Three Little Words

You know the routine. Someone special comes along - maybe not so special right at first, or maybe the two of you bond right away, like we did - and sooner or later, you find yourself dancing around those three words. You want to say them, but you don't, for the usual variety of reasons: you've only known each other a few months, you don't know if they feel the same way...and of course, once you say them - that's it. It's out, they know how you feel, there's no taking it back. If you're like so many of us, you've said the words before, to other people, in other times and places, and you've gotten burned, and you've come to fear what those three words can do.

Maybe you choose to ease into it - you say the words to other people, when the person isn't around - see how it feels. Let yourself get comfortable with the idea of saying them out loud. Then eventually you're ready to take the plunge and say the words, and let that special someone know how you feel.

Me, I did it by accident. I've used the words a few times when talking to other people - then I used them here, in a post that I wrote a few days ago, about somebody totally else - I was angry and disappointed with one of my other friends, and I wasn't paying attention when those three words slipped in: my best friend. It wasn't until later, when I asked her to read the post, that I realized what I'd done. That she would see what I'd written about her.

My best friend. Oh god, I said it - not out loud, but in print. And now the questions begin: Is that okay? Am I being presumptuous? Am I going to end up looking stupid? Will she feel sorry for me because I may not be her best friend?

WHY DO I FEEL LIKE I'M STILL IN JUNIOR HIGH SCHOOL???

There's been quite a procession of "best friends" through my life. There was Erin, in eigth grade, who moved to another city and said she'd write me with her new address; that was the last I ever heard of her. Then there was Elissa, in high school, who started dating a guy who'd started out as a friend of mine, too...that was the end of both of those friendships. In college there was Sarah - she was great, we even had a house together when we moved off-campus. But then she got married and everything changed. Later on there was Amy, who ended up getting lost in the haze of a party scene that got to be too brutal for me. There were several other minor players in between those, but those are the highlights.

And now, it seems, there is Jessica...

Authors Note (six months later): Turns out Jessica wasn't even much of a highlight. That friendship was intense and all-consuming, but it didn't take much for it to fall apart. And once it was in pieces, I found it wasn't really worth trying to put back together. Other relationships have proven to be much stronger in the long run, and they haven't left me much time to regret the ones that couldn't hold up. All the same, I don't find myself using those three little words much anymore. They've come and gone too many times for me to really trust them again. Maybe some day...

Reality Check

The Miss Universe Pageant is on TV. Hard to believe that somewhere in the world there are women parading around in beautiful evening gowns. Hard to believe that their biggest concern is whether, at the end of the night, they'll get a bunch of roses and a tiara. Hard to believe that I used to sit in front of the TV, fascinated by the spectacle of the living Barbie-dolls.

That little girl that used to be me would've been furious with the Severe Weather Alerts that keep interrupting the pageant to tell us that there are tornadoes on the ground in downtown Fort Worth. She would have screamed with frustration when the TV went blank, as it did just now because the satellite's signal has been hopelessly lost.

The me that is sitting here now actually finds the weather alerts more interesting than the pageant...but is slightly concerned that the power may not stay on much longer. So, I'm going to wrap this up and go join my roomies outside to watch the lightning!

To My Friend, Part 2

Here's what I've learned this week:

1. It never occurred to me that not everyone is suited for the "tough love" approach. My best friend does it wonderfully, and I love her ability to tell me what I don't want to hear, in such a way that I can accept it. I tried to do that with a friend of mine, and it was a disaster.

I said the wrong thing, at the wrong time. I don't know, I guess some people can do it and some can't, and it would seem that I'm one of the ones who can't. So, okay. I screwed up, and I feel bad, but I learned that "tough love" isn't my style, and I doubt I'll try it again.

2. I learned that even when I screw up, I don't have to feel guilty forever. My friend, apparently, is furious with me, and doesn't seem to want to talk to me. But I apologized, very sincerely - many times over - and that's all I can do. I won't beg, because I shouldn't have to. I screwed up. It happens; it's happened before, and it will happen again. I'm sorry for what I said, but I won't continue to beat myself up over it. If he doesn't want to talk to me, then I'm sorry for that too.

