Dontchange

So, can I pick 'em or what? My Super Hero remains my friend. He said ZERO things have changed.

You know, it seems pretty clear that I'm on my way out of the closet. I seem to be taking it a step at a time, choosing with who and how to reveal. CoasterPunchman walked me through an exercize by e-mail a few months ago that had me face my exact fears about identifying myself as "A Gay American." I've tackled two of those fears on that list now, meanwhile testing waters here at my blog, taking my time, having my panic attacks, crying a little every day, mourning my heterosexuality in my own way, trying to adopt a new dream for my life, trying to still feel human and love-able and ... redeemable.

Well, a few minutes ago, I looked for a music video because I wanted to punctuate one of my messageboard posts with the theme of a song and after I found what I thought was perfect, I realized it had another meaning for another aspect of my life.

So, here you go--I knew I had to post it here--let the tears flow freely. God knows mine did.

Okay. Okay.

So yeah, my heart's in my throat. How does that happen? I LITERALLY feel my heart beating right at the level of my sternum, right below my Adam's Apple. Because I just sent The Letter to My Super Hero giving up The Last Reveal about me. You know, the whole sex thing? The whole "me" and "not being as straight as I wished I were" thing?

Yeah. And if my impressions of My Super Hero is accurate, this won't go as horribly, horribly horribly maddeningly horrific as it could be. He won't feel deceived and lied-to about me. He won't think all this has just been one big same-sex crush and an elaborate scheme to create a big jerk-off fantasy (which it never ever has. My Super Hero embodies the ideal for me--the me I want to be, removed from all corruption and molestations and illicit seedy porno sex). He's the innocence of reading comics at nine, dreaming about justice and fairness and how to be a hero and a man. He's married and all that, but that's not who he is for me. For me, he's the recapture of a childhood I'll never be able to have had. He's my escape when the world is too brutal again.

So why did I do this? Why did I tell him? Why didn't I just keep it out of all conversation, as I have been doing? Well, because we're friends, he and I. I mean we really get on really well. And sometime I have just not been there for him because of my struggles and my ups and my downs, and sometimes I feel like I've let him down so much and I just wanted him to know why. I thought that because of all he means to me and because of all he's done for my mind and my spirit, I felt he deserved to be let in. That he deserved to be trusted, I guess. Yeah, that's it. He deserves to be trusted with this.

Still, I'm just so scared that despite everything I've tried to be, and everything I've wished for and all the purest motives this bent frame could conceive of, that I'll be misunderstood and rejected. That my heart will be broken and that I'll no longer be AFOMA. And while he'll have the right to turn away from the secret-keeping little perv that I am, since it is HIS life and he gets to decide who HE wants in it, it would just crush me. It would be just so awful.

And I would survive. And I would find new supports, or call you guys up and cry on your shoulder until we both drowned, but .... I would recover.

Right?

Right?

Oh God. Please. Have mercy on me. I just hate all this. Why did this have to be me? Why couldn't I just be like anyone else?

In Which The Life Of Our Hero Dramatically Changes

So I got in touch with My Hero. What else do you do when you're Jimmy Olsen and you find yourself in danger?

The danger was, I felt as though I had been thrust into an alternate reality wherein the opportunity actually existed for happiness and I was extremely ill-prepared.

So my hero gave me heroic advice on the order of "Do something, and do it now. Don't wait until Valentine's Day is past." For you see, My Hero is a "right now" kind of guy. I tend to elevate this type of action-man. All my heroes are men who shape their own destinies. They take charge. They excel. And being that I want to be my own hero someday, I go to my heroes and get advice. And sometimes I follow it.

Like I did this weekend. My Hero said I should go back to The Past Girl's worksite and invite her for lunch. For full details as to the why, go here.) And since I had plans on Valentine's Day already (oh didn't I tell you? Yeah, Childhood Bud's wife & kids were going out of town and he wanted to see the same kind of play we saw in the summer what with the kicking and the martial arts and the geek genre small house indie vibe). And since it wasn';t exactly Valentine's Day faire, I thought it might be good for her to go through her Valentine's Day distracted -- with me.

