I just hit send to Durban on a 6,000 word chapter called "Athens/Santorini, Greece -- November 2007." The next one we're on is going to be a tag-team, I believe, but it's going to take him a while to wake up from whatever coma he's in and actually read it so let us digress into some overdue prose.
I've been not sleeping very much lately - this usually happens on the weekends, surrounding my no sleep Sundays and early morning Monday class and my waking up before the classes I teach on Saturdays and Sundays to run for hours at a time. I've been in the middle of some serious training and the intervals are only going to increase from here on...so we must be careful. On top of that, I've had to pick up rogue working shifts because people are booking shows/going on vacation. My time of late has been shortening. So...to keep up with the pen, I've been getting up in the 5's or 6's to get my work done so as to not drive myself sinister - which I absolutely do if this, the grand plan - is ever ignored or side stepped. This is all going somewhere...
So this morning, I woke up to find this sweet (I see sweetness in odd things) and direct letter in my in-box that's peppered with words like rude and curt and douchebag. The douchebag thing was more of a warning and not an accusation. We all know I'm not a douchebag -- she does too. There were also quite a few f-bombs...not angry ones, just...expressive. And I think I got the letter because of everything I just mentioned, and my likely resulting behavior due to the laundry list of excuses as to why my life is supposedly in disarray...and it is, it absolutely is, and it will always be in absolute disarray because that's what I need in my life and only people in disarray can understand that.
But here's the catch about my life: it's also perfect, and it's mine, and it's composed like a beautiful fucking symphony and every day, the notes sound sweeter and it's building and I'm very protective of anyone walking in on that because when we hit that crescendo...
If you follow me and read me and retain any of these words, you know that I was at least sometime in the last year touched up pretty badly by a girl. You know that before her, I have been touched up pretty badly in the past. You know that I own the sensitivity to handle reverse situations with grace and chivalry and you know of me as being an exemplary enough character that I remember my own broken hearts and that I would at least try my damnedest to never let my actions deal any ill-feelings or broken hearts. I hope you know that -- that I would never apologize for my supposed indiscretions -- but that I would at least always try to do right.
But love is carnage. Absolute fucking carnage. And no matter how clean we try to make it, no matter how great the intentions or how remarkable both involved parties are capable of being, someone always gets touched up. It's the price we should all be willing to pay. Because to me, there is nothing as awe inspiring in this world as being in love. The thought of it literally inspires my every turn. And the higher you rise and the better it gets, the greater the crater...and someone always winds up in the crater, always. The truth, there have been a short few that have left me there...some deep, others glancing. The truth, I've left many, many more - and don't you dare think that's me holding a trophy, that's the last thing I would ever do. It's a definition, a self-realization. Because every time I wake up with one of these letters, I'm reminded of my sweet incapability. I'm reminded of my true romance...
Me, my chase, the clock, these keys, this instrument...
