Tag: Personal

An Ex texts, “Marry me?”

JulianLeave a comment

An Ex texts, “Marry me?”

I say “You must be reading my blog.” She says no. She says she’s serious. Phrases include, “Clearly soul mates”, “White picket fence”, and “Multiracial adopted kids”.

How the hell does someone respond to that? After sufficient bewilderment, I settle on: “No thanks. Not really interested”. Later, I add, “But I suppose I appreciate the sentiment”.

After an hour of confusion, including texting a mutual friend to ask if Ex is okay, Ex tells me it was a joke. She has, in fact, been reading my blog. A joke, you say? Ha…

Ha…

I guess.

I suppose I deserve this. And I did ask for more pranks. It’s also eye-opening: this must be what friendship with me is like.

Touch more: a manifesto

JulianLeave a comment

Starting at puberty, it becomes socially unacceptable to exchange touch with anyone but romantic partners. This is bad. Touch is calming. It’s connecting. It’s fundamental to proper growth and development. Touch should happen more. 

On a road trip with a friend, I hadn’t touched another person in a week. That’s a long fucking time. A week without touch is a cruel punishment that I wouldn’t subject on any animal. It’s not even a sexual thing – I just wanted physical contact. I asked if I could lie on my buddy’s lap. He said sure, so I did. Our conversation continued. I felt human. It was great.

Why does our society suppress touch? I understand the moratorium across gender and the requirements that touch be consensual. But why is it weird (or labeled “gay”) for guys hanging out to touch each other? We’re primates. Primates touch. Even gorillas – the biggest and strongest among us – pick nits out of each other’s fur.

I’m not sure why, but I don’t like it. I also can’t see a good reason against it, so I’m going to touch more.

When is it okay to avoid the world?

Julian1 Comment

At 9:11am, the morning’s not-funniest time, I slipped 50mg of caffeine past the tape on my mouth before crawling back into the safety of my dreams. Another hour-and-a-quarter passed before my bunkmate awoke, only after which did I first leave my bed. How much of this time was spent avoiding the world?

I’m coming off a cold. Perhaps that’s why I’ve been sleeping so much. I’ve also been emotionally exhausted, overcoming a childhood trauma and rebuilding after a breakup.

My bed is warm. My bed feels safe. In it, the world feels far away. My mind moseys, wisting aimlessly from place to place. I like that safety. I like that oblivion. I live for that vacuum between conscious and gone.

I understand hypochondriacs.

JulianLeave a comment

I struggled through five doctors over ten years before one correctly diagnosed me with obstructive sleep apnea.

It’s subjectively difficult to tell if something’s wrong with you because corroboration requires a doctor’s agreement. If they don’t see a problem, perhaps nothing’s wrong. Then again, perhaps they’re incompetent, or perhaps you didn’t communicate it clearly. Most doctors see a lot of patients, and communicating a subjective experience to a second party is very difficult. And even if you can’t get second-party confirmation, it’s still really your experience.

I pee frequently. Frequently enough that my friends comment on it. This causes me concern. I don’t know that there’s a problem, but I suspect something’s up. I could see a urologist, but that’s a minimum of two visits at inconvenient times to someone who I’ll probably conclude is incompetent.

Some doctors are great. Most are god-awful. It’s hard to know before seeing them. I’m delaying, which isn’t the logical choice, but it’s easier than calling medical offices. I’m solving my sleep now—one issue at a time. I hope I don’t come to regret waiting.

Fasting isn’t difficult, but it is trying. 

JulianLeave a comment

(Context: I haven’t eaten food in the last 72 hours.)

Fasting isn’t difficult, but it is trying:

  • It’s trying to get something to eat and then not.
  • It’s trying and failing to fill the void inside you that food usually patches over.
  • It’s trying to slow down and succeeding and enjoying that success.
  • It’s trying to speak French with the Uber driver from Ethiopia and not minding the embarrassment when he sticks to English.
  • It’s dancing with the devil and winning for a step or two.
  • It’s trying to wrench up gunk from within your soul but, digging deep, not even finding a soul.
  • It’s trying to find God in the man with the megaphone and instead just achieving an intense, god-like focus.
  • It’s molding yourself like a wet ball of clay.
  • It’s trying to define a self while also trying to change it.
  • It’s trying—and succeeding—to sleep peacefully, because nothing else matters when you’re hungry.

