of the exact things that made me want to stay at The Adult Hero's blog--the frank language and explicit details. Coming from a guy must have made it palatable to me. Coming from a female, a black one no less, made it seem scary.

That's totally my own baggage. What I want in a guy I totally freak out from in a woman. Guys, masculine and raw. Gals, demure, shy, kind. Viva la difference!

Having said that, I went on a full immersion into her blog. A disclaimer here and now; I have not fallen in love with said blogger, nor do I pine for her. Attracted, heck yes, but I know enough about me to know that I'd not last for a solid half hour with her. Not only would I be too unnerved to be my usual cool and witty self, but I wouldn't be enough of a man for her in the longterm. In fact, the kind of men she is attracted to (and currently in a four month relationship with, meeting his parents and whatnot) are the same type of men that I'M attracted to. And when I say "I'm attracted" to them, I mean what I always mean--I want to BE this type of man, I'm sexually inspired by this type of man, I idolize this type of man.

Anyway, what am I saying?

At the gym today, I saw for the second day in a row, a woman who looks very much like my ex-girlfriend. She is as short and as solid and athletic as my ex. And her face looks like my ex's face. This girl at the gym seems to have my personality too. She doesn't talk to anyone while she's about her business. Not being a chatty attention-sponge actually winds up getting my attention. That and she's one of about three black women I've ever seen in that gym since I joined last year, a distinction that she and I share. I wonder if she notices me?

But about 69% of my brain asks me what does it matter that I'm noticing her, and blogging about her? Blogging about the Gym Girl is like blogging about the Adult Blog Girl. I know I'll never communicate in a meaningful way to either. I'll never open up and invite them into my own life, and if I did, I know I wouldn't be enough for them to stay with me.

Poor pitiful widdle me. :D

But it's on my mind, and I blog, and so here it lies.

My opening line, "Why do I notice you lately?"

In my dreams.

A Very Honorable Mention

Escape Pod!!

I left a heartfelt comment here, and in the latest episode here, after the new story is read, at the 36:20 mark, Stephen Eley made my response the Comment Of The Week! He read a little bit of it, and now it'll be a part of Escape Pod history forever!

How cool is that? Especially when, at first shopping around with what to do with My Hero's fictional adventures, I asked Stephen if he'd consider fan-fiction for his show. He was very encouraging in his e-mail response, but told me 'no'. Then he invited me to write something that was sellable. Since then the fan-fiction has gone on into audio adventures, and I went on to write a novel in November (still out at Tor Books, sitting in the lap, I hope, of my favorite editor couple, one-half of which I discovered is up for a Hugo award as "Best Professional Editor - Long Form").

And while we're at it, here's a reference to the story that My Other Hero read for Escape Pod, which also made me cry. The fact that Alex lent his voice and his talent to it didn't hurt any. (Alex is another of those Real Men I spoke of earlier).

Real Men

I'm just feeling really inspired by them at the moment. Scott's post has left me abuzz with male bonding, 35 years ago and two states away from the fact.

He tells of a childhood experience that I've imagined about, not overly so, but enough to know those opportunities are precious and the lessons learned are eternal.

The crux (worth reading for yourself, and remember, I knew him before he was published! Sort of!); a team of young boys are told by an adult male that he is proud of each and every one of them. In my mind and heart, I believe this male imprint on a boys' life is what makes a man.

My cynical eye seems to only notice the opposite. The blustering stud at the gym whose every other word starts with 'f' and rhymes with duckin'. The pencil-thin emo kid in the city wearing black eyeliner. The Jersey City gangbanger marking his territory with bullets and babies' mamas. And yes, we roleplaying savants, rolling our polyhedral dice and pretending for months' worth of hours that we are brave and strong and true. WHERE WERE THE MEN IN THESE BOYS' LIVES?

Scott is bringing me into a new world. His, and those who read him regularly. Fathers and husbands who are articulate and sensitive and attentive. I may never have seen the following, but it needs to be seen. What would a poker table filled with those kind of men be like? What kind of jokes would those kind of men tell? How much better would communities and nations be if those kind of men formed the power communities? Men not ashamed to say they cried. Men who like love songs. Men who love their children and are proud of them, and show affection to them. Men who value their wives. Men who pass on tales to empower, encourage, uplift, express.

Real men.