Perhaps this’ll be the beginning of the next book. Perhaps it won’t. Perhaps it’ll be in one far down the road. Perhaps I’m full of myself. No, that’s a fact.
It’s Sunday, October 7th, 2018. I am sitting here. I haven’t been outside yet. I woke up fairly early for a Sunday. Meaning 8ish? I think it was. I get excited to drink my usual 3 coffees. I only do so on the weekends when I’m in. I hadn’t eaten a thing until 11. I just don’t get hungry if I don’t move much. Which leads me to the unfortunate and depressing reminder that I haven’t done a damn thing today, nor did I yesterday aside from waking up in someone else’s bed.
Although I am writing now. Also, I’ve finished my 3rd Bukowski novel “Women” and started “Flimsy Little Plastic Miracles” by Ron Curie Jr. A delightful discovery. A delightful discovery because it’s a delightful read, but also, coincidentally it reads just as Bukowski writes. I can see a clear influence. It’s even more delightful because I stumbled upon this book by sheer spite.
A group of friends were speaking about it, one had discovered it and was sharing it around. It was not suggested to me at all. Although later that week I was told “You probably haven’t picked up a book in years” or something to that affect. Which was a wrong and overly judgmental statement. Warranted though, well, perhaps the reaction was warranted, not necessarily the exact words. Because it was preceded with me saying “Someday, I’ll teach you about the English language.” Which was said in complete irony. As I, with no degree whatsoever, was saying this to someone with 2 degrees, one a Masters. Although said in complete irony, I was eviscerated. My guess is that they reacted so strongly because they felt so very venerable and I struck some kind of internal, fragile chord within them. I mean, I couldn’t of said it more jokingly. It is very clear how much more of a professional they are in all things Literature. So to react so strongly I can only imagine I had poked at a tender and delicate place in their heart regarding this. Self conscious or something of the sort. Or perhaps not, I don’t know. But I’ve taken it as such.
I was a bit peeved at how wrong they were though, so I decided to order the book and read it quietly on my own. To my ever-further delight, it was a signed copy, who knew. The book cost all of $1.40 plus shipping. The chapters are very short, no quotation marks and little regard for the standards set by literature that had set those standards creating a non-existent, boring and monotonous read time and time again. There was none of that, just as Bukowski had done. One reason his writing is so interesting and enticing to read, is because he writes as you would talk. Less emphasis on the form and more on the art and style of what he was saying. You knew exactly how he was saying every word. Little descriptors. No bullshit. Currie did this as well.
Perhaps I say this because I’m still smack dab in the middle of my Buk phase, but it almost seems like a ripoff. Albeit a more intellectual ripoff and quite a more in-depth story. The one thing that intrigues, but peeves me as well, is his waste of fucking paper. Every other god damn page is a paragraph long, then on to the next page. I get it, it’s for effect. But it’s so often that it becomes annoying. You can tell he’s trying too hard with it. Maybe not trying too hard, but I don’t know. It’s frustrating. So much fucking wasted paper. All for a “different feel.” The problem is, You’d get the same deal with a damn chapter break in the middle of a page, at the end, shit anywhere. The fact that Bukowski had chapter breaks every other page or sometimes once a page, was genius. But he didn’t waste the fucking page. One chapter would be a paragraph and BAM, new chapter, right there. He didn’t set it up so you had to stare at a 75% blank piece of paper and turn it. That’s childish. That’s a waste. That’s making your book fatter than it needs to be. I looked up the word count on this thing and you can’t find it. I wonder why. It’s 340 pages and it could be 120, easy. The last 10 pages don’t even travel halfway down the fucking page. What the fuck is that?
I get it, I do it to for effect, but not every god damn chapter.
It’s a nice sized book however.
So I just found out I now have to buy a fucking $40 tie I’m going to where once. What the fuck. I NEVER have to wear ties. NEVER. If I do, it’ll be to a funeral, and this one’s pink. PINK. You can’t wear pink to anything other than another wedding. How many weddings do you think I’ll ever be attending in the next 4-5 years? Very few. How many might I wear this tie to? Fewer, if any. Ties could be so much cheaper. Moral of the story, buy online.
