XI: "He falls in here and becomes bad"

The post below this one, I wrote late one night during one stressful sleepless episode. I opted, probably smartly, not to post it then, as the feeling passed.

I dipped myself back into online dating. There's been some activity, and it's going well, but time will tell in the long run if it's worth talking much about. I guess just getting out of the house is worth noting these days. A few times in the last month I've gotten out to see Trove play at the Less Than Level Lounge, even starting the official "first mosh pit" in Trove history. They're good dudes (and lady,) and I wish them well. I'm glad I have such talented friends to support, and when I can, I will -- it's a shame I haven't been able to go see Joe play since November.

So this dating thing. I changed my approach and it yielded some results, got off POF and onto OKC. The personality quiz aspect of it did half my work for me, but there was still heavy lifting to do. But you know me, I won't comment on a case that's ongoing.

So what has happened? A rather busy few days even without that. There've been some unfortunate, but comparatively relieving developments in my dad's health. He had us over with their old friends Henry & Penny on Saturday. It's always a bit of a trick to account for yourself with an old acquaintance. "Oh, what are you doing?" Keeping busy. Working 35 hours a week. Still at home. Yadda yadda. Henry always has good stories, though.

Today was Elizabeth and Madison's birthday, which we'd put off from the beginning of April, since the originally planned date was too short notice and everyone had stuff going on. I was grousing a bit, because I had mistakenly booked Saturday off, so I worked Mon-Fri this week and had Saturday off (didn't do much with it.) Miscommunication, erring on the safe side, oh well. No problem in the long run. They're living out in Kitchener now, in a four-bedroom apartment. We were worried about space, but honestly it's not that different for space than Aunt K's. The event itself went off without a hitch, and it's not like my family gets mad at each other, but things go awry, people get snippy, I don't know... it's all under the surface. My read on it was that everyone was good. I mainly played with the kids.

Little Aaron is going to be 7 in May, his birthday's three days before mine. Elizabeth told us she was pregnant with him on the same day I found out Eddie Guerrero died. I was not up for hearing that. But I yielded my birthday territory to the little guy, and while he has a shyness to him, he's also imaginative and playful. He's the only boy most of the time, and the youngest. He looks up to Cameron, but Cam's a lot older -- at that age, three years is a big difference -- so their interests are starting to split, as Cam gets more into sports and video games and Aaron's still playing with kiddier toys. So Cam keeps pulling away from him and he doesn't understand why.

I was the youngest, by coincidence, by three years. I know what it's like for everyone around you to outgrow you, to not have any time for you. I had an older cousin, Evan, even older than my brothers. We'd go visit him in North Bay, and he'd take us around on walks and play games with us. Then one year I asked him what we were going to play this time, or whatever, and he just kind of shrugged and said "Oh, that was when we were younger."

So I took it on myself - this is not the first time, but it was one time I really felt the need - to go with Aaron to his room and sit with him and let him play. He didn't need me to do anything, he just wanted to bash his action figures together and make up stories about them, why they were fighting, what they could do, who's the bad and good guy. The kid's real imaginative, he reminds me of me. He just really needs someone to pay him some attention, to acknowledge what he's doing. In the last year, his parents went through an acrimonious split, and some of his toys, favourite ones, were lost in a housefire at his dad's. He puts on a brave face. He appreciated me being there for him.

I'm not a parent. I might never be a parent. I like kids, though, and not in an "aw, they're so precious" kind of way. I think I understand them, I have a feeling for what they need sometimes when they're neglected or left out. Maybe I'm just flattering myself, but I know he appreciated it, and I could just see he needed it. Maybe someday he'll grow out of it, he'll be able to amuse himself or he'll be too self-conscious to want to hang out with his big cousin, but right now he's just a 7-year-old kid with a world that's been shaken up in the last year more than I could've handled at that age.

So that was it, today. An early dinner, and hour drive, some light playing (we went out to the park after, although it was a bit chilly.) Harmless day. Good weekend. I feel good about what I've done with it.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto

X: Hollow log

I want to write something personal right now, about the state of my life, but I can't bring myself to. I'm stopped. I think about risks I could have taken with my life years ago, and how I might be happier in the misery they would have led to than in the comfort that safety provides. I'm forever on the brink of leveling up my maturity.

I've got problems but they're not unlivable. It's sick that I sit and stew and privately hate things about my personal life but won't bring myself to change them. I've had friends that, as soon as they were dissatisfied with something, dropped it and moved on. Not a second later. I've had friends that developed their lived on the very path that you're supposed to, and I've had friends who've had more trouble getting out of the starting gates than I have.

I could be a good writer. I could be the best of my generation for all I know but I am so behind on the drive it takes to really make it. I could also be a total shithead. I often talk abouthow I miss the opportunities of the past. It's fucking dumb. The past is gone. I have so much future to work with, but I'm stalled.

What is the reality? That I'm writing. I am, I swear I am, toiling away in my spare moments trying to carve out an escape plan. I see myself as Andy Dufresne in Shawshank, taking twenty years to rock-hammer his way through a concrete wall, and in the meantime making his situation as liveable as possible. But I don't want to take twenty years. "Get busy living or get busy dying" is the line from that movie.

This is a rambling, directionless excoriation of myself that will amount to nothing. I'm going to wake up tomorrow now having changed my life at all. A few days ago Stacie asked what I would be doing if the store shut down and I was gobsmacked for an answer. Unlike all of them there isn't a "field" I want to be working in.

Message truncated.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto