The Season to be Jolly

I never thought I'd be in a position in life wherein attending a company Christmas party is actually a big deal, but that damn party has been the center of everyone's focus for the past couple of weeks. I've been working for several years now, and have moved from one workplace to the other and I have been able to avoid being part of something (in my opinion) but an annoying way to wreck a perfectly good night. I guess things really are different now.

The events of that night, as well as the days surrounding that night, have been an apt way to end my year. Status quo has been shattered, both externally and internally.

Questions in the Dark.

Before the chaos, I was asked by someone from my past about love, and if there will ever be someone that would truly love me as much as she did back in the day. I just smiled, but there were a lot of thoughts that ran through my mind after that conversation. I knew the answer. Unfortunately. This was a thought that would stay with me for the rest of the following two weeks, and mostly likely go well beyond the remaining days of the year.

Drinking Before The Party.

At the start of the work week, the rest of the Breakfast Club weren't really the well oiled working machines that we usually are. Most likely, it was because we had dumped everything we had in the previous week's "competition". Or maybe it was just me. But the point was, I wanted to go out drinking, and, as is usually the case, I bugged the rest of the team to find some bar so we could get our booze on. It was then that I disclosed certain personal plans for the party. (I get a little open when I drink, as most people know by now.)

Still, it was a very unproductive night, but it was exactly what I needed at that point in time. I'm just glad to have people that would up and indulge me whenever needed.

A Throwback to The Empire.

The day before the party, I was doing a bunch of things related to the "family business", when I received a text message from the friendly-former-almost-neighbor. While I had a bunch of shit to do, I'm a sucker for a person in need, and being someone who also once was a part of the Evil Empire, I know she needs an ear more than most people.

It was a very pleasant afternoon. She seemed like she lost a smile or two, and that's something that's completely understandable. That soul sucking abyss has that effect on people. Sad though, as she was always one of those people who,despite her problems, used to make that place brighter that it was supposed to be. Among other things, that meeting of ours made me appreciate where I am now, too. I'm still trying to convince her to join the Think Tank, and hopefully, I'll be successful.

The Night Before the Party.

After I met with the former-almost-neighbor, I dropped by the Think Tank to see the goings on with the rest of the Breakfast club, as they had plans on really making a huge impression on the party. Again, it wasn't exactly my scene, but since they asked me to join them in their preparations (they let me write as they worked, claiming that all they just wanted me to hang around). So, off we went to the team's Batcave, and as they crafted this box from which one of the teammates would pop out and, in theory, wow everyone with her Barbie costume, I went to write a sequence treatment for an entire movie hours before it was due. They rocked the box, I rocked the story, and honestly, while I'm sure they could've done a great job on the box with or without me, I don't think I could've finished my story without them.

Honestly though, these bastards were amazing. Staying up all night for something that, to me, didn't really matter much shows a level of passion and unity that I haven't seen since the Scoobies. The people in Purgatory never gave a shit for anything beyond getting smashed (one of the many reasons I felt really at home with them). The Angels were happy with just hanging out. But these guys? Shit. They eat together, they work together, they know about each other's personal lives like a motherfucker. It nothing short of amazing. That night, the night before the party, has to be the definitive moment for this group.

The Party in Question.

And so came the all important night of the party. I don't know what the rest of the Breakfast Club did, but I went home, emailed my story, showered, changed, and headed out again for my meeting. The meeting was long, but at least it was productive. I got to screen an audition (in a fucking mall), discuss specific details of the project, and basically everything that would keep me awake. Most people don't know, or refuse to acknowledge, this, but I'm a workaholic. I don't like idle moments, and as long as there's something to be done, I keep doing. Once the meeting was done and over with, I bought a big ass burger for dinner and ate it on the way to the supposed party.

A lot of things went down in the party, but I'll stick to the shit that happened to me, to save space.

I arrived and saw everyone's attention focused on some trivia game. At that point, I've been completely awake for two days, and I was a six foot three ball of stress. They were going to need a bunch of Green Berets to get me away from the bar. The night progressed from silly games to dancing and of course, the booze. Gifts were given, and the only holiday spirits I was feeling were the ones I imbibed. Once the festivities died down, it was time to proceed with my plan.