I made an omelet earlier. Toast with jam. Delicious. As I contemplate what to do with myself, I waste the waning autumn daylight hours pacing and wasting time figuring out what I want to do with said time. I decide to pick up a project I’ve been meaning to tackle for months now. My buddy’s brother’s hard drive died, I might be able to get the info off of it. Maybe. But I hadn’t bothered trying until now. It’s a time consuming process. So it gives me an excuse to read. I love reading, but I feel like I should be doing something more productive than sitting in the daytime you know? I do love it, but when I know nothing else can be done. There’s so much to do. So much I won’t do, so much I’m procrastinating doing. I don’t think I’ll make it outside, unfortunately. I’m sad. I shouldn’t be, but I am.
I want more coffee.
Back to yesterday morning. I woke up elsewhere. That’s right. I’m in a wonderful new relationship for the first in a long while and I am quite in love and she is as well. I’m not sure how it worked out so perfectly. She’s amazing in most ways. That is to say, she quite fits into my world as ying and yang.
She continues to surprise me with every turn, every breath, every bat of her eyelashes. She’s gorgeous. But more importantly, she’s an amazing person, more important than that, she digs me, more important than that, she accepts me and I accept her, more importantly, she’s done things for me no one has yet to this extent. She matches me on my thoughtfulness, without provocation. It’s these little things she does with ease and finesse that let me know and remind me she loves me. It’s early, but right now it’s perfect.
Every time I think to myself, “here we go, this is going to be the thing that turns her off.” She is turned on. Not in a clingy or blinded way, as new lovers are. But we talk about it, we talk about everything deeply. I talk about my fears and we go deep into the psyche behind these rationales and fears. We talk about our past experiences and things that make us who we are. I tell stories some people enjoy, others yawn from, and even more are turned off by, scared of who I might be as a person. But she eats it up. Amazed, interested, hanging on to every word through to the end of a 15 min long adventure. She holds me afterwards, amazed I’m still alive.
She can match me too, surpass me as well. She’s got stories amazing as my own. It’s an equal trade of emotion and empathy. From the camaraderie to similar interests to fears and pasts and relationships and thoughts. We get along quite well. We’re not the exact same person no, but the perfect antithesis of each other when we are not so similar. We fit. I can confidently say this.
She’s not embarrassed of me, and I am slowly showing her all of my faults and fears in the immediate and so far she’s still in. I slowly bring these things up because these are the things that previous people have left me over. Not that I’m displaying them when I say them, but because it is who I am, and shows what they might be in for. It lets them know that if certain things are deal-breakers, then here’s your chance. Lately, it’s been a good tactic, because anybody whose given me an in-person shot has quickly turned tail. I don’t blame them though, although on the flip side, they never gave me a shot at much. Fuck em.
You always hear the saying, good things will happen when you least expect it. Which is total horeshit. But in this case it happened out that way. I was spending so much of my time chasing people around online, reaching out to hundreds of women simply for a decent conversation most of the time, seeing what stuck, if at all. When all of a sudden an unassuming invite to a bar led to such a sweet romance. I had seen her around, she happened to be there. Later I found out how stupidly lucky I was. She hadn’t thought I was into her, and didn’t think I would be interested in the slightest, nor was I single. All of these feelings false and quite the same in my head as well. “What the hell would she want with someone like me?”
It turns out, she doesn’t go out very often and it was incredibly lucky I met her at all. On a whim, she decided to stay after her original reason for being there and the friends who’d invited me facilitated the non-existent relationship. They jump-started things. Thankfully so because I’m not one to throw a hail-mary. I don’t go and ask strangers out. Especially ones that work in the same building. But we hit it off after a few drinks diminished our inhibitions. Since that day, it’s been the healthiest relationship I’ve ever been a part of.
She loves to cook, and she loves to make, and imbibe a good drink or two, a match made in the heavens.
Did I mention she has Bukoski on her shelves? Yes she does.