The Runcible Blog

 Of the many ill-advised things I've done, perhaps the most risky has been my "home healthcare" tendencies.  You see, I avoid doctors and medicine as much as I possibly can, and so far, I'm still alive.  It's not that I'm particularly afraid of doctors but rather that it always seems like a big production to see one.  I'd rather live in pain or figure out how to cure myself than use the telephone to make an appointment with someone who knows much more about my body than I ever could.

The first incidence I can remember was my lengthy battle with a plantar wart that I neglected to treat early on and turned into a very nasty growth on the bottom of my foot.  I think I tried the liquid wart removal solutions, but by the time I got around to caring about it, it had grown too much for those measly drug store concoctions.  When it became painful to walk, I finally turned to drastic measures:  a swiss army knife and pliers.  One night, I gouged and pulled on that sucker, ripping the patch of skin right off.  After that, my foot was cured!  That plantar wart never came back.  And it only took a little temporary discomfort.

Last year, I had another foot problem.  I awoke one night with a terrible pain in my toe, as if it had suddenly broken (since I've never had a broken bone, I don't really know what that feels like).  I didn't see anything wrong, but after a few days (or was it weeks?) of pain in my toe, the toenail fungus started to become more visible.  I was relieved that it was merely fungus and not something more mysterious and dangerous, but I didn't do much to treat it.  When the fungus spread to an adjacent toe, I started to apply some lame anti-fungal liquid thing (who knows, maybe it was the same stuff I used on the plantar wart?).  I don't think that stuff made any difference, but eventually my toenail fell off.  After a while, I think the organism ran its course and gave up on my toe.  The toenail grew back, and the adjacent toe fended off the fungal invasion.  And I never had to visit a doctor.

Well, here's where it gets interesting (or disturbing...).  For the past few years -- I can't remember when it first appeared -- I've had a strange little lump in a private place.  For a while, I was worried about what this thing was, enough that I did see some kind of doctor about it.  All she was able to tell me was that it wasn't an STD and was a "skin blemish" or something like that.  I was disappointed that she couldn't do anything about it (and that I waited for the doctor for nothing), but at least I wasn't as worried about it.  Of course, I still had no idea what it could be.  It was like a tiny bean just under the surface of the skin.  But it didn't move or anything.

Fast forward a couple years to a few days ago, when I noticed that it started to get a little inflamed and puffy.  Uh-oh.  What could've brought this on?  I don't know.  But it's been looking more like a blister and feeling irritating.  To make a long story slightly less long, a little while ago I rummaged through my things and found a sewing needle.  I poked a hole in the faux-blister, bleeding a little bit and excreting a strange little bean.  WTF?  I examined it on the end of the needle, but it's not like anything I recognize.  And unfortunately, I think there's still another "bean" under the skin.  So, I've got a gash on a private part, and apparently I have a mysterious bean factory under my skin, waiting to go into production unless I put the kibosh on it.

I think this time I'll figure out how to see a doctor.  Unless anybody has some hair-brained suggestions for me to try....

 

In some ways, the breakup with lee lee felt easier.  In our rational moments, we knew that we couldn't be together because we drove each other crazy.  Things hadn't been going well, and neither one of us had been supportive of the other.  Although I had been in denial because I always thought we could work out our problems, at least part of me knew that holding onto something destructive was taking a toll on both of us.  

After we separated, there were times when we weren't rational, but I think it was clear that lee lee didn't want me.  She started seeing other people soon after, which she told me about during the times when we irrationally saw each other.  In contrast, the few silly dates that I went on didn't amount to much except comedic fodder and disappointment.  All the while, the situation with lee lee was confusing and crazy.  Even if I sometimes thought things would change and that we'd patch things up, the reality hadn't changed -- we were the same stubborn people.