We didn't have lunch on Friday, but we did talk for a good hour, and I showed her the play website and invited her to come with us. I gave her my number and left it up to her. She programmed it into her phone and after some last words, I left. Within those words, she seemed a little unsure about the geekery. She was revealing a bit of a virginity when it came to the vampire comboys. But she said she'd definitely let me know.

Saturday morning I awoke to a text she left. Someone in her family had come up from South to visit with her and her father. She was staying put but wants me to invite her out again the next time. And she's calling me "Friend."

So like that, life's changed. I have a new "friend." I mean, I don't know how "friendly" she means us to be. I don't know if I effectively chased her away with my geek display. She did say she loved "a Nerd" not "a geek." Maybe I overwhemled her. Maybe she was just being nice. Maybe she'll let me down gently for the next few times I ask her out.

Or maybe I'm just too soon in her grieving process.

But whatever is the maybe, I will be attempting to see where this can lead. If nothing else, maybe I'll have a fun, positive lady friend that I can go to movies with and have quick bites to eat with. Someone that I'm ready for.

We'll see, huh? Together?

Christmas Magic

I have three presents that I put near my Christmas "tree" because they don't fit under it. (It's my display tree from last year. I haven't moved it all year. I didn't want to, lol! It's PRETTY.)


The presents arrived in total surprise to me. They came from one of the dearest people in my life, who happens to be the farthest away from me in geography. It seems that if we lived in the same town, we'd somehow be best friends. But I say that about everyone. I feel so much. I latch on. I dream.

But this person, this gift-giving wish-granter, is pro-active. This person does when I don't. This person reaches out when I can't. This person likes me. Values me. Thinks things about me that I still haven't been able to think about myself. And I know this person isn't the only one, but is the only one who sent me presents. *GRIN*

And now I don't even want to open them. Just like the Christmas display, the sight of wrapped presents is enough. They don't look like they contain anything more important to me than the love that they are wrapped with. What other kind of love feels better than this? I honestly don't know. I honestly have not experienced it. But this?

Oh this feels so damn good.

This is magical.

This is Christmas.

The Night Is MINE

I bowed out of "Thanksgiving With The Perfects". Haha.

I was driving toward an exit from Manhattan and saw the traffic and realized that the Thanksgiving Day parade traffic was heading back to New Jersey and so I was about to take a long slow aggravating drive to eat turkey. And I had already stopped wanting to go a few days ago. So I called MFTD and took a raincheck. It probably bothered him a little, but hey. He had an anniversary dinner in the city a few days ago with his wife and he didn't miss me then, so I figured he'd survive Thanksgiving without me too.

So instead I drove to down to the Upper West Side and had good but way overpriced crabcakes in an oyster bar on Broadway. I read Entertainment Weekly's article of the 50 Sexiest Movies of all time while I ate, and let the other paired diners scrutinize my Alone Self with my lowbrow magazine and silently allowed them permission to kiss my big red ass if they were so inclined. :-D I left a generous tip and smiled my way along Broadway.

Thing is I'm not alone this Thanksgiving. I have about twenty voices that I'm mixing into a cohesive production of adventure and action. My latest mancrush acquiesced to be the villain of the story, and My Hero is also doing his amazing hero's role, and I had already finished the scene where they meet for the first time and absolutely loved it before I set out to mooch bird across the river. So after the crabcakes, I came rushing back home to finish more of the production.

Let me tell you what it's like for me to produce these; it's like being the Dungeon Master in a game of D&D with the people you've seen and loved on TV, only one step beyond that. Because now they aren't just people on TV, they're your friends. They've broken the fourth wall, stepped out into your room, scratched their butts, and asked if there's anything to eat in the fridge (EUW!). They've gone from celebrity to human in one fell swoop, bringing their cool ass toys to play with you in your sandbox. Imagine being a musician and your favorite contemporary recording artist comes over to your house for a jam session. Or you're a cook, and a famous chef comes over for dinner with his favorite wine and frying pan. Or you run a daycare and Angelina Jolie brings all her kids over and helps you run the center.

You see? So I'd much rather sit here all day and take the powerful growl of my mancrush and mix it together so that he's torturing my earnest, purehearted hero. They recorded these parts for me. They took time out of their lives, took my script, and fleshed out roles from my imagination better than I had even imagined them. It's playland and fantasy and inspiration and love and giggles and swooning and way better than turkey.

