Downwards...

Things feel different now. I know the love is there, undeniable. In my minds eye, I see a future with a house, children, a loving wife and a warmth only our family can produce. I have this feeling of hope that that dream will come true and we both want it, regardless of what anyone says... Right?


... Right???

That's the thing that feels different. I mere month ago, these feelings were mutual, now I'm the only one with this hope, alone. The faces are the same but the heart and touch that are usually felt have been modified to something more unfamiliar and cold. Moments of silence, once welcomed with great comfort, now are dreaded and feared. A month ago we were laughing and playing around, now we've become those couples I have never wanted to become. Where did things go wrong?

I understood there were things I needed to work on and to the best of my knowledge... I did. My mindset has been... set. Goals installed and were ready to be accomplished. Baby steps to being a productive, successful adult were happening... Yet here we are. Quiet, distant, sad. I tried and I tried but it feel like I'm throwing water against a brick wall with a raging fire on the other side. I miss her so much.

The smiles she made when she tricked me in her cute way. The way she curled her fingers when she ate pizza on movie night. The look she gave me when she knew I was staring at her beautiful face. They're still there, I'm still here. Please, let's do something about this.

Interesting...

The phone call settles my thoughts and after I tap the "end call" button, my heart slowly reverts back to it's original pace. The fog is gone now. Like a curtain revealing the next act in a play, the lifted fog shows quite clearly my destination. Apartment complex #4. I call it #4 because it is the forth one I've lived in since I moved down here to southern California about ten years ago from up north. It almost feels like the higher number of apartment complex numbers I live in, the lower my living standard get.

Some people discribe the area #4 i'm in as the "anus" of Long Beach (Honest, someone told me that!) and that nickname gets more apparent everyday when I aproach it after work, after a date, or after a couple of drinks with friends. I let a sigh out everytime I walk my girlfriend the two blocks (or more some nights) since parking is horrendous after 8pm. The sigh gets even louder once we enter the tiny space to see dirty clothes on the floor and bare feet greet us after opening the door. My roommate has converted nearly 75% of the apartment into his own personal space and after two years, I developed a problem about it. His office space/ entertainment area/ dining room and laundry basket is something a grown man of 32 doesn't want to see when he would like to bring company or family over.

So off to the bedroom, my own personal fortress of solitude. Sometimes it's not bad but eating on my bed and waking up with crumbs everywhere you don't want them to be, after awhile gets annoying.

At the front gate, I am confronted with the same issue I get myself into every time I come "home". All the stuff I carry from my car to "home" are always held in the hand on the side where the coresponding pocket contains the keys. Never fails. I angrly manuever bag handels or books or grocery bags to eitherthe floor or the other hand to get my keys while reminding myself that the next time I have thingsto bring "home" to figure out the key situation first. Yet I always forget once I open that gate and start up those stairs. I need post-it's.


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Uneasy...

I have this uneasy feeling that just won't go away. I've been feeling this way for a while and have been ignoring it in hopes it would disappear on it's own. Nope, still here. I know what it is, the feeling. Fear. I haven't felt this way in a long time and now the fear is setting in. The red flags that usually pop up and I look past, I'm now noticing them and now I'm concerned. I hate to say this, but sometimes I wish I could just be reassured everything is ok. That makes me sound insecure but lately I have been feeling that way. I want to understand but asking is not an option. I have to settle with assuming and we all know what happened when you assume: you look/sound/are stupid when you do. I hate being stupid and clueless.

Dear Dad...

Hi! It's me, your son. It's been like 15 years since you died so it's understandable that you wouldn't recognize me. I'm a bit taller (wider, but I'm working on that... Kinda), I can complete sentences without drooling or needing a change of diapers, and I've been married (and divorced). So yeah, I'm older bit not grown up. I know better than to say that. I feel that if I was to be "grown-up" then I should have responsiblities, important ones but I don't. Atleast I don't think I do. Maybe if I had gotten someone prego when I was in high school or lost a limb then I wouldn't feel like I'm floating in limbo waiting for something to guide me in the right direction. Reality is still strange to me.

Sometimes I feel I would of had a better understanding of this world if you were alive but I think mom did a great job raising Nessa and I. I have so many questions I wish you could answer. That's why I made this blog, so in a way my questions and thoughts are going out to some sort of space and possibly can be heard by you or something like that.

