BACKGROUND: Saliva and Authority Zero
Funny, now that I think of it. I've been in Sactown for only ten months and I technically already have three ex-es.
And yes, I am depressed right now but it has nothing to do with the fact that I saw Collyne at the bar. No, I'm depressed because my mom and me just finished watching the early Peter Jackson drama "Heavenly Creatures" which, in case you haven't seen this incredible film (Kate Winslett's first onscreen role as a fanciful, mentally wacked out, murderous lesbo teen in New Zeland), is one of the best downer films ever created. Really, go rent the sucker if you've never seen it
So, I'm here eating Carl's Jr. and watching old seventies and eighties super hero cartoons, trying to clean the taste that the nineteenfifties New Zeland murderous lesbo film leaves. Feel like I need to watch nine hours of Sesamee Street now just to get balanced.
I always hear all these Sacramentions talk about the rainy season. They always talk about it with some sort of smugness about them, like they gain some sort of pride from it. I always dismissed their high talk hullabaloo about the goddamm rainy season. But goddamm if it hasn't stopped raining for a few days now, you know? And I'm a desert rat, a desert spick, not used to these drops of rain which fall from the sky.
So I went to the bar last Wednesday. Didn't drink (today's day twenty of my sobriety - no drinking, no alcahol, not even nyquil). I just sat there, writing in my journal the events of this past month. Well, Collyne and the big Him was there. I tried to act like a cool cat, like I didn't care that they were there, just hanging out, old friends, whatever. That was all a lie, obviously, but that was that. I sang my stupid kareoke songs, talked to my old bar friends, and just sat by myself, occasionally talking to Him or kidding around with my old Col.
Think I was too hard on her, though. At one point, she said "Steve, you're not making this any easier on me." That took me back a bit. That's what my ex-fiance said, too, when we were eating at that resturaunt after she had broken up with me and I brought up our first dance. She said the same thing. I'm not making this easier on her. So, I told Col exactly, word for word, verbatum, what I wish I would have said to my ex-ex.
"Is this supposed to be easy for you? Is that what you want, for this to all be 'easy' like ripping off a band-aid or something? Because it is a lifetime of pain to me right now."
I find myself in a position where the things that I once used to define myself are gone, where I am no longer fully sure who I am anymore. It's a pretty interesting feeling, being alcahol free and smoke free, being super skinny again without that little beer gut I used to have. Without the breating problems I used to have. With a newly found respect for music, for art, for people like Annie Lebovitz and the Get Up Kids and the Used and Robert Frost and Michaelangelo. Me here writing poetry and trying to learn the guitar and working out and listening to Against All Authority and trying to better myself.
Not sure who I'm going to be now. I'm surprised that I'm no longer the crazy drunk Steve-O that everybody gets a kick out of. Not sure who I am now. I'm quieter, more substance to my bones, I think. I mean, I could easily be one of those all black wearing, Hot Topic shopping, black fingernail poetry writing goth fuckos, or one of those sensitive, delicate, vegitarian, Yo La Tengo listening, I Work At A Record Store hip guys. Or a rocker with long hair who acts like an asshole but he knows an instrument so her gets all the tits.
But I'm not really any of that. Or, to put it better, I'm a bastardized version of all of that. I'm a bastard. I always have been. I'm too brown for the whites and too white for the browns. people think I'm a gangsta but I don't know spanish and I watch "Invader Zim" reruns until I know them by heart. I've always been too different to be included into any one group and my current change I guess represents this.
Fuck all this. I think too much.
I'm going to go take a shower.