Even so, have a Happy One alla yous.

It's all good, but right now it's GREAT!

Woo HOO!

Media Me!

Go to my socially palatable site for the link to a radio interview about my production hobby involving My Hero. About 60% into the show the interviewer and the guest (My Hero's successor) talk about lil' ole me (YAY ME!) and play a clip from the upcoming show.

California Dreamin'

So here is where you can find my pics of my vacation.

Thanks to My Hero, I can't think of anything but happiness when I think of California. Not that I'll move out there anytime soon. I'm a New Yorker, born and bred. But for vacation spots--yeah. The bestest ever! (Until I get in swimsuit shape and take my first trip to a tropic island).

As to the Crazy Plane Girl tally, Dawn has tilted the seesaw into the "RUN!!!" category. Which was my inclination at the start. Which is why I asked for advice, in case it was just me being the unmedicated me. And which is why I haven't called her, with or without advice. Too many warning flags. She needs me in a professional capacity, not a personal one--and still, no. I'm not the only therapist on the east coast.

Thanks all! Enjoy the pics!

Flawed

(Since I couldn't stop responding in the Comments section, I turned it into a post)

Scott don't be surprised, my friend. I have nothing to excuse myself and I didn't make a slip of the tongue, I just didn't want to think of myself as lacking the nutrient. I want to be self-sufficient, muscular, handsome, sexy, confident, funny, masculine, rich, and some other things I haven't thought of yet. I could accept going to a therapist for my own emotional upsets, but not that I might have a chemical imbalance. (I also hate that I have a pot belly that is turning into a cauldron). I could accept what I think is a weakness in someone else, but not for myself. It's wrong. I idealize too much. I acknowledge that.

But I'm relieved the rest of your response is a support to me because it means you haven't written me off for this flawed thinking. That's what I care about. You're a friend that can accept my mistakes.

It's more than possible--maybe probable--that the feeling of "expertise" in mental health has become a great deal of my identity and there wasn't room for that chink in this armor.

But I've spoken to my therapist and she gave me some references for psychiatry, so next week I'm going to see someone and hopefully start taking some meds. No matter how wrongheaded I thought about it, I'm getting what I might need in that department.

Today was my first visit to the Convention (I shall have pictures) and you know what I saw? I saw Geek Girls. Of all variety. Black ones, white ones, young ones, costumed ones, thin ones, round ones. At least two of them were friendly to me, enough to make me feel the slightest comfort and encouragement to return the friendliness. And the greatest fact was/is that we were all the same. None wearing the t-shirt, but they didn't have to. This was our element. It was implicit that I was not going to reject them for being there, and they were not going to reject me for the same. One of the girls, I had an honest in with--I had already met her at Geek Central, online. In person, I found her comely.

I won't over-dramatize my reaction to these golden opportunities. Suffice it to say that I did nothing past the "Hello" and the smile I offered. As usual. So here it is, the right type of people, and I got nothin'.

I hope others have felt the thing I'm about to describe, and comment on it please, but this is what happens...

I look up and notice it's a "she" as we brush against one another politely in the throng of people. She enunciates in the clear, clipped tone of the genius geek, "Excuse me." and I do the same. I find her few words are an iceberg tip, full of promise and possibility. I say, "Yeah, no I'm sorry," and I smile because I liked her voice, and that she's here and that she's cute. And I think of how to make this last a little longer, or how to put a bookmark in it for a later return, and then a spike of fear pulses in my chest like Barry Allen's symbol and I continue my walk. We're going in the same direction, but I know I'm done. I'm not going to say anything else. No, "Is this your 2nd NYCC?" no "Did you score any goodies?" or a whole host of normal conversational rejoinders that would not have hurt me in the slightest to say. And as the immediate crush fades and the people meander out of the clutch we found ourselves in, she walks off to nowhere and I do the same. I glance back and see that she does not. And on I go.

That pulse of fear caused me to turn around the first time I saw one of my podcaster buddies at his podcasting table in podcasting alley where at Geek Central he practically begged everyone to come by and see him. I could have just walked up and said "Hey!" the first time, but I couldn't. I turned and walked in the other direction until my heart stopped racing. Then I approached from the opposite direction. He had no idea I had hesitated. For a half an hour.