3. I learned that I don't have to minimize my own feelings because someone else is hurting. I'm sorry for what my friend is going through. I can't imagine how badly he must be hurting. But when I realized the mistake I had made, I felt terrible - and when I apologized and got nothing but silence in return, I was hurt, too. And while my pain may be less than his, it is every bit as valid. The idea that I don't have a right to be upset, because of his greater pain, is wrong.

So, to my friend: I'm sorry. If you can't, or won't, accept that, then I'm sorry for that, too - but I'm also angry. I get that you're going through something horrible, and I wish I could do more to help you. But you know what's going on with me; all the issues that I'm working through don't get magically resolved because you need me to be the perfect supportive friend. I've tried to put my own difficulties aside in order to be there for you. But I can't do this much more, especially if you won't even talk to me; at some point I have to take care of myself. I'm sorry I can't be what you need me to be...but I'm still willing to do whatever I can. I'd like to be a better friend in the future - if you're willing to give me the chance.

To My Friend

One of the best ways to keep from wallowing in my own self-pity is to talk to someone else about what's going on in their life. Luckily, I've been blessed with many friends, so that I have no shortage of opportunities to do that.

One friend in particular has been on my mind today. He told me a few weeks ago that he was going to be going through something pretty rough. A little later, when I asked how he was doing, he said he didn't really know, and that he was beginning to get fed up, with everything.

I'm a "fixer" by nature - if I had my way, I'd be able to make everyone's problems and heartaches go away, or at least come up with an easy solution, on a silver platter. But I can't do that. I don't know what to do about my friend's problems; all I can do is offer myself, as a friend, in whatever capacity I may be most needed. Even though that feels, to me, like I'm not doing enough to help, I know that just being there can be one of the most helpful things anyone can do. I know that because I am always so grateful when my friends are there to lend me their support when I need it.

So, to my friend: I know I've said this already, but I'm here whenever you need me. I'm on your side, and I'm thinking of you often, and I hope everything's going okay.

Keep your chin up, and keep me posted.

Love

Why?

I've been posting these whimsical anecdotes about the hilarity that surrounds my life, but the laughter is starting to sound forced, and there's a ringing in my ears. Behind the face that dutifully puts on a smile every morning, the thoughts are getting cloudy.

I started this experiment a little over a year ago, and now that all this time has passed, I can't really see a lot of difference. I'm starting to wonder, what was the point? To give me a better life? To make everything make sense? Or just to keep me out of jail? Why am I still doing this?

I'm still at the same crappy job, and I'm actually struggling more financially than I was a year ago. I still don't have a car (I did for a minute, but that's about all...they're gonna haul it away in the morning.) I'm still single, and lonely. I gained weight, lost it, and then gained it back. I still have a tendency to procrastinate, to toss my money away, and to compare myself to everybody around me. After all of it, at the end of the day I'm still myself, and I'm not real happy with that today. And I'm still so tired, of everything.

I know what I'm supposed to be doing, but right now it just doesn't seem to be making any difference. I'm gonna go try some more though, because right now there just isn't any alternative. (Not any good one, anyway...)

Mullet Guy and Rodman

(Part Two of my Summer Concert Series)

I went with some friends last night to see America, Peter Frampton, and Styx. We got the tickets for free, at the Wildflower festival last weekend when I went to see Blues Traveler. It was another great show, but almost as much fun was the down-time between acts, which we spent people-watching. It was especially amusing because everyone around us, as I'm sure you can imagine, was severely fucked-up, and we were totally sober.

I shared a hug with a girl who was wearing the same "I Love Nerds" T-shirt as me, and one of the girls in the group of kids next to us had on a white, furry mini-top with a brown suede jacket, and looked for all the world like Penny Lane. We saw a dazed-looking guy wearing a long-tailed blue T-shirt, nondescript dark-colored shorts, and knee-high army boots with buckles all the way up the outsides.

But the best - without a doubt - were Mullet Guy and Rodman.

Rodman was a younger dude, with a totally goofy look on his face and braces that weren't doing a bit of good, with his teeth sticking out to there. He was wearing a Rodman jersey (to a Frampton concert??) and he was seriously impaired - I bet my friends ten bucks that he'd fall on his head before the night was over. And that it wouldn't make much difference.

Mullet Guy was even better. He had, of course, a mullet that wouldn't die (though it needed to!) He kept wandering off, to the restrooms or wherever, and every time he came back he'd get lost on the way back to where he was sitting, and he was weaving and staggering all over the place, and bobbing his head to the random beat of whatever music was playing in his mind...it was sooo funny. Every so often he'd punch a fist into the air - sometimes even both fists, Rocky Balboa style. It was great! I tried to take a picture of him, but it was too dark and it didn't come out. So now Mullet Guy is only a memory - but it's one that will keep me laughing, possibly for years to come.

The Harmonica

So I'm standing...oh, maybe twenty feet from the stage, and John Popper - the man himself - is right there! I've tried to see Blues Traveler in concert three or four times, and I always miss it, or I can't get there, or it was last weekend. And now, finally, here I am, and there they are, playing Devil Went Down To Georgia, with John playing the fiddle parts on his harmonica. The song ends, and I'm whooping and screaming along with everyone else...then I look up, just in time to see John toss his harmonica out into the crowd. It lands on the ground, on the other side of the barrier, right in front of me...and I dive over the fence, and next thing I know the harmonica is in my hand! I got a thumbs-up from Ben, on the keyboards - he looked amazed that I actually dived over the fence!

So now I'm the proud possessor of a Hohner "Special 20 Edition" harmonica. And I don't even know how to play the harmonica!

Man, that was a great concert. They looked like they were having as much fun up there playing as we were listening to them. And I tell you what else - Chan Kinchla is getting added to my list of celebrity crushes. That man is hot! And an awesome guitarist. And he wrote Manhattan Bridge, for which I am eternally thankful.

May the Fourth be with you

I was on the bus going home from work last night, reading Dave Barry and laughing so loud at times that I was afraid the other passengers would start looking at me funny, when I realized I didn't need to worry because while I was laughing, the man behind me was singing into his cell phone.

My first thought was, "How cool is that?"

The best phone conversation I've ever had wasn't actually much of a conversation at all. When I first got my cell phone, I of course started calling everyone I ever knew to give them the number. One of the first people I called was an old friend of mine who, Lord love him, almost always boosts my ego by being thrilled to hear from me. This particular time, he had a new toy of his own - he'd spent the last three or four hours downloading music to his computer (I don't know if he paid for it or not - I didn't ask.) Anyway, so he started playing selected songs for me, so I could hear how great his computer sounded, and I started singing along - or offering "constructive criticism," whenever he played a song I couldn't believe he actually liked. It was so cool - I hadn't seen this guy in forever, and there we were, listening to music together, over the phone. Definitely the best phone call ever.

Upheaved

Hi, this is Hal. I'm not here right now. If you need to get in touch with me, I'm either at the old house, the new house, somebody else's house, at work, or...somewhere else. Wherever I am, chances are I just left there. Try again in an hour or a week.

Fly away and be at rest

I don’t know why, but the sleep I get in my bed each night doesn’t seem to count. It just isn’t enough. By the time I go to bed, I’m already dreading the time when I’ll have to get up again and start the next day’s grind. So even in sleep, the stress of my day-to-day life crowds me with its schedules and appointments, and errands and to-do lists.

I want to be able to sleep during the day. I want to lay me down, comfortable and safe in the knowledge that there’s nothing I have to do, and that I can sleep as much or as little as I like. Only then will I truly feel rested.

For now, I’m listening to Blues Traveler, and that’s working pretty well. John Popper’s voice is as familiar as an old friend, and I always feel at home as soon as he begins to sing to me; and “Manhattan Bridge” is just so beautiful, it makes me feel like I’m already in heaven and I won’t ever have to wake up again.