I was fucking smashed, but enough to be able to speak with Erin. A few weeks ago, I told her how I felt. (I'm not too sure on whether or not I was clear about it, since I'm pretty bad at serious conversation. One of the reasons I became a stand up comic.) My main point then was that I genuinely liked her in "that" manner, but I had shit to get together first, so I wouldn't be actively pursuing her just yet. All that shit has yet to be worked out, but I told her during the party that I'm ready to you know, be Mr. Suitor or whatever. Our long, mostly one sided and hopefully still coherent conversation was cut short when one of the people from the party started breaking down and crying. (I learned it was like a yearly tradition for her.) So I helped take her home, and I left the party without a clear idea of how my talk with Erin went. (She has been clear about her lack of interest though, that was made obvious even before.)

I tucked the drunken girl in her couch, hitched a ride back to meet the rest of the Breakfast Club, and had met up with them when I realized I left my bag (laptop and all) at the drunken girl's place. At that point, the fatigue, the alcohol and the emotions finally took their toll and I passed out. I woke up at the team's Batcave.

Yeah, it was awesome. Awesome-ish, at least.

The Days After.

The days following that surprisingly eventful night (not just for me, but apparently for everyone) were composed almost entirely of me trying to juggle my jobs and overcoming my holiday anxiety. The days were mostly devoted to spending time without he team and futilely trying to get some time with Erin. There was drinking, of course, and on more than one occasion, those drinking sessions that involved the appearance of a person from Purgatory. One rather interesting encounter was with a drunken Purgatory dude who, outspoken as ever, approached our table and gave a couple of members of the Breakfast Club a unique perspective to my long history of romantic attempts. Now people at the Think Tank refer to me as a man-whore. (Or, on special days, a He-Slut.)

I even travelled to Tagaytay once to help out a teammate who was helping out his friends secure a church for their wedding. It was fun, I guess.I mean, I always liked helping couples out, and seeing that place where I sued to have retreats as a college student really kicked ass.

As I mentioned, the following days were also spent with my romantic endeavor, something that doesn't really seem to be going well. I knew going in that it was going to be not just difficult, but highly unlikely, and definitely not painless, but, like before, I'd rather fail at something that I truly want than succeed at something I don't give two shits about. (Again, another reason why I decided to be a comedian, despite the obvious lack of talent.) At this point, I just want her happy, and if anything I do contributes to that happiness then I've done my job.

There was also talk about sending me to Singapore for work, but that's something I'll tackle in a bit.

The Longest Day Ever.

The highlight of the post-party depression was perhaps the longest, worst day of the latter half of the year that ended surprisingly well. I did not even see it coming. I spent the night at the Think Tank, as per usual, and had to step out once the Big Man arrived. To those with short memories, The Big Man and I worked on a project recently, one that dissolved the moment I got back from Hong Kong. I honestly felt that I was abruptly set aside, so I kept my distance from the Big Man, my oldest friend, until I get the proper face time. It is, after all, the professional thing to do. We haven't spoken in months, the longest amount of time we were out of each other's lives since I disappeared for eight months after his sister and I broke up. So he stopped by and we talked over a few bottles of booze from the nearest liquor store. We shot the shit, and cleared up certain matters. He also updated me on the goings on back South. Apparently he's been through as much, or even more, shit as I have been. But, all hat has been settled, and I thought that was the extent of the drama I was going to go through on that day.

So, doing the usual thing I do, I went home, showered and changed for that night's hosting gig, and left early for the pre-production meeting. I haven't slept, so it goes without saying that I wasn't in the best of moods. We went to the location, and then went to some burger place to do the production meeting. I have been vocal before about how slowly things were going. This small project should not be taking more than a month to do pre-production for. This guy who wrote and directed this potential piece of shit was going on another one of his endless stories about his life that had nothing to do with the agenda for that day's meeting, and was trying to teach his crew a thing or two about the job. He spoke about how principal photography has once again been pushed back, and spoke about patience. "If you are not patient, you will not be a good filmmaker." That's when I walked out. Hearing those words from a guy who rushed writing a script (a script that has a plot with holes bigger than a pornstar's anus), went off to Singapore for nine days, tried to get an actress who already vehemently expressed disinterest in working with him and constantly wastes a good chunk of our meetings trying to pass the buck on stuff he was responsible for set me off. One, you take time to develop a good script, not shit one out and then take your sweet time in pre-production. Two, being impatient and recognizing inefficiency are two different things. Three, any real filmmaker knows that there is nothing more important than the project. Not the fucking holidays, not any stupid business trips, not any attempt to bang an actress the director clearly has the hots for. Nothing matters but finishing the project. "Family business" be damned. No Singapore for me. (Wow, I went on a full rant.)

The unfortunate meeting took place in some far flung burger place in the North, and I had to race to get to my hosting thing for the teachers at the School for the Deaf. it was a gig that Iw as looking forward to, for various reasons. But, thanks to the rambling of a poser and everyone else's holiday mania, (add the miscommunication between me and the contact) I didn't get to the gig on time, and got bumped off the program.

So, to sum up, I kept my distance from my oldest friend because of some professional principles and I discover he's been through some really rough shit, causing me to feel like a crappy dude, I spent an afternoon in a meeting that accomplished nothing aside from show me exactly why the family business isn't exactly booming, and I missed a gig that I actually want to do (and promised a good friend I'd do) because of that same meeting. Add the facts that I'm turing 30 in a couple of weeks, I'm deeply into a girl that would never go for me, my health failing, my holiday anxiety hitting its peak and I'm pretty sure hair is falling, and my day was the pits. I decided to go to the office instead after wandering aimlessly for a bit.

The sight that greeted me the moment I stepped through those glass doors was the team that I belonged to, the one I endearingly refer to as The Breakfast Club, dancing and singing. I took a second to digest that sight, and it was the first time I smiled on that day. Not surprisingly, we ended up in Tagaytay, and whatever shit I was carrying earlier that day, and whatever came after, all vanished. They did what they do best… they kept me relatively sane. The holidays would have been rougher if it weren't for them. It doesn't matter if it's binge eating, drinking, or overly pointless road trips, I've come to a point that I know there's at least a small group of people that could make me smile when I run out of reasons to.

Tourist no more.

I've been watching "Parks and Recreation", and there's this character there named Justin, someone a character referred to as a "tourist". He was someone who would travel through people's lives, taking pictures and stories, and then leaving. I've been a tourist all my life. The past couple of weeks have caused me to rethink that. Though I'm sure that whatever this phenomenon that's causing me to be attached to the team and the rest of the Think Tank would pass, I know that it's time for me to stop collecting shit for my scrapbook, and it's time for me to sit down and actually look through it. Right now, I don't know what to do with the family business or with Erin or the other shit that's on my plate. I just know that even though the answers to those questions in the dark aren't exactly in my favor, I can learn to live with them.

"I've made up my mind, don't need to think it over
If I'm wrong I am right, don't need to look no further
This ain't lust, I know this is love

But if I tell the world, I'll never say enough
'Cause it was not said to you
And that's exactly what I need to do if I'd end up with you

Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements
Even if it leads nowhere?"- Adele, "Chasing Pavements"

Through the Wringer and Back

I'm in a coffee shop in the middle of nowhere, and I like it. I've been through the wringer the past couple of weeks, and indulging in a little isolation that a small caffeine peddling establishment could provide seems to be the single most sensible thing I've done. Everyone's on full Holiday mode, and I can't seem to shake the usual blues. They're even getting a tad worse as the days progress, and working non-stop has been nothing but an effective distraction. In the little snippets of free time that manage to sneak through my web of labor, all I have is another opportunity to break down.

Still, right now, with my mind set on getting shit done, I'm holding steady. I will never stop working again.

Conversations about the Future. I spent a few nights crashing in on a teammate's apartment a couple of weeks back. In the midst of all the worthless nonsense, a talk about the future surprisingly took place. I don't know if it was brought upon by a lack of topics to discuss, or if it was a sincere curiosity, or heaven forbid, another attempt to put me on the "right path", but I had a sinking suspicion that no matter what I told him, he was just going to blabber away anyways, so I told him the truth. (Most of it, anyway.)

Fact is, the concept of a future is a little strange for someone who had, until recently, set up a schedule to die at the age of 30. Because of that, everything I've ever really wanted to do, I've done. So, because of that little talk, well… let's just say I sunk into added shit to think about.

The Movie Business. I have semi-officially started in the family business, and I still have mixed emotions about it. On one hand, I do like making movies. On the other hand, this is the opposite side of the glamorous movie industry… where the dream is so dead that even any pretense of art has been buried. It's brutal, it's honest, and frankly, it's enough to drive one completely insane.

However, I think that this may be mutually beneficial. For me, of course, there's the money thing as well as the opportunity to practice a craft that I will always love (Though I've never really wanted to use as a livelihood). For the company, I may just be the guy it needs. (Not talent-wise, since there are a lot of talented people out there, but "good intentions-wise".)