My Hero didn't come to this convention, but his two runners-up did. The heroine who stood with him at the show's conclusion was at her table in Autograph Alley and was offering big smiles to passersby. There was no line to contend with. I could have walked right up to her to say, "My Hero sends his regards!" I could have walked right up to her and said a thousand things. And she would have greeted me with the same smile, or maybe something even more familiar since last year I worked the line for her and My Hero. But I said nothing. I kept moving. My mouth was dry and my heart was doing that wonderful little staccato it likes to do.

This? This is irrationality. This is a social anxiety. I can't think of any other term for it. None of those people mean me any harm. I am in good standing with at least two of them and no doubt attractive to the third. But my heart goes, "No!" and before its finished my head goes, "Yeah, no, dude get outta there!"

And those were the people I did meet, to say nothing of the people I wanted to meet.

I did eventually manage to fight through some of that fear and actually initiate a conversation--but it was with a guy wearing a costume and I wanted to take his picture, and he let me, and then I was gone.

Scott, Ned, it is fear of rejection, apparently, but is my reaction to that fear a normal one? It doesn't feel like it. It feels like my animal self is taking over WAY out of proportion to any actual threat.

And now I'm finishing this post on a Saturday morning (started it yesterday) instead of going down to the convention on-time to meet My Friend The Doctor and his brother because I'm thinking of how miserable its going to feel to want to be somebody else all day long, instead of being able to enjoy my-fuc&ing-self for a change.

And if I hurt Tom because of my being an asshole in that original post from whence cometh this one, then I all the more wish I were somebody else, because that is SO not ever what I wanted to do. Tom, if you would post back and tell me I'm an asshole and accept my apology, that would be really great. Please.

So I'm going to take meds and see what happens. I've tried everything else (including blogging) short of alcohol and illegal substances. It can't be any worse than this.

Bump In The Road

It may be that I scared off Match Girl. It also may be that she's busy enjoying her vacation with her sister and didn't want to step away from her to write to me just yet. It also also may be that I'll get an e-mail from her the second I post this.

I also had a chat last night with My Mentor, the guy who stepped in as my father figure when I went out to Missouri in hopes of becoming the next best thing in religious circles. My having left the religious circles didn't stop him from caring about me, but in the last year, I hadn't called him. In hindsight, I was stepping away from him because of all the alternatives I was considering. He would not have approved. He doesn't approve of my current plan, at his core, but he was supportive anyway. His solution for my life is to get back in church. That was his closing line as we disengaged the call, and to my surprise I laughed involuntarily for about two minutes. It was just so him. And I remember when things were that simple--when I didn't doubt the voracity of the Bible or the intention of God for humanity.

Anyway, the reason Match Girl might be gone is that I unloaded my Geekdom on her in my last e-mail. She wanted to know the reason for my screen name, which is the name of a comicbook title. So I explained ... everything. I sent her a link to the audio drama (at broken sea dot com) and told her about My Hero. I just had to. She expressed value in a man who was dedicated to anything, a career, a hobby--just something. So I showed her that I was. But from another perspective, maybe it made me look childish. She's pretty successful--maybe I no longer fit her ideals.

In which case, I'll recover. I wouldn't change who I am or what I like, so whoever's in my future has got to accept me and my everythings. I wonder how long I should wait until I wink at Match Girl II?

And This Just In From The "Dreams Come True" Dept...

A reminder (to myself) that dreams can come true. I just got this link this morning after posting last night about the fatherless kid.

I'm Just Sayin'

Google it! :D

Better yet, let me!

Sci Fi Is My Middle Name

Go here to find out why.

Progress 101

First, my hobby went live on Thursday, and I've neglected to share it with you guys. I figured since it's science fiction/fantasy, readers here might not be that interested. But hey, here's the link, oh, and I have an acting part in it too, so you might want to listen to it for that.

Secondly, I have an interview with the counselor who runs his own center and his own radio show on the station that I listen to for arts programming. A few weeks ago when I told my therapist about this guy, she suggested I go ahead and follow through with a resume. She also guided me on what to put in the cover letter. Whereas I was ready to spill my guts as I do here on the blog, my therapist suggested that I do not. She said that they would probably just want to know about my professional qualifications rather than my personal ones, and if they wanted to know personal stuff, they'd ask me in the interview.