I would say I miss you but I can barely remember you. So instead I'll say wished I knew you.

Carlos


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Feeling...

The fog has turned to rain. Shattering against my windshield like a crystal wine glass dropped on tile. Raindrops beading on the hood as if my car had just finished running a marathon. My thoughts go back to that "if" accident I could of had in the fog. Since I am mere moments from my apartment, it would make total sense crashing into a pole or hydroplaning towards oncoming traffic.

No one would miss me.

"Where the hell did that come from?!" I yell at myself. Suicidal tendencies are not something I play with and my life is in no way that terrible where ending it is and has to be the only answer. Yes I'd admit money has been tight, job has been stale, my depression has been acting up and my body weight has increased to an all time high but to kill myself, no. Being broke, bored, depressed and fat are not good enough reasons to put myself six feet under.

My wiperblades deliberately ignore a portion of the windsheild and leave a section of unwiped rain directly in front of my way of vision. Now I'm not only annoyed at my suicidal brain but my wiperblades seem to have it out for me as well. "Why would my head suddenly think like that?", I ask myself. "No one would miss me? I would miss me! She would miss me."


Once she popped in my mind, a sudden sense of peace overwhelms my body. She has always had that affect on me. We've only been dating for a small amount of time but it feels like forever, and that thought makes a smile grow on my face so big, I know it created new wrinkles and I don't mind. I truely feel happy. I missed the fun we have doing nothing but talking, touching, giggling although it was yesterday when we did all that last. There's portions of the bed I look forward to finding since these little treasures contain the scent of her hair. I cherish the moments I find them but I don't abuse it for I know soon it'll disappear. So I turn over and hope later I find it again.

Hurting myself would not only be crime against me, it would also be a crime against her because it would make her sad. I never want to do that. So I parrallel park, dial her number and ask her about her day. I hope she knows how much she means to me.


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Waiting...

"The fog is thick tonight," I thought as I drove home from work.

It was as though mother nature tucked in for the evening every park and body of water with a hazy comforter. Nights like this I become extra paranoid at myself driving at speeds greater than forty. I smile as I remember to place my hands at three and nine o'clock and for a few moments pretend to be a nervous sixteen year old on their drivers exam sweaty palms and all. Then I become even more paranoid once I remember I'm not the only one lost in mother natures fog quilt.

The headlights become my guides in this museum of mist, my mirrors turn into three new sets of eyes determined to catch anything out of the ordinary and my eye brows meet again in the middle of my forehead, furrowed in anticipation of the impending accident soon to happen.

"But I've never been in an accident..." as soon as the word "accident" rolled off my mental tongue, my righthand instinctly slapped my right cheek. Like an old superstitious lady snapping her fingers three times and spitting, I begin lecturing myself:

"What's wrong with you? You know better than to think that!"
"I know," eyes rolling back.
"Don't give me that look! If you knew then why did you do it?!"
"I don't know."
"You don't know a lot, do you?"
"I guess I don't."

I don't know when my inside voice became my mother when I was six. The drive is taking forever. The route usually takes ten minutes but now is slowly rolling pass the twenty mark. My mind starts going into random mode and I begin having thoughts of cars falling from the sky or monsters creeping out of the fog. I turn the radio lower, as though that'll help my trip home become easier and less dangerous. My blinker in the fog looks like cannons shooting from a pirate ship. That thought makes me feel a little better. As though my imaginary cannons are protecting my vessle from the falling cars and monsters. Bullseye with every shot.

Willingly Unaware

What does it mean when you have the urge to to create something that can change the world yet lack the motivation to actually do it? Some say it's called "being lazy" but think it's something else. I swear sometimes when I get that impulse to grab a pen or paint brush and put that image in my head on paper or canvas, some kind of entity appears and sits on chest and rants about good it would feel to just lay there, order a pizza and watch reruns of CSI or Full House on my computer.

I tried taking a picture of it but it always comes out fuzzy...

So I drew it the best I could

I know what you're thinking and no, there is in no way anything sexual about this. Besides I'm not his type.... (sniff) and I don't care to be!

CJRGS