Tightly Wound

I'm just going to go off for an entire post. Seems appropriate.

To sum up my feelings from the last week, I'm just going to go with "I'm pissed". Given my escalating condition, I'm happy to be feeling anything at all, no matter how harsh or extreme those particular feelings might be. I am currently seeing everything from a rather point of view, and I must say, the view looks remarkably corrupted.

I know, it's one of those posts wherein I make minimal sense. Keeping the sense at a minimum seems like a prudent thing to do though. I've said before that there are no good people, just people that are on your side. The thing is, these days, when memories start to fade and the herd needs to be thinned to make way for comfort, no one is on anybody's side.

Throwback to Purgatory. The one good thing that happened to me last week was also something that was somewhat an ending to something that has ended a long fucking time ago. Like wrapping an important subplot to make way for new ones, I had what seemed to be one last day with what remains of the people I've grown to be fond of back in Purgatory.

To those new to these pages (Yes, that would be you, Chad.), I worked in a call center back in 2009, the worst year of my life. I refer to the place as "purgatory", because everyone there, myself included of course, had a mostly okay existence and then that particular life ended. One way or another we all ended up in that place, and since longevity in those companies is rare, everyone knew it was a matter of time before people moved on to a better (heaven) or worse (hell) place.

Being in Purgatory was the highlight of that difficult year for me, meeting individuals that had made me feel far less alone and unconditionally accepted like very few of the people who had come before or after the few oaths i had stayed there. In fact, had not my body broken down, I would probably still be working the phones with my fellow miscreants.

A couple of weeks back, news that one of our own was leaving the country for good. So, despite work and other personal matters, nothing could have stopped me from spending the day with them, whittled their numbers may be. There were only four of us on that day, and that brief lunch was actually more gratifying than most social events I've been involved with over the past six months.

Of course, we didn't just have lunch. Once the guy who was actually leaving the country had left, I had the remaining two join me in the Fortress for drinks and stories. We all met each other precisely two years and two months ago. In that time, couples were formed and broken up, people got promoted and changed drastically for the better or worse, certain individuals have left in pursuit of either new environments or old dreams, one even came out of the closet.

And, as a special treat, they left me a parting memory. Apparently, the boyfriend of one of the girls I was drinking with has been waiting right outside the Fortress' gates for more than hours as we were getting drunker and drunker and laughing our asses off. Inebriation and total disregard for other people that are not us, just like old times.

That day gave me a sense of peace I rarely have, and I will always long for the time wherein I actually find myself in the company of these colorful characters on a regular basis again. Far from perfect, but perhaps the most beautiful collection of people I have been a part of.

Unexpected Visit. One thing that people should know, especially ones that have known me for years, is that if I stayed at home for the entire day, doing nothing and not inviting anyone, then that should indicate I'm not interested in seeing anyone. That's why I don't like unexpected visits. If you are going to be arrogant enough to visit me without an appointment, at the very least, please fucking make it worth my while. I'm not just some dude who sits around waiting for your people to drop by. I do have a strict schedule and even stricter set of principles when it comes to how I spend my time. If you're going to alter that schedule, at least make it memorable and pleasant for me.

But on a night when I was just gearing up for an all nighter at the Think Tank (I missed work due to the Purgatory Farewell bash.) who else shows up but the Gadgeteer and his girlfriend. Of course, I go and entertain the way I usually do… by buying beer and hoping that I at least get some pleasant conversation out of it. What I got was something that came off as a blowoff beer bash, with the Gadgeteer not exactly as cordial as he usually is, and his girlfriend sitting in the corner constantly complaining that they had to go.

Point one, if you had to leave early, you shouldn't have fucking showed up in the first place. It's disruptive, it's presumptuous, and it's flat out annoying. Point two, the Gadgeteer and I had been friends for a decade or so and he haven't seen each other in a while. How about a little fucking respect for everything that's come before, and not just sit there making snarky comments? When your boy was downtrodden, bitching about his ex, and I told him i was unavailable cause I my blood pressure was sky high and showed up nonetheless, did I turn him away?