Well, "they" is a man in probably his sixties if not seventies. He has a kind and gravelly voice and he strikes me as a wise and caring man who I cannot wait to meet. He speaks with a sense of compassion and a sense of humor. And I like the jazzy music that he plays in his radio breaks.

Now here's the kicker.

His offices are across the street from Carnegie Hall. That's how midtown Manhattan this place is. and I'm interviewing with him on Wednesday morning to take on clients there.

My heart is speeding up a little just typing this. Because ... can I tell you this is insanely dream-come-true? I told this guy that I wanted him to supervise me. I told him that I wanted to be the kind of counselor that he seems to be. I meant every single word of it. Worst-Case Scenario Man sez he just wants to interview me so I can come in and stroke his ego, but WCS Man is a fool. This guy isn't going to waste time out of his day to see me when he's got listeners and clients who he most likely gets plenty of validation from.

And apart from working for this guy, and with this guy, ITS IN MIDTOWN MANHATTAN!!

I've dreamed of working and living in Manhattan for all of my life. And now looky-looky what's a'happening to little old me. I think he'll approve of me. I think he'll use me. Because I think I'm good at it. With all my ups, downs, and sideways, this is the one skill I don't think I've ever lost confidence in. I haven't always have felt the strength to plunge into it, but I do now.

So Lara, this connection definitely makes me smile.

Let's see what else is ahead in 2008! B-D

Re-Evaluated

Thus ends three days of communion with My Hero. I have words to use, and they would do the job, but still it wouldn't be adequate. But I can tell you this; I was able to stammer out my thanks like Big Sad did Rocky. We had a quality conversation. (Included were your 'hellos', Steve. And someone told him it was my birthday tomorrow. He gave me a present. It's amazing that I could feel so close to someone so far away.)

Tonight, he went off to his plane in the company of the promoter and his son. He left me with a big hug (yes, My Hero is a huge hugger) and an enormous person-shaped vacuum in my chest. I went alone back to my car and weighed myself in the balance.

It isn't My Hero that I need. I need my other half. I'm just not a whole person. I can't be filled with the joy of quality companionship for three days and not notice the subzero absence of it when it hops on a plane to rejoin its life in California with its wife and two dogs. I may have a lot to offer as a friend, but I'm nothing compared to his Other Half, and rightfully so.

As I left the airport, I realized that I should either be driving away with my someone, or heading home to them as quickly as my tires could carry me.

I now know the difference. I'm not just Alone. I'm Lonely.

Cry If I Want To

Alternative side of the street parking suspended? Check.
One roommate in Timbuktu, or it's geographic equivalent (in other words, Not Here)? Check.
The other roommate departed way before I awoke? Check.
Lay in bed until I dang well felt good and ready to move? Check.
Surfed channels to watch Kella Ripa, Matthew Perry in a horrible comedy, the news, Robert DeNiro in a horrible comedy, the weather, an infomercial on how to make more money than God, the traffic, snippets of the movie "Fame", and Cher as a trashy mom trying to raise her facial/cranially deformed son? Check.

Things were going well.

Then my left eye dropped a tear, and the right eye--not to be outdone--dropped its twin with cinematic perfection.

At first I was going to title the post, Shouldn't Be Crying This Early In The AM. But then I thought, nah.

See, Rocky Dennis was getting his awards in the ceremony at his Jr. High. And his trashy Mom, along with her biker boyfriend and their crew, were on their feet, all loud, being embarrassingly encouraging for the boy with the big, bloated head. And one of the bikers, who I will call Big Sad, looked especially choked up--almost tragically so.

So afterwards, when Rocky watched the girl of his dreams go off to Summer with Blonde Hunk, and his family gathered around for a second round of rowdy congrats, Big Sad biker steps again to the forefront to lay a special one on Rocky. He's fat, he's hairy, and he's got tears in his eyes.

"I'm ... v-very ... p-proud ... of ... you ... R- ... R-Rocky."

