Adventures, Part II

A couple years ago, I went on another adventure with another close friend and coworker, John. We went to the same spot along Route 42 that Stephanie and I went to, because it’s one of my favorite places in this world (so far). I got more really nice shots. We went in August instead of October this time, and because my hiking partner wasn’t on crutches, we went up way farther, too. I hope to go on more amazing adventures soon.

Sleeping Life Away

Wake up at nine, can’t keep eyes open
Go back to sleep until eleven
Start nodding off playing Sims
Fall asleep on the couch until noon-thirty
Feel like the day is wasted, so take another nap
Wake up at two, have zero energy to do anything
Stare at the computer screen
Nothing to do but sleep

Septmeber 11, 2021

Higher

The marijuana at night puts me to sleep
And the coffee wakes me the next morning
The Benedryl at work is to calm me
And the Monster to wash it down keeps me awake
I do anything not to feel while staying conscious
Feelings weigh me down when all I want is to float

September 10, 2021

I Can’t

I’m trying to get to you
But the thought of you keeps fading
Will I get to you before you completely disappear?
Any hold on you I think I have is fleeting
Time keeps passing by too quickly
And before I know it, it’s too late
I can’t get to you

September 7, 2021

My View

I
Start at a dead-end
But force a path through
A path that should already exist
Severe accident, never the same
Daily accidents as a result
But continue on, pretending
That all is fine, all is normal

II
Your path is lonely, alienating
People know you’re there
They can smell you a mile away
Some are mean and tell you
The rest keep their distance

III
Create a bypass
To avoid the unsafe path
But neglect maintenance
Become an unsightly cancer
But continue on, pretending

IV
If you can’t rely on yourself
You rely on no one, nothing
Everything crumbles
You’re questioning everything
Pushing everyone away

V
Remove the bypass
Resume on the flawed path
Which remains unchanged
Nothing is said about that
But continue on, pretending

VI
You can’t love someone else
If you don’t love yourself
You can’t trust someone else
If you don’t trust yourself
You can’t live with someone else
If you can’t live with yourself

VII
Years of travel smoothed the flawed path
By some miracle of life
Still some accidents, still too many
But continue on, pretending
That all is fine, all is normal

August 25, 2021

Venom

I injected my venom within your brain
You try to leave me, but I consume your thoughts
I control you without giving a single command
You planted something within my brain as well
I cannot think about anything or anyone else
You control me without even trying

August 23, 2021

I Need You

In a dark world, you are the one bright spot
In a room of chaos, you are a source of calm
When I am lost, you are my navigator
When I am weak, you are my strength
You think you are unworthy
It is me, unworthy of you

August 22, 2021

Do You Remember?

Do you remember when we met?
Fate hit your car which caused you to hit mine
I was calm the entire time
Because you were there
I didn’t know you yet but you were already calming me
Bringing me to a place where I can shed the armor
Drawing me in and making me smile
I didn’t know you yet, but I was falling in love

Do you remember when we first kissed?
That was the moment I knew I loved you
I kept that to myself for a while
I still barely knew you, but the hours together felt like years
Your touch was warming and exciting
Your lips were soft, and your kiss was gentle yet demanding
Your embrace brought me to a place where nothing else existed
I still barely knew you, but I was yours

Do you remember when we first made love?
That was also the first time I told you ‘I love you’
We had talked about you not being able to say it
So I wasn’t expecting it back
I wasn’t even expecting it from myself
I knew you well enough, and you had me hooked
The way you couldn’t commit to me, despite seeing no one else
You made up in actions what you couldn’t say in words
I knew you well enough, and I loved every inch of you

Do you remember when we first broke up?
You told me this was becoming too serious,
That I would grow tired of your lack of commitment
You called it a preemptive strike
I knew you better than myself, but you pushed me away
I begged you to reconsider, that you were making a mistake
I promised I would be okay with your commitment issues,
That I loved our relationship and you, exactly the way you are
I knew you better than myself, but you shattered my heart

Do you remember when we first got back together?
You realized what I meant to you, and I took you back instantly
My lack of hesitation took you off guard, overwhelmed you
In a “I don’t deserve her” kind of way, but you’re wrong
I love you more than I love myself, and I hope it shows
I always felt like I didn’t deserve someone as perfect as you
Your actions always spoke louder than words could ever
I love you more than I love myself, and I know it’s mutual

August 17, 2021

New Content!