 

Despite being more guarded and cynical today, it's harder for me to get through the past month's events.  If only Katie had been cold to me or told me she found someone else (or someone from her past...).  But to choose to be alone?  I've never had the strange misfortune of too many people falling in love with me or the feeling of needing a large amount of time for myself.  I'm alone for the vast majority of my time -- at work, at play, into the world, or stuck indoors.  The times when I don't feel alone are the experiences of mutual intimacy with someone who cares enough to know me and is willing to share the equal respect and honesty that I think everybody deserves.  It's tough for me to appreciate wanting to be alone.

Katie has said that she wants me in her life, somehow.  Maybe she's changed her mind since then, or maybe not.  But either way, if I think of the different logical possibilities, none of the available ones look good right now.  That's the worst -- to be left with no good options.  I find myself walking in the woods where the snow has covered every trail, and none of them leads anywhere.... something like that.

 

Well, I'm at risk of missing dinner again if I don't get up and forage.  I'll try to keep these thoughts stuffed up in my head with the rest of the mess.

 

 

 

THE STATE OF THE UNION ADDRESS ISN'T EVEN OVER YET, BUT I WANT TO SMASH MY TV.

 

 

This is the most divisive speech I've heard in a long time.  No wonder I usually tune this crap out.

 

 

 

"The greatest weakness of all is the great fear of appearing weak."

Jacques BeNigne Bossuet

To be honest, I'm a little worried about Dave.  He should get out more and meet new people.  There's no use getting bogged down by one hard time.  Besides, if it were the real thing, it would've been obvious, right?

 

Going to see a show last night reinforced the feeling in my mind that I'm not interested in relating to people right now. People seem more shallow and blend together in a drab grey. Where are the organic people; the saturated ones? I know where one of them is.

Every time I open my wallet, this photo stares back at me, and I'm reminded that I should remove it or hide it lest anyone question my enduring feelings. As if anyone would notice but me. I notice and feel ashamed. But I haven't removed the photo.

I'm not inspired to do much lately. Winter's touch has always kept me indoors, where these days I noodle on the guitar, waste time reading junk on the internet, or watch lousy movies. Sure, I'm not always moping, but when she stares at me from my wallet or the wall, or she invades my dreams or clouds my thoughts while I listen to music, what can I do?

 

Today I bought a guitar from Sandy's Music across the street. I had been meaning to check the place out since I've lived in the area, but I hadn't gotten around to it until now. It's a pretty neat store, and Sandy seems like a cool guy with lots of stories. Because I'm a terrible guitarist who just wants to noodle around, I looked for the cheapest acoustic I could get. I ended up buying the second cheapest guitar, which was covered with dust, smells like cigarettes, and sounds somewhat lousy. But I like it.

While I was in there, Sandy was talking to another customer about business (or the lack thereof). He mentioned that Beck and other members of his band once bought guitars there. Well, that just about sealed the deal for me! If Sandy's is good enough for Beck, it's good enough for me!

I'll never be as talented or as cool as Beck, but here's a cover nonetheless:

Happy (belated) Introvert Day

I know nothing of love
that blossoms in Autumn,
with Nature-defying ease.

It grows through bold innocence,
unaware of the time or the timing or the timers.
It reaches and sprouts,
draws warmth from the tundra,
and thrives.

Who can smell the petals as the roots flourish underground?
While I long for this unknown wonder,
it whispers from the dirt,
"be patient"

I was thinking of new poetry (or lyrics of some sort) when I remembered a poem I wrote almost a year ago but never shared on here. At the time, I was terribly excited about the symmetry and the numerology of the stanzas. Unfortunately, I lost track of whatever sentiment it should've had, and I never finished it (my poetic math required there to be exactly one more stanza, and I even knew what it'd have to be about). It isn't any good, but I was so obsessed with the words for a few days back then. Who knows why?

my cold, bony fingers
would rather clutch your callused toes,
or nestle between inner arm and outer side.

my cold, bony fingers
will knead your back when mine itches,
and tingle the nape hairs with electric patience.

my cold, bony fingers
tremble against your unsure hand,
but my vulnerability endears -- or not.