Seems the Big Sad has a Big Speech Impediment, and physical defect was something he shared with Rocky. So he saw Rocky achieve something despite his "handicap" and Big Sad decided he would achieve something too. Tears were in Cher's eyes and they were in Sam Elliot's eyes as the scene was shot. They were in Big Sad's eyes, of course, and then they were in my eyes too.

Did I cry because I was moved by that sudden, unexpected bond between the two struggling outcast characters? Did I overidentify?

And why did the actors in the scene get choked up? Were they just commanded by the director? Or do most people know what it's like to be the Big Sad guy, watching a hero triumph and then feeling the personal victory of it because the hero represents the person inside of you. The person that you want so badly to be. Especially when that hero has flaws--it brings you that much closer because they know, like you do, what it means to struggle. And when they win, not only do you win--but everyone like you wins. Everyone who has ever known what it means to be alone and lost and hopeless and scared. Everyone who ever asked the question, "why me?"

Which, actually, is everyone.

It's all of us. Why do we hide it under layers of fashion and muscles and bravado and shallow sophistication? Why do we segregate ourselves into cliques of Better Thans? We're every one of us alone. We're all inside these skins alone.

And that makes us Not Alone At All.

Tonight I go to see My Hero. I've written my expressions of admiration and gratitude in several different ways so that he and others can read, but every time we're in earshot of one another I only usually manage to say surface "Aren't I Clever, Please Don't Hate Or Leave Me" things. Treading water to keep him in my life.

Tonight, the way Big Sad did to Rocky Dennis, I'm going to stammer out my appreciation. Even if it kills me. It just feels like something I should do.

Oh, that, and get a haircut.

Last night at B&N, I made the mistake of telling Jabberjaw that my birthday was on Monday. She asked how old I was going to be. Me, thinking I had made perfect peace with it through the last series of posts and comment responses, went ahead and told her.

"No way," said she. I watched the muscles in her face systematically fall, cord by cord. "Well," she said as she attempted to recover, "You look great!"

How did my age become equivalent to brain cancer that she thought I needed consolation? "Jabberjaw. She's mostly harmless too." My ass.

Toxic

I've spoken about this friend of mine before, and I need to vent about him again.

To anyone else, I would suggest they excise the following type of person from their life;

Everything is "bad" with this guy. He sees the wrong in everyone and everything. He bullies us in his friend-group, slings insults, and struts around with his knuckles dragging. He constantly compares his fitness against our chubbiness, his meager one inch height difference above mine, his fighting abilities, his this and his that. It's like he lives his entire life in competition with everyone, and he always has to be the best. Once when we were gaming, I was about to make a decision that would adversely affect his PC, and he threatened to leave. I lost a LOT of respect for him that night.

But you might ask why I hadn't lost any respect for him before that night if everything I described has been his modus operandi? Well, mancrush, that's why. I admired him for his masculinity and his strong personality. But now I'm just seeing his qualities as toxic. My mancrush on him died a while ago.

So throughtout the day, he rang my phone three times, leaving a message once, so he could 'commiserate' some bad news with me. The bad news did not pertain to him, it pertained to My Hero. Something was promised to My Hero and the result fell pitifully short of what everyone who cared had expected. Fortunately, I already knew how far short of the mark the promise would fall, because we were dealing with an unreliable source to begin with. So I had not been looking forward to the promise anyway. But the sci fi community is up in arms about it.

Now let me clarify. This friend in question doesn't even like My Hero. Despite everything that he knows about me, and my relationship with My Hero, he refuses to even try. He doesn't respect my opinions about My Hero, nor trust my judgment about My Hero. He just refuses to accept My Hero because His Hero didn't win.

So why did he try to reach me three times today to tell me what an awful deal My Hero got, and how he feels bad for him? Because he is drawn to bad news like flies are drawn to steaming piles, that's why. And because he wanted to gloat under the disguise of commiseration. And because he's toxic and unhappy.

But My Hero? The movie wasn't the prize for him. The love of people who care for him and support his dream to do good in the world--that's the real prize. Go check him out at his convention appearances and he'll show you for himself how much he appreciates you.

Too bad my toxic friend can't see that. But given his nature, he wouldn't anyway. Sad. This friend actually used to be one of my heroes.

There's A Little Black Spot On The Sun Today ...

