Just when I thought I was out…

“Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.”
– Michael Corleone, Godfather III

Not that I thought I was in the clear, mind you, but this goddamn see-saw is making me crazy. Maybe I’ll have a good couple days. Maybe I feel invigorated and ready to move on. Then out of nowhere, everything slaps me upside the head again. I really don’t have anything new to add to this diatribe I’ve been spewing for damn near 4 months. If you want to know how I feel, just go back a few posts and you’ll know. The more things change, the more they stay the same… literally.

A couple things I would like to know. Why does my stomach still do summersaults when something reminds me of her? For example… I’m working on the AJsAngels.org website yesterday. I’m making photo galleries of their auction events. Not even thinking, I open the images from the 2005 event. Of course, I see her in a picture, just half of her face in profile, across the room and somehow it feels like its just all happened again. I’m beginning to wonder if that is EVER going to stop happening. I don’t know if that is the reason I was awake at 3:20 this morning or not. I have been sleeping pretty well lately. Perhaps this morning will be an anomaly.

Could be a couple other reasons recently though… I’ve recently had the first question about her from someone who hadn’t heard. I knew it was coming sooner or later. Part of me is surprised it took as long as it did, but then again, I don’t see many different people. I still hate actually having to say it. Having to admit I was thrown out on my ass. Of course, you try to play it off very nonchalant, but inside your brain starts talking to you. Once it gets going, I have a very hard time stopping it. Going to the gym sometimes helps, but as soon as I get back to the apartment it will come back. I’ve really made an effort to eliminate things that remind me of her. For example, I’ve bought a bunch of new shirts and thrown out stuff that reminds me. Not everything yet, but a little at a time. Funnily enough, that does help. This is how messed up my brain is. In the novel I’m reading a character goes to a restaurant and orders a glass of wine. The author mentions the winery, Silver Oak, which I instantly remember that we had at a family dinner at Crane Creek one evening. And as was said on The Simpsons, “And here come the pretzels!” (George, that’s for you). I sometimes wish I had a much worse memory. It truly infuriates me to know end that I let this stuff get to me.

Strangely enough, the movie Clerks 2 also reminded me, but I’m going to write my review of that one shortly.

Dreams are still happening too. Have yet to think of a way to combat that little problem. Frontal lobotomy, perhaps?

Why do we seem to sometimes enjoy making our selves miserable? I ask because I heard a song the other day and have listened to it 5 or 6 times since. The song “Home” by Michael Buble. The song is actually about a guy who is on the road for an extended period and just wants to get home. My interpretation, of course, is I just wish this was all over and I could go back ‘home’. Back to the way things were. Back to the house, the dogs, to everything down to the littlest of things. (you can hear the song from his homepage… see the controls in the upper right part of the page: http://www.michaelbuble.com/) Sometimes I just really hate my apartment. Hate starting over at 32. Hate the whole bloody process.

I’ve recently broken out a bunch of albums that I listened the hell out of in the early to mid 90’s. Stuff I haven’t heard in years. Its nice to be reminded of things that were PRE-divorce for a change. Even though I was going to school full time with no end in sight, working full time for peanuts washing cars and delivering pizzas, and had no girlfriend for years, at this point, those are the plesant memories. Never thought I’d be saying that…