If you read through this blog, over most of the entries going back a year, two years, more, you might get the impression that I'm a terminally sad, angry, morose fucker. I mean, just look at the labels list. Other than the catchall label of 'emotion' and the nearly the omnipresent honesty (And Merri) there's mostly labels like fear, shame, loneliness, risk, and of course 'the last thing that made you cry' (Though, that's really not as depressing as it sounds. Honest.) I realized that this is because when I'm happy, I'm not writing. At least not here. When I'm happy I'm either too busy actually enjoying life, or even too busy with other writing, to come up with anything I feel I need to share here. This is bad therapy. Especially since, for those that actually read this blog, I'm not only sharing events, but emotional weight tied to those events. (See, emotions already) It can be a pretty heavy load for me to bare on my own, and that's why I share it with you all, but where does that leave you? Its been selfish of me not to think of this until now, and I'm heartily ashamed (Shame. Right there.) As a way of apologizing, allow me to tell you about a pretty damn good Sunday. One in which I was happy!
In order to understand this Sunday, I have to start from Saturday night. This, I think is what really set my Sunday into gear. I don't usually like going Cabana, but it probably is Belmopan's only place for late night entertainment. And this night, for a change, I only had to pay 15 bucks to go in and pay again for over-priced drinks, an acceptable discount from their usual twenty dollar door charge. And once inside, there would be no wandering around, tapping your feet under a table to whatever stale musical selection the bartenders wanted to hear. There were guest DJ's there. Entertaining ones too! With fresh music, some of which I hadn't even heard before. (Side Note: I don't get what the big deal is about that 'In my Cup' song, but whatever!) There were also friends there, already assembled. Friends that knew one another and knew me! Friends that had no problem sitting at one big table together, so that I wouldn't have to play that tiresome game of wandering from one segregated, non communicative clique to the other. I even danced a little. With other people. Of the opposite sex. And then, when Saturday Night started turning into Sunday Morning, I danced a lot. By my self.
Here's one last interesting highlight from Saturday Night. The Intern asked me if She was my girlfriend. Now, this is the same intern who, just a day before, stood at my office door asking me a question. And as the air around her wafted toward me, the scent of her struck my senses afire! My heart was racing and behind my eyes but before my brain I could only see myself grasping her in my arms and tugging aside the bothersome fabric of her clothes to root out the source of that sent on her flesh, where I would set lips to kissing and tongue to tasting. A moment later she was out of sight, and after that, the smell had gone, and so had the urge to ravage her. She is a beautiful creature, and dangerously so.
We are also talking about Her, who I've repeatedly had similar compulsions toward, but based more frequently on the things she said and the way she angled her supple limbs. This, however is balanced by our miscommunications and my more frequent lack of communication. And, sometimes, its overridden completely by the occasional realization that we're not as compatible as we want one another the be (because, by now, I'm certain the feeling is mutual.)
Now, I'm not gonna lie and say she is something that she isn't. At the same time I didn't want to give the impression that I was only saying no just because the intern was asking, which is exactly what i did when I hesitated before saying no. Why did I hesitate? I honestly can't tell you. Though...perhaps the inquirer and subject have something to do with it. Or my mind was clouded once again by the smell of her.
The night was extraordinary in that nothing really happened. I didn't get too drunk, and I wasn't sober enough to sense any great disappointment at being shot down several times that night. It was the ideal Caribbean Night out: Good Rum, Good Company, Good Music. In the theater of my mind, that's just the way it ends too, the lights dim on the scene of close to a hundred people swaying, and grinding, and jumping, balancing perfectly their multicolored drinks, and continuing that way until the curtains close.
The next day I woke up at ten. Six hours sleep and a clear head, I started on breakfast, but didn't actually finish it until almost twelve. By then I'd already showered twice, and walked the dog. All this stuff is secondary, of course. B-roll stuff. If the club scene from the night before was the ultimate fade out, then the ultimate fade in would have been a blue sky peeking out between green and brown branches, and the sound of cicadas singing in the heat, coupled with distant laughter. The only trouble with movies and plays is that they lack the fully emmersive sensations. I think that if more people managed to spend a few hours every weekend floating on their backs in pristine rivers and creeks, letting the water wash over their entire bodies, then we wouldn't be so damn cruel to one another.
Cities. Cities cause cancer. And stomach ulcers. And strokes and heart attacks before the age of fifty. I was once asked, if I could choose the moment i died, what would it be. My Sunday afternoon is exactly what I chose. Soaking in cool water on a hot day, staring up at the beauty of creation, and feeling...happy. What a blessing it is to have the privilege of choosing to become lost in the wilderness upon occasion.
In order to understand this Sunday, I have to start from Saturday night. This, I think is what really set my Sunday into gear. I don't usually like going Cabana, but it probably is Belmopan's only place for late night entertainment. And this night, for a change, I only had to pay 15 bucks to go in and pay again for over-priced drinks, an acceptable discount from their usual twenty dollar door charge. And once inside, there would be no wandering around, tapping your feet under a table to whatever stale musical selection the bartenders wanted to hear. There were guest DJ's there. Entertaining ones too! With fresh music, some of which I hadn't even heard before. (Side Note: I don't get what the big deal is about that 'In my Cup' song, but whatever!) There were also friends there, already assembled. Friends that knew one another and knew me! Friends that had no problem sitting at one big table together, so that I wouldn't have to play that tiresome game of wandering from one segregated, non communicative clique to the other. I even danced a little. With other people. Of the opposite sex. And then, when Saturday Night started turning into Sunday Morning, I danced a lot. By my self.
Here's one last interesting highlight from Saturday Night. The Intern asked me if She was my girlfriend. Now, this is the same intern who, just a day before, stood at my office door asking me a question. And as the air around her wafted toward me, the scent of her struck my senses afire! My heart was racing and behind my eyes but before my brain I could only see myself grasping her in my arms and tugging aside the bothersome fabric of her clothes to root out the source of that sent on her flesh, where I would set lips to kissing and tongue to tasting. A moment later she was out of sight, and after that, the smell had gone, and so had the urge to ravage her. She is a beautiful creature, and dangerously so.
We are also talking about Her, who I've repeatedly had similar compulsions toward, but based more frequently on the things she said and the way she angled her supple limbs. This, however is balanced by our miscommunications and my more frequent lack of communication. And, sometimes, its overridden completely by the occasional realization that we're not as compatible as we want one another the be (because, by now, I'm certain the feeling is mutual.)
Now, I'm not gonna lie and say she is something that she isn't. At the same time I didn't want to give the impression that I was only saying no just because the intern was asking, which is exactly what i did when I hesitated before saying no. Why did I hesitate? I honestly can't tell you. Though...perhaps the inquirer and subject have something to do with it. Or my mind was clouded once again by the smell of her.
The night was extraordinary in that nothing really happened. I didn't get too drunk, and I wasn't sober enough to sense any great disappointment at being shot down several times that night. It was the ideal Caribbean Night out: Good Rum, Good Company, Good Music. In the theater of my mind, that's just the way it ends too, the lights dim on the scene of close to a hundred people swaying, and grinding, and jumping, balancing perfectly their multicolored drinks, and continuing that way until the curtains close.
The next day I woke up at ten. Six hours sleep and a clear head, I started on breakfast, but didn't actually finish it until almost twelve. By then I'd already showered twice, and walked the dog. All this stuff is secondary, of course. B-roll stuff. If the club scene from the night before was the ultimate fade out, then the ultimate fade in would have been a blue sky peeking out between green and brown branches, and the sound of cicadas singing in the heat, coupled with distant laughter. The only trouble with movies and plays is that they lack the fully emmersive sensations. I think that if more people managed to spend a few hours every weekend floating on their backs in pristine rivers and creeks, letting the water wash over their entire bodies, then we wouldn't be so damn cruel to one another.
Cities. Cities cause cancer. And stomach ulcers. And strokes and heart attacks before the age of fifty. I was once asked, if I could choose the moment i died, what would it be. My Sunday afternoon is exactly what I chose. Soaking in cool water on a hot day, staring up at the beauty of creation, and feeling...happy. What a blessing it is to have the privilege of choosing to become lost in the wilderness upon occasion.
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