I did my best! I did my best! Yay, Dane Cook--etching himself forever in the minds of millions whenever they're ready for a good cry. Well, Dane and a bunch of others are crowding around right now, waiting for me to let one go.

I was doing well, really, but the closer I get to my 76-hour work week (starts on Monday) and the more I think about Mike Wieringo's death, the more I feel like having a little meltdown. In less than two months, I'll lose the glamour of being "The Answer To Life, The Universe, and Everything." In other words, I'll be 43. Is there a sexy way to present the number 43? Can I pretend that 43 is the new 23? The new 33?

Mike Wieringo was to me what I might be to some of you. I never met him, but I read his blog. He was a great artist who took comments to his blog and responded at times--but he'd get like 40+ responses at times. He also posted the sketches he would make at the start of his day, which he used to get his juices flowing so he could accomplish his page goals for that day. But he took the time to blog his thoughts as well. Sometimes he would talk about his brother. Sometimes he would talk about his dog or his car. Or an animal he rescued in the road. But sometimes he would talk about how much time he spent at the drawing table, as opposed to out to dinner on a date. He didn't go on and on, like I do, but it might be one little sentence fragment, or a few inserts in a verbal interview. I just felt so much like him--a creator in our 40's, alone in our rooms--talking to the world, but not really a part of it.

That's why I go out to the #1 Train for no reason. I sometimes have to literally pick myself up by the scruff of the neck and thrust myself out of the house. I go, sit on the train, and watch people as I travel downtown. I felt like I had a major breakthru when I spoke to the acquaintance the one time, and the old guy the other week. But then I go up to the steps of the Karaoke bar ... and I freeze. There's a wall there that no one but me and Mike Wieringo can see.

I don't want to die in a year, a month, and two weeks, alone at home, never having done these things. I want Mike Wieringo to come back and have the chance to break out of these self-imposed walls, and then tell me how he did it. Or I want to be able to write him a letter and tell him some of the things I do to get out of the house. I cared for his struggle. It was mine.

I didn't mean to claim high drama and relapse back into the moan-and-groan, but the one line keeps going through my mind as I imagine Mike Wieringo's death and the fears his absence conjures up inside of me right now. Then when I looked up the lyrics that follow the one line, I couldn't help but admit that they apply.
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Well, this just in ... one of the quality people on the planet just swung by and gave of themselves to help me out. It wasn't money. It was time. And concern. And encouragement. And insight. I'm not quite as lonely anymore. Nor as scared.

Heroes exist for a reason.

So that's alright then.

Rest In Peace, Mike Wieringo. Your struggle is over, and while you were here, you enhanced the lives of millions much the way flowers and rainbows do. You gave our world a little bit more color.

My Comment Evolved Into A Post

I started this as a response to S*, and then it exploded out of the petrie dish and squidged across the floor, eating a lab assistant on its way out of the reinforced doors. (Don't worry, Larry died bravely.)

To quote;

Well where were you back when I hit puberty? :D

Let me make myself clear; my blog is the place I come to do process. So what you see here is me in transition. I'm not looking for excuses to stay the way I am -- I blog to help myself move forward.

All the "stop pitying yourself and move on" is helping, but not enough. I get it that I need to move on with my life. That's why I'm blogging, because I know that.

What I think would help me a little more is to hear something more specific as to how to move on. That is also why I go to therapy. I need a "how to". It's funny in a not-really kind of way, but if I had a patient who came to me with my problem, I'd be able to think it through better for him than I can for myself. Either that, or I'd refer the guy out to another therapist.

Another thing I want to make clear is that I'm not content to pity myself. Pity is not what I want from anyone or from myself.

What I'm looking for is strength. I want the thing that seems to get inside of most people and propels them into relationships, for better or worse.

To that end, I am using the good examples that have been coming into my life in the form of
heroes. <--This link will take you to my more postive process of acknowledging strength so that I may try to acquire it.

When I have less than stellar days, and when I can't find the mechanism to bridge the gap between what I am and what I see in my heroes, I come here to get it out of my system.

But I will tell you something else I got from my therapist--she said that maybe I should just pretend I have the qualities that I'm looking for until I feel like I actually have them. She also suggested that maybe that was how my heroes got to where they are too.

What do you guys think? Is that a "how to"? I'd really like your responses to this one.

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!

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).