Whining.

I understand that this blog is primarily composed of my complaining and whining. 

Writing this story is killing me. When I first wrote it as a short story with two characters, something about it came so easily. Not that this isn't spilling out of me easily--it's just so hard.

I've become attached to my characters, and I think that's what's killing me. The Boy, an alcoholic who just wants to have fun and passes up what is probably his only chance at love because of fear. The middle-aged woman who just wants someone to love her and ends up marrying a man who's using her for her money. The man who leaves his wife for a boy who doesn't want him. The heroin addict who has big dreams but no motivation, and ends up overdosing. The boy who just wants to figure out who he is, who is broken-hearted from a boy who keeps his distance and finds the heroin addict dead.

I know what happens to them, but something about them has become a part of me. I know that the heroin addict dies, but as I'm writing about her I still feel an overwhelming sadness, and even suspense at whether or not she will die even though I know that she does.

So what do I do to try and get a LITTLE distance from this story? I write another one. About? A boy who thinks his friend, who committed suicide, was murdered. A woman who has an affair with her employer. The employer who's killed by his wife. The two homosexuals whose path keeps almost crossing but not, until one finally accidentally runs the other over, making him paralyzed from the waist down. A boy who loves a girl, the girl who's seeing another boy behind his back and ends up with the other boy. 

I've become too attached to these characters as well.

My friend T, who recently inquired about my recent writing, asked me if I was depressed. And it's not really that; in fact, the only time I feel sad is after I've written about these people's lives. I'm not depressed, I'm usually a rather happy person. But when I write, when my brain, heart, and fingers connect pen to paper, this is the kind of story that comes out. 

It's wearing at me, and often I feel my personality. I want these characters to be happy, but I know that they can't. And what's even worse, my readers are missing the POINT of my stories. Every story has a sick, twisted happy ending. The Railroad ends with a boy who's had his heart broken, lost his innocence, et cetera--and yet, in the process, he's discovered who he is and what his purpose in life is, what he wanted all along. Snow, ending with a man hitting a boy with his car and paralyzing him from the waist down: and yet, they've finally met, and the man vows to stay with the boy and help him forever.

My stories are about finding the joys in and of misery. Perhaps when I finally finish writing them I can feel satisfaction about the characters.

Fear.

It's amazing how much people can surprise you.

The boy who seemed like a total badass, but ended up have a cute little crush on one of his friends.

The total flirt who turned out to be a virgin.

The girl who acted like a small child, but is certainly NOT a virgin.

The totally upbeat guy who writes totally dark stories. 

The Christian boy who's had more sex than ME.

The bitch who's not so bitchy.

I could go on and on. Don't think that any of you aren't putting on a facade, and don't think that you're fooling anyone. And yet... can I really judge myself to any other standard? I act like a child sometimes, and I know that. "Please, I, you're NOT a boy anymore," my friend S told me one night. 

It's totally true. And I know this. Yet I'm still stuck in this little boy, look at me, I'm adorable, blah blah blah. 

Why do we do the things that we do? Why do we act like a badass, or a flirt, or a small child, or upbeat, or super innocent Christian, or a bitch, or a little boy? Why aren't we just upfront about who we are, what we want, what we have? 

The the hell are we so afraid of?

-abashed in abercrombie

Revelations

Back to normal. Or whatever I can consider 'normal.' I'm back in Cedar Rapids, which is just a I'd left it. Back at working at A&F, at which I have more than thirty hours this week because all of the employees are from Iowa and they're ALL on Spring Break. Back to my classes, my professors, and my friends.

It feels amazing to be back, but I needed that week off. Sure, the first few nights weren't the best--I was pathetic and reminiscent, as you can all tell from "Attende De Toi", or (loosely translated) "Waiting For You", and I couldn't sleep the first night back and instead stayed up drinking cocktails. (Which lead to me falling asleep in the pew of my church the next day when I went to visit.) However, after I stopped feeling sorry for myself, I took a step back and examined every part of my life.

I know I've made mistakes, which I guess is the ever-famous first step. The hard part was really examining those mistakes, discovering the root of those mistakes, and finding ways to stop them from continuing and prevent them from starting again.

My biggest mistake, along with the only one I'm really comfortable sharing, is of course relationships. I looked at where I've been since I came to Coe: Four boyfriends, four week-long relationships. My two best friends, though they have had their fun, haven't been in any. My friend W told me that I just want a boyfriend really badly, and I think he's right. I'm not saying that I don't have feelings for any of these guys, I definitely do. But to the degree of a relationship, I'm not sure.

My friend B thinks that I just like suffering. This, to a degree, is also true. If I didn't, I wouldn't be ATTACHED to Facebook every night, wondering why B's relationship status changed to "It's Complicated", wondering who the boy with the braces was in S's new profile pic, and why A seemed to have deleted me entirely.