I wrote a piece about a certain someone the other day, and I realized it was creative non-fiction instead of fiction. So I added a new category, and some pieces from a class I took years ago at Purchase College. So, a bit of a spam update. But I’m finished adding pieces now.

There is one more piece that I almost want to add, but it’s very personal. It mentions something that I haven’t mentioned on this website yet, and I don’t know if I’m ready for the world to know this yet. Some people already do, people who are very close to me.

I didn’t even tell any of my exes this fact.

So, I’ll have to think on this for a bit longer.

I Never Mourned but I’ll Never Forget

I was thirteen, almost fourteen, when I lost my paternal grandmother. It wasn’t the first taste of death that I’d had (my great-grandfather died about four years earlier), but it was the closest one. I can’t say I was particularly touched by her death; the woman wasn’t a huge part of my life, and she and my father were very distant. But regardless of how much or little I loved her, she was still my grandmother, and it was to some degree sad.

What touched me more was the last time I remember actually seeing her. It might have even been the last time I saw her. It was in the hospital, probably late April or early May 2006. She was lying in one of those mechanical hospital beds, which aren’t as comfortable as you would think. The tubes and IVs made the fifty-nine-year-old woman look even sicklier than she would have if she had been in her own bed.

Visits with her were always awkward and weird. I didn’t know what to do or what to say, since her and I had spent maybe five collective hours together, just her and I. I’d spent a few nights at her house, but it was always with my cousins. Not only that, but after spending so much time in hospitals myself, they always gave me an uneasy feeling. Needless to say I hated visiting her, staring at this woman I really didn’t feel for, but knowing that it still hurt to see her dying.

After some amount of time standing in the corner of the hospital room as my father and some combination of his three sisters (I don’t think all four of them were ever there together at there at the same time) made some kind of small talk, we said our goodnights. When it was my turn, I was at a loss for words. I don’t remember ever actually telling the woman that I loved her, so what else would I say in the moment?

“I hope you get better, Nana.”

For whatever reason (maybe it was some naivety or unwillingness to grasp the truth), these words actually came out. My grandmother had pancreatic cancer. I think somewhere in the back of my head I might have known she wouldn’t get better, but I cannot be sure. I don’t even remember the emotion with which I said it, be it sincerity or awkwardness.

“Has no one told her?” I remember her asking. She looked, in particular, at my father. She then looked back at me. “I’m not getting better.”

There was probably some honest recognition in her voice, but for some reason, I almost remember there being a melodramatic tone. As if she were trying to make me feel bad that she was dying, and was proud of it. Whether this is the actual case or not, I can never be sure. I know I started tearing up, though. At thirteen, having someone tell me they were going to die, and soon, was hard to hear.

But what really makes this memory stick out in my head was the fact that I didn’t know what to do. If this had been my mother’s parents, I might have wrapped my arms around them and lost control. If I had had the time, I might have done that with my paternal grandfather. (He died within three months of being diagnosed with cancer, so there was too little a time of suffering to even begin to come to terms with him dying.) But combined with the fact that I didn’t know how my father was reacting to his negligent mother dying, I wasn’t even sure how I should act.

So I just silently looked down at my hands. I think she said something about how it was okay, or how she was sorry to upset me, because I remember nodding. When I finally escaped the room, I avoided eye contact with either parent. I didn’t want them to see me cry. Why, I can’t even begin to tell you. When I got to the car, I climbed in the backseat and shed a few silent tears. It was nighttime, so I knew as long as I kept quiet, they wouldn’t know.

She died some time later, on May 15, 2006. It was the day after Mother’s Day. My father called me shortly after I got home from school. He was at work, so I have no idea how he took it, but I only cried for a short time. Maybe five minutes, before the kids of my mother’s at-home daycare crowded around me and made me laugh. I remember feeling horrible for laughing; my grandmother had just died, I shouldn’t have felt happy. I kept trying to mourn her, but the feelings felt exactly how they were: forced. To be honest, those five minutes are all I can remember crying over her. But every time I pass the house she used to live in (which I do frequently), though, I think of that time in the hospital, awkwardly telling a woman dying of cancer that I hoped she got better.

April 24, 2014