About a year ago, I wrote a blog entitled “Chocolate Most Dark.” It was a naïve and simple-minded attempt at sharing my musings on life in general with the rest of the digital world. Yeah, that was stupid.
My ex-good-friend, who shall remain anonymous, promised I would feel great pain and embarrassment for dropping my guard and getting sentimental, and he did an admirable job of keeping his word. Thanks, Luca.
In any event, I’m doing it again. This endeavor was prompted by my Friday night visit to the very same Dilettante coffee shop at Kent Station. I had a 41% milk chocolate Mocha Café, two degrees less intense than my previous brew (and technically not dark chocolate). Consequently, I did not attain an altered state of mind, and, while I’m sure women of all ages would indeed swoon upon hearing me croon, although probably for less than favorable reasons, I refrained from embarrassing myself in such a manner.
Why then, you may wonder, am I writing a pseudo-sequel blog? Simply put, because I’ve had a lot of things on my mind lately that pertain to “fathoming the mysteries of the universe (women)” and the future in general. That and I love cool blog titles even more than blogs. I’m weird like that.
At the same time, I do have reservations about spilling my guts online. In the past, when I had fewer friends on Facebook and the blog import function was temperamental at best, there was little fear or concern that more than two people would read anything I wrote. Now though, I have to be a little more careful (or ratchet up my privacy settings so you’re all reduced to limited profile views). Thus, I will speak even more vaguely than before.
I recently met a new girl at work. It’s my habit to be friendly and welcoming to all my co-workers, but I make extra effort to help the new hires feel accepted. This is usually accomplished by sharing my love of Superman and super heroes in general, which unveils a side of my personality that is easily ridiculed. It may not be the best routine, but it puts people at ease faster than a shot of Novocain and is a lot less painful. They laugh, I laugh, and it makes the process of getting to know each other that much easier.
As for this girl, she seemed to peg my personality a lot faster than I did hers. Actually, I’m still working on it. I hate it when people ask me what kind of music I listen to, because so many opinions are based off the answer to this question and my answer is always, “I don’t really listen to music.” It’s true. I don’t really listen to music. My music is music I know well enough that I don’t actually need to listen to it, with a few exceptions.
In keeping with the theme of my aforementioned blog, I do like big-band numbers from the 30s-50s with crooners like Bing Crosby and Dean Martin. It’s all a bit over the top, a little silly, but a lot of fun and, dare I say, often romantic. This girl didn’t seem a bit surprised when I mentioned these details, and in fact seemed vindicated in her esoteric assessment of my personality. Am I that transparent? Is there no mystery left? Is my disguise no better than a fedora and coke-bottle glasses?
Well, I’m getting off track. The fact is that I do like old-timey music and I do like cheesy romantic notions of years gone by. I’m not actually Superman and I can’t actually dance, and I can’t actually croon to save my life, but… it’s the thought that counts.
Lately I’ve been trying to piece together the puzzle of my life. I’m convinced a few pieces are missing, but I don’t know if they’re all that important in forming the big picture. I know what matters most in life, and I’ve made several leaps in that direction, but the immediate future is very vague and I haven’t got a clue what it entails. Where God has led, I’ve followed; where he’s leading next, I don’t know.
I’m still looking for another job. I’ve closed the doors on some past issues, and walked into a few closed doors too. I’m frustrated by my lack of progress on my personal and creative projects; I’m discouraged by the death of several visions. I’m seething with anger at my stupidity with women in general and disillusioned by several non-potential potentials. My ambition and vigor for life is drained.
I nearly punched out one of my co-workers recently. I was so angry and infuriated I could hardly talk above a whisper to my supervisor about it. The situation was resolved quickly, but the next day I woke up and wanted to strangle my co-worker with my bare hands. If you think I’m exaggerating, you’re wrong. I’ve never snapped like this before and it really scared me. I could have killed the guy and felt no remorse.
Part of it had to do with seeing The Incredible Hulk on Father’s Day. For far too many years I’ve played the pacifist Bruce Banner, keeping my anger and frustrations in check. Not being taken seriously, being made fun of, getting pushed around, being mocked for my timidity… well, it came to an end. I didn’t pop out of my purple pants or anything, but this once-was pale-faced pacifist became a boiling bucket of agitated gamma rays. Er, that is to say I was not a happy camper. It’s over now, but it was worrisome.
A lot has happened in a very short time, and I’ve never dealt with stress very well. With so much uncertainty and outside pressure, I’m feeling like my old way of life is at an end. I’ve ceased caring about subtleties and avoiding social faux pas; I’m happy to share my thoughts verbatim to any unlucky soul in earshot. On a positive note, this has made sharing the gospel less intimidating. On a negative note, I don’t think I genuinely care about the outcome. Sink or swim; accept it or die. You know? No? Oh, well.
These are very trying times. Things aren’t going badly for me, and in fact I’m enormously blessed, but I do feel my life has been only a fragment of its potential to this point, and I’m impatiently waiting for this phase to end.