J thinks that I fall in love too easily, but that's not true. I'm not in love with these boys, I'm in love with the idea that I would have someone that liked me and only wanted to be with me. Solution: stop getting so carried away. Dating is fine, and even more, and if I really really like someone then fantastic for me. But just because two people get along for a month and both have the same sexual orientation does not mean that they're meant to be together.

And the particular obsession with B that I've had is something I especially need to get a grip on. He's a great friend, and hilarious to hang out with. But, facing facts. It's been two years. If he ever wanted to date me, even for a second, he would have asked me out already. People don't change, a wonderful revelation given to me by M, and the only thing you can do in such a situation is accept the current situation for what it is and stop trying to change it--because chances are, the change I've built up in my head would be NOTHING like the change that could actually occur.

So my life is back on track. No more getting drunk, bashing boys with their ex-boyfriends on Facebook, getting more drunk, and crying on the floor of the shower stall for me. 

But don't worry, there will still be the whole getting drunk thing. Today is Saint Patrick's Day, after all.

Attende De Toi

Two years ago, I was sitting here, and it was raining.

It was a little later in the year than it was now--I remember going outside and sitting in the grass in just my boxers and a shirt. Right below my window (referring to my house in Knoxville, Iowa) is a small garden, or at least a garden I tried to make that now consists of a few lilies and lots of weeds. 

I had that feeling--you know the feeling when you've just had the most wonderful idea, and the idea makes you so happy, but at the same time your stomach is churning and tightening because you know that your wonderful idea is impossible. It's kind of what I refer to when I talk about having the mean reds.

So I had this feeling, and it had just stopped raining, so I went outside and sat in the grass. I remember it was wet and smelled fresh. I had this idea, this most wonderful idea, this genius life-altering idea--but I knew that it was impossible.

We all know the feeling. Some of us accept the impossibility, it's the logical thing to do and makes life much easier. However, something in me couldn't accept it, and I held onto the idea like a growing child holds onto a stuffed animal that they know they're getting FAR too old for, but can't seem to give it up. And the wave of possibility for this idea, the up and down and close and never, went on and on. 

Today is March 8, and it's early in the morning. Of all the places to go for Spring Break, I chose to come back to my humble abode in Knoxville, Iowa. You think you've left something entirely behind (or someone...), but once you're back, and you see it (them...)... everything comes back. Sometimes it's so harsh that it's not a rush of memories as just... mush.

It's been raining. It rained the night of the sixth, drizzled the day of the seventh, and rained that night and into this morning. Then it stopped; I knew it would only be a moment before it started again, so (in my underwear and a polo, no less) I ran outside, under my window, and sat in the grass.

It's strange how much changes in two years and how much stays the same. I'm taller, my writing has become much better, I'm more worldly (or at least I like to pretend so), and I like to consider myself, overall, much more mature.

But I'm still that scared little boy, sitting in his yard after the rainfall, thinking about an idea that he knows can never happen. Maybe I'm stubborn. Maybe I think it still has a chance. Maybe I'm just plain dumb.

What I do know is that I'm back here, once again. Wishing for things that aren't and under-appreciating all of the things that are. I'd like to think that people can change. Do change. But that's really not something I can believe in.

-abashed in abercrombie

In The Beginning

I'm not really sure who's going to read this, if anybody. I'm not really even sure why I'm writing it--I got tired of my other blogging site, I got tired of myspace posts, I got tired of a journal, I got tired of writing in a Microsoft document, and I got tired of my iMovie video journals. And I doubt I'll be as personal with this as I would with my video journals because this is open and the videos were private. 

But. If everything has an end, it might as well have a beginning. 

So, what's going on in my life right now? New job--at Pizza Ranch. Classy, I know. I'm still working at Abercrombie&Fitch (since I might cease to exist if I left), but to pick up some extra monies I've joined the pizza business. It's super easy, and they're willing to work around my A&F schedule, so I shouldn't complain.

I shouldn't complain about my new hair either, but I will--black with blue tint and dark brown are two very different colors, but Garnier seems to think that they're the same. I wanted dark brown. I'm never dying my hair myself again.

 

Today I have OFFICIALLY dropped my morning lass, Sociology of Religion. It sucked balls, hardcore, and the professor wrote on my first test (which was less than satisfactory, obviously): "Ian, you don't seem to understand ANY of the material we've been going over. Unless you plan on REALLY turning things around, you should drop." So I did. I mean seriously, he only teaches about Presbyterians, since he is one, and I grew up Presbyterian--which I guess should mean I should have done really well on the test, but I didn't.

So with my remaining four classes, I only have four more days until Spring Break. And what crazy things does this alcoholic have planned? ... I'm retreating to Knoxville for the week. I think of it as a time for self-reflection. We all know (or, at least those who are in close contact with me) that Ian hasn't necessarily made the BEST choices in life lately, so this is a chance for me to look back upon some of those choices, fix what needs to be fixed, move on from what can't be fixed or undone, and kind of start over when I return to Coe. Sorting out ones life is ALWAYS a good thing.

Let's make this a good weekend--self reflection starts next week. This weekend is about having fun.

-Abashed in Abercrombie