Wine in 2014

What is it about wine that is so conducive to writing? Who decided that, of all the alcohols, at the bottom of a glass of wine one would fine such inspiration? Perhaps because wine is at the heart of so many great stories.

Hey Chan, remember driving drunk to Meijer to pick up more Kendall Jackson? Man, I sure do. The rest of the night is hazy. More with time than with the red haze of wine. Still, it was a lovely goodbye to a world of possibilities. One I'm rather glad we never entered. I regret nearly everything that I've ever done, and, yes, not done. Yet, somehow, Chan, for whatever reason, I cannot regret that you and I never attempted one of the few things that I realize could never have been. Thank goodness that our judgement was as sober as we were clouded. Even at the bottom of our umpteenth bottle.

So, what has life been like? Life has been dull. Dreadfully, deadly, dull. I get up, I walk, I go and weed (or not). Then I swim (usually) and then I pass by the hungry hours between swimming and rehearsal. Then I go and rehearse for a show I don't like with people I like even less. Then I come home and try to convince myself to sleep. Thucydides is not nearly so conducive to sleep as one would hope. Rather than putting me to sleep, I simply get too sleepy to understand what I read, but my mind is never quiet. My mind is never quiet.

Amanda dropped by a while ago. Did I mention that? We kissed. It was wonderful and terrible. I think I wrote about it and said I'd write more. I need to write more. Not just about that. Also in general. I need to write more. For thirteen years I've been saying that. More true now than ever.

I've been exercising, generally, three hours a day. 1.5 hours walking, or 5.5 miles, whichever comes last. 90 minutes swimming, too. Doing that takes up most of my will power, which is one of the reasons I've been writing so little here. Well, plenty of other reasons/excuses. Still. It's rough to do anything when you're doing that much. Well, I'll be doing more soon. I'm not sure how successful weight loss is. My scale doesn't work well enough for me to determine much. Mom says I've lost weight, but people sometimes say that even when I gain. I think I've lost 14 lbs. since I start myfitnesspal. However, I can't be entirely sure. On Tuesday, I'll start doing even more. 6 miles. Maybe biking. I don't know.

Seeing Amber at rehearsal breaks my heart. But that's this week. I kissed Amanda recently. Hardly seems fair that I care about so many people? A young girl has a thing for me, but I finally understand what too young means. She's sweet. Wish she were five years older. I'd consider her then. No. No, I wouldn't.

The trouble with 28 is that you're in a bind, if you're single. The people your age are looking for something serious. Something long term. To be honest, against my better judgement, I consider these things sometimes. But the people who are at my emotional stage of development are a good five to ten years younger than I am. And I'm not sexy enough to overcome that age gap. And, looking and feeling as I do, I no longer have the charm to overcome by weight.

Wine makes me want to write, but I'm not terribly used to drinking. I have ideas, and things I want to say, but it's hard to gather thoughts. Still doing something, doing anything, is the key thing. Right?

I need to write more, though. Not just here. In general. I don't create anything. That's the key thing. Creation. Even fucking hipsters thinking they're special because they melted a record over a Beanie Baby. It was, and is, as stupid and pointless as they are. But at least they did something. Maybe that's the thing with hipster entrepreneurs? They're insufferable because they're still at the, "Mom, look! I made something! It must be special and worthwhile!" stage of development. But, at the same time, they made something. And we didn't. And we hate them because, in as much as what they did sucks, we've done nothing, so anything they make is better than what we've done. So they're better. We feel inferior to such scum. No wonder we hate them.

I want Amanda. I also want her out of my life. Same with Amber. I want to give up the past and let the dead bury their own dead. But that doesn't seem to work. Courtney's going to meet Amber tomorrow. What do I want? What am I looking for? I don't know. Maybe Courtney can tell me, "She's terrible, you were wrong, forget her. She's just pretty and you got distracted." That'd be nice. She could also somehow make Amber want to give us a second chance. That'd be nice too. I'm worried, though, that the notion of woman-in-my-life has become something of an abstract again set and ready to be filled by an abstract. Women are people too. Technically. I need to remember that. I still remember, sitting in Newspaper class, Ms. Redmond's, asking Kat to take away the pain from Courtney. I think I'll be ashamed of that until the day I die. Women aren't abstract ideas to fill a role. They're people. The problem is, I think that, right now, I want some abstract to fill a role. It's harder and harder, every second of every day, to care about things or people in any real, specific, sense. There are some grandfathered in exceptions. Courtney, Kat, really anybody I knew or cared about before about 2007. Courtney is a person. Kat is a person. They're worthy of exceptions and their actions are worth analysis before judgement. In fact, judging anything they say or do is difficult, if not impossible. They're real people, and they're far too complicated to be ruled over by my abstract notions. Other people, though? Meh.

I hate caring about more than one person because, the more I think about it, the more I reach the conclusion that I don't care about anybody and everything that I think and feel is invalid. I hate that. I don't like not being able to trust my own thoughts, experiences, feelings, and observations.

There's more to say, but here are a lot of ideas. I'm doing all right, all things considered. Drinking a bit, but mostly because I don't know what else to do and I've got calories to use up. I was worried for a bit because I was popping three xanax a day to keep the angries away. Exercise is what's keeping me sane. I want more of it, but I'm forcing myself to slow down for fear of injury. Not a great deal else I feel I can say.

Goodnight.