This is the same vibe I got from one of my older friends, the Godfather of Porn, when he finally had that kid he had always been dreaming of, and I think the whole I'm-pissing-on-everything-else-around-me-attitude-now-that-I'm-kinda-doing-well vibe is a recurring trend to a bunch of people around me these days that I'm seriously curious as to who is giving away these asshole pills and bottles of Instant Bitch Energy Drinks and how come I didn't get any.

Minor Annoyances. With the couple basically throwing me off schedule, I missed my supposed Saturday night movie with Nikki, and my night with The Therapist and Jo F'n Regis to celebrate the former's birthday just so I could catch up with work. Saturday night, and it was raining as hell, and I had nothing to do, but then I remembered The Critic's IM from a few days past, asking me to go to the BIg Man's house for a little drinkathon. I thought, "what the hell, last time was fun".

So I went, and we (The Critic, The Big Man and I) were keeping in close communication until I got to the house and no one was there. Yeah, the other residents were there, but they weren't the ones I traveled all the way in the fucking rain to visit. This is actually a normal occurrence, since they usually go on a booze run at the last minute, but I ended up waiting for more than an hour with nothing to do because the two decided to exchange music knowing full well I was there.

On the surface, it seems like a little thing to rub me to wrong way, but as I've learned early on in my adult life, it's the little things that are the most telling. It wasn't the waiting that kinda ruined my mood, it's lack of effort of letting me know where the fuck the people who invited me there actually were. But I let it slide, despite the fact that I had a gnawing feeling that I was about to have a shitty weekend.

So we drank, we ate, we laughed and talked about comics and other shit. The morning after, I fucking had no drive to do anything.

The Life Expectancy of Clouded Judgments. Sunday, I decided to not work and just go along with the Big Man's supposed interview. See, we are about to engage in a project, wherein he finally gets to wear the big boy pants. I tagged along thinking I might as well do something productive and see the people I was potentially going to work with.

Not surprisingly, the Make Up Artist was there as well, and wouldn't you know it, it was a crazy night. Not crazy as in "Damn, last night was crazy, let's do it again" crazy. More like "holy shit, shoot me now, or better yet, shoot everyone else" kinda crazy. I've been preachy all throughout this post, so I might as well keep it going. Like I told the BIg Man that night, there's drama that's necessary, and then there's drama for drama's sake. The former is something that everyone has to deal with at some point, preferably at the right time and place. The latter, just kinda fucking ruins shit. See, she, had a few job issues that she couldn't stop bitching about, repetitively. Now, I'm not downplaying her problems cause sure that shit is serious for her, but I firmly believe in talking about it in the right place. Not in Marbles. Not when there's only three of you and you're going to be unloading on one person, completely leaving the other dude with nothing to do but drink and no one to talk to, and essentially preventing the person you are unloading to an opportunity to have a good time. Dude, I'm six foot three. The other guy's nearly 300 pounds. We are as far to invisible as anyone can get. You don't take a social gathering and turn it into something that's all about you just cause you have problems, cause everyone has problems, a lot of them probably bigger than yours. Again, there's nothing wrong with a little ranting now and then. Overdoing it, well, that's a different a matter.

I wont pretend to know every detail of her supposed problem. But the fact is, when you bitch about losing your job, make sure you really lost that job. Not waste a perfectly good night out crying about it and then text the following night that you got your job back.

When I started this new blog, I said I was going to be more honest, and in all honesty, I think the guy that's about to wear the big boy pants is a little distracted that some of his courses of action seem rather unsound. Personally, yes, but I think it's starting to affect his professional life as well. Or would affect his professional life. I pray I'm wrong, but if there's one thing I've had experience on, its emotional unstable people in the workplace. Seen it, heard it, been it.

Oh, hell no. Came back to Cavite, to my mother's house, and me and my mother had a little chat on a rainy Monday morning. Apparently, she bought a new house and wants me to live in her old one with my brother. That little talk left me a more than a little confused.

The moment college was done, I had moved out, living with different roommates before finally being able to live on my own in 2009. I had on a few occasions come back to live with them, the most recent of which was last year, when I thought my mother was having problems and I wanted to confirm if it was true or not. Once it was settled, off I went once more.

I found the proposition to live in that house again preposterous, as my brother and I never got along. Back in 2007, we had a huge fight that ended up with me not dropping by for two years.

Her intentions for this particular change still aren't clear to me, though I'm sure everyone with a traditional view on family would have half-assed theories. My mother's own arguments regarding the merits of my moving into that house weren't really convincing enough. She even went as far as to bestow responsibility on me, saying "I know that you can handle yourself on your own. But I'm not sure your brother couldn't. So if you could learn to be the bigger person and make it work…" You know the drill.

I'm not completely devoid of propriety, cause if it was any other person, I would have pointed out how much that shit isn't really problem. Everyone else has been hitting me with the ol' "your mother's getting older, so it might be best to give her what she wants" song and dance, but that's still not a logical reason to subject myself to a surely horrible experience.

But, I said I'll think about it, so I will. We'll see. Man, Baguio seems to be a nice option right now.

Retrospective Point of View. In the middle of writing this, I went to the convenience store to get my favorite energy drink, as it was 3 AM. When I went to the store, I saw my boss from Purgatory there, the one that I've always claimed to be the best boss I've ever had, and the best boss I will ever have. (Seriously, I don't think anyone can measure up.)

It got me thinking. The time I was in Purgatory, I was messed up. I was drunk and high everyday, taking more pills than I can handle, cutting myself, and I've had discussions with certain individuals wherein I've heard that what I was doing was not healthy and immature, dangerous, and some even went as far as to say that it was WRONG.

What I was doing back then was self-destructive, so it was dangerous. Definitely unhealthy. But immature? Wrong? Come on. It was a form of escapism, and the way I see it, being clean somewhat for the longest time now, it was a better alternative than what most people I see are doing to themselves now.

I was unhappy, and I addressed that. I didn't live in denial. I didn't shoot down other people's happiness just cause I didn't have mine. I didn't repress nor regress. I didn't hurt anybody that I love in any form, nor did I neglect anyone else but myself. I didn't take anyone for granted. I didn't lie to myself by thinking I was better when I wasn't, that I didn't have issues or problems when I had a shitload of them. I never pretended to be anyone I wasn't. I never lied, stole, cheated. Never debased or degraded myself. I was unhappy, but I never planned on settling on nothing less than my own standards of happiness. It was something that was happening to me, and when I was done with it, I was done with it.

People have come to define maturity based on outward actions or stature, titles. That when you reach a certain age, you have to be this, or that, or with this person, or own specific things, prioritize certain things. I define maturity with accepting who you are, knowing when you are wrong, fighting, if needed, when you are right, never forgetting to say "thank you" and "I'm sorry" when needed, learning constantly, knowing exactly what to retain and what to discard, keeping an open mind and taking care of what's really valuable. And of course, right or wrong is different from healthy and unhealthy.

I'm still not okay, far from it. Why else would I spend the night blogging? But I'm not worse than most of people I know. A lot of people in my life right now are going through something that they are dealing with in a manner that, in my opinion, is far worse than me getting smashed with people whom I've found a sense of belonging. And the difference is, I knew back then that I was doing all that shit because I was dealing with something. A lot of the people I've been around with, particularly this year, don't even seem to recognize, or even accept that they're dealing with shit, because the thought of them being troubled is a far too uncomfortable thought to deal with.

With that in mind, I've decided to forego therapy. I'd rather not feel anything and deal with anxiety attacks, then undergo the process of counseling and medication just to have someone tell how to be just like everyone else. The way I see it, most of everyone else is more fucked up than I am.

"Man! Cause I don't wanna do that

I want to have a good time and enjoy my Jack
Sit back and watch the women get drunk as hell
So I can wake up in the morning wit a story to tell
I know it's been a lil while since I been out the house!
But now I'm here, you wanna stand around
running your mouth?!
I can't hear nothing you saying or spitting, so wassup!
Can't you see we in the club?! Man shut the fuck up!!" - Ludacris, "Get Back"