After a month or two or three or four, I’ll finally admit I wanted you more

JulianLeave a comment

When we dated, I hated the Satan we created,

But being dumped has lumped those bumps into the rough, tough suffering of a motherfucker.

After a month or two or three or four, I’ll finally admit I wanted you more

Than I was willing—how thrilling and chilling,

But I was the villain, or maybe I still am.

 

The fast past we lasted unmasked a part of my heart; it started smarting.

That caressing mess tested this repressed hesitant lesser

Who now piles miles of style on humble, tumbling mumbles to crumble your wall, crawling his all

To your mind-wracking shack, where a taxing hacks dances without pants, hands landing in bands on yours, the shores of sores that hastened mace to our faces, disgracing us apace,

Then the end, when I bended to mend but you send us friends, me in tender shreds.

 

I’m sad and mad for a lad’s behavior, but you’re no savior.

It’s unfair, but sharing care would tear at you more, so formerly yours will be sore for the pair.

When you miss kissing me, sissy, I’ll be listening, glistening with desire, no liar—

Just a failed male who paled in your presence, too hesitant.

I’m told more bold would leave me cold but I’m old enough to scoff.

It’s rough to be cuffed to a shelf of hell. Who can tell when I’ll fell

For another lover who recovers my suffering.

Just empty space—dear Lord, what a waste! This place doesn’t taste of your scent so I’m bent with pent up emotion, an ocean of notions.

 

No lies, just a tired writer’s inspired cries,

Pining in lines to know you’re trying too—

It’s hard for you. You miss me and list me as a risk to stop kissing.

 

Now shown, I bemoan roaming the loneliest road,

No shores of your pores that tore at my core.

So hey, Lady grey, I’d pay you today: explain pain in a way

That tames this crew, say you I matter too.

I intentionally don’t have a best friend. 

Julian1 Comment

I intentionally don’t have a best friend. I don’t like the categorization. Or perhaps I have a best friend and just don’t know it:

  • If all my friends were in a burning building and I could only save one, who would I choose? Is that my best friend?
  • Is my best friend the person with whom I spend the most time?
  • Is it the friend I enjoy spending time with the most?
  • Is it the friend I think has the greatest impact on me? On the world?
  • Or is it just a gut feeling when I think the phrase “best friend”?

When I think the phrase “best friend”, I feel repulsed. Not from my friends, but from the concept.

So I don’t have a best friend. Not since fifth or sixth grade, when I had a best friend with whom I fought constantly. Or maybe seventh or eighth grade, when I had a best friend with whom I fought constantly. I vividly recall making my seventh grade “best friend” cry.

Since then, my life has been more of an ensemble cast. I have friends who I love. I don’t make them cry. That’s enough.

For Writing’s Sake!

JulianLeave a comment

What do I do when I don’t want to write?

I write about how I’m annoyed.

Dozens of writings begin with the phrase,

“I don’t want to write today.”

After a while it evolves into poem

Or into emotional quandary.

The process can feel like picking a scab

Or bleaching ratty laundry.

 

Sometimes I only know five minutes in

That my first few beginnings were flounders

Eventually arriving at the place in my mind

Where seconds are minutes are hours.

Time stands still and speeds along

As I’m lost in expressing myself.

I nibble at feelings, explore one of my sides

Before putting it back on the shelf.

 

Most of the time I write end-of-day;

It typically feels like a chore.

Why do I do it? Why write every day?

Because that’s what a writer is for.

A stabilizing force, it keeps me sane,

Reminding me life has no breaks.

Even if just one sentence: “I don’t wish to write,”

I write for writing’s sake.

Embrace and love your nerd-dom

JulianLeave a comment

Embrace and love your nerd-dom. All successful people geek out about stuff. Whether it’s sci-fi, sports, music, art, or math, they’re passionate and driven, and that’s a good thing.

I grew up a self-hating nerd. My interests were swayed by society’s judgments. I spent years getting over that, understanding it’s okay — desirable, even, to be passionate. I’m still struggling with it–with judging my loves.

It’s even desirable to be into super nerdy stuff? Absolutely. Sci-fi, e-sports, board games, and reading. Philosophy and sports and theater and art. All things I love. All things are great. Bill Gates is into bridge and board games. Steph Curry likes organizing his garage – how’s that for a weird nerdy hobby?

Every topic has passionate zealots and harmful stereotypes about them. It’s good to have passion. Passion moves the world forward. Do your passions, no matter how you judge them.