I was thinking of new poetry (or lyrics of some sort) when I remembered a poem I wrote almost a year ago but never shared on here. At the time, I was terribly excited about the symmetry and the numerology of the stanzas. Unfortunately, I lost track of whatever sentiment it should've had, and I never finished it (my poetic math required there to be exactly one more stanza, and I even knew what it'd have to be about). It isn't any good, but I was so obsessed with the words for a few days back then. Who knows why?

my cold, bony fingers
would rather clutch your callused toes,
or nestle between inner arm and outer side.

my cold, bony fingers
will knead your back when mine itches,
and tingle the nape hairs with electric patience.

my cold, bony fingers
tremble against your unsure hand,
but my vulnerability endears -- or not.

 

Or, how to lose 5 pounds in one week...

Everybody handles loss and pain in different ways. I'm still trying to figure out how I should best handle these situations, but the approach I've taken in the past week has teetered between an introspective confusion and near-meltdown.

Through a series of unfortunate circumstances mostly (entirely?) out of my control, I lost a great friend and companion for the foreseeable future and possibly forever. I've spent the last week cycling through a gamut of emotions: sadness, anger, longing, shock, bewilderment, forgiveness, happiness (when we last met to talk), and loss again. Christmas eve was the worst: faced with the obligation of a family gathering, I almost shut-down completely. At times I couldn't muster the energy to open my mouth to talk to anyone. On Christmas I fared a little better, trying to distract myself with puzzles to avoid having to talk about what happened. I was neither festive nor present.

The rest of the week feels blurry now. Most of the time, I felt confused about what had happened and tried to search myself for answers, even though I knew the answers were out of my grasp. I haven't taken much care of myself or my apartment (even less than usual, believe it or not). I've forgotten to eat and surely lost weight -- less than 5 pounds, I hope (I can't spare too many). I've tried to make some pictures, and nature seemed obliged to reflect my mood. When I have wandered around outside, it's been in search of food. I caught the new screening of Blade Runner but can barely remember it. It seems my memories "will be lost in time, like tears in rain."

Sure, it hasn't been all bad. I played some pool with Nate, Sarah, and Sarah's friend on Sunday, and at some point I rented a heartwarming and depressing film (old people near death always get to me). Nate got me a Holga for Christmas, which I haven't really used because I've stayed indoors, which isn't conducive for Holga photography.

Right now whatever good experiences I've had seem like tiny blips on the radar compared to the swirling muddle of negative emotions and the looming feeling that I won't see my buddy again. Compounding the feeling of loss is a phenomenon that I tried to explain to Katie: increasingly, I feel like my memories are tied tightly to the visual record of the experiences I've had. If I haven't photographed it, I'm afraid the memory will fade completely, but if I have a record of an event, I can go back and drag the memories from the quicksand in my brain. I know the feeling is a little irrational (at least until I'm a bit older), but the fear of forgetting the good times makes me regret not documenting the time well enough, and I scramble to recall everything that's happened. Then I feel worse when I realize I can't go back and document something I didn't bother to record in the first place, leaving me with a dull anxiety constantly tugging on the back of my mind.

If there's any point to this post, it's that I don't have many answers and I don't really know what to do when I'm hurt. Staring out into the Charles River the other night, the emotional torrent and my trademark impetuousness briefly held hands before logic brought me back to my senses: I can't swim. The water must be cold. What will happen to my camera? It's not worth it. Go home. I delve inward at the same time as I try to let my feelings out in the open (witness this text). There must be some combination of introspection and expression that helps in these situations; I do know that distraction definitely doesn't work for me. It feels like a trick, and I don't want to trick myself. My brain deserves better.

I'm going to steal some of Warren Schmidt's words to Ndugu:

I'm not going to lie to you, Ndugu, it's been a rough few weeks, and I've been pretty broken up from time to time. I miss her. I miss my [Strüdel]. I guess I just didn't know how lucky I was to have a [partner] like [Katie] until she was gone. Remember that, young man. You've got to appreciate what you have, while you still have it.

Warren never really recovers from his loss. I think I will, but it doesn't feel likely right now. I suppose it never does at first.