I just found it funny that when I was introduced to the crew, my name was preceded by "he is a very creative guy that's done some amazing underground work", referring to the ten to fifteen minute dick jokes that compose my film making "career".

Indulgence. In the middle of everything that's been going on, The Breakfast Club still managed to celebrate like the gluttons that we are. We went to this place where you literally can eat until its closing time. Seriously, I commit at least two of the seven deadly sins on a daily basis.

Prior to the foodfest, I met up with another friend who happens to be an ex. She wants me to host the Christmas party at this school she teaches in, a school for the deaf, so I guess on a strictly Karmic scale, I'm all balanced out.

Unforeseen Events. The day after the team and I went all Viking and shit, Jo F'n Regis works his wonders once more, waking me up with a phone call and surprises me with a drastic favor. At the last minute, he asks me to pull off a seminar for him. So, I got up, got dressed and assembled whatever I could on the topic, only to find out that there was no need as the speaker showed up after all.

So, I was asked to do a set instead. Regis, you tricky bastard. Still, it was an amazing day, and hanging out with Jo is always fun. Little did I know that it was the beginning of a 40 hour marathon for me. It was a good thing too, since I needed to get back on my semi-workaholic ways. (Plus, I was broke, so getting a little something-something was nice too.)

The Crunch. Immediately after the event, I went to the Think Tank to do the day job. Model employee that I am, I didn't read the email that stated that there was a team incentive competition thingy that was going on. Frankly, the details of that little contest is still sketchy in my mind right now, but all I understood was that every single member of the Breakfast Club was asked to step up. Normally, I wouldn't have cared about any amount of individual incentives they presented, but this one was for the entire team. The Breakfast Club has been more than decent to me over the past few weeks, (unbeknownst to them, they've been helping with my holiday anxiety) so I decided to, for at least two days, give them the best of me.

It was grueling to say the least. People were dropping like flies. It was like the battle of Helm's Deep, only much lamer. In the middle of the two day stamina test, one of the legitimately good people at the Think Tank suffered from the effects of the tasking job, and had to be rushed to the hospital (he was taken to two different hospitals before I accompanied him home, actually). There I was, helping out a friend and trying to be a good member of the team at the same time. All of this went on as I, like several members of the Think Tank, was unwashed, sleepless, and high on energy drinks.

As the midnight deadline approached, my blood pressure soared. I was seeing spots, I was dizzy as fuck, but I already gave my word, and if it was any other team I'd bail. Once the competition ended at the stroke of midnight, the team was happy, and the friend who was sick was fine. It was worth it. It was bad for my weak heart, but good for my starving soul.

The Payoff. We were all tired, and I personally have been awake for forty straight hours, and on the move since Jo woke me up a couple of days before (Really, Jo, thanks. Haha.) A normal group of people would just go home and rest, satisfied without he events. But apparently, we were't the least bit sensible, and we were off to Tagaytay once more to eat overly unhealthy food. I was even "allowed" to drink a couple of celebratory beers, I think I earned it.

After being brought home, I slept with a smile on my face. For 12 fucking hours.

I therefore conclude... The weekend was spent with various people. There was game night with Caleb and his friends, and yeah, I'm glad to be doing tabletop RPGs again. I miss those D and D days that allowed me to practice my mind as well as completely escape reality in a more wholesome way. (Geek alert!) Of course, that was followed up by spending another night at the teammate's apartment getting all sorts of fucked up. The day after saw another appearance from the Island Girl, who helped me deal with that day's anxiety attack.

Looking at those past couple of weeks, one that started off with the question of the future, I can only recognize the trend that has been established. I still walk multiple paths now, there's my quest for personal fulfillment and comfort (the comedy, the geek stuff), there's my version of familial relations (working for the mother's company) and then there's my newly established normal life (the Think Tank). I don't see any deviations from this trend, and the only thing that's lacking is a healthy romantic relationship (more on that next post).

2011's almost over, the game-changer year. The next one doesn't seem to hold any promise of excitement, but after the past decade I've had, I'm not really lacking in that department. Just glad to be right on schedule. As I have alluded to before, one way or another, I kill myself once I hit 30.

Running Mojo-less

Before I get started with the drama, I'd like to get something off my chest. I've heard, in the span of one work week, at least three people who have pointed out that I should proofread my blog. Now, while I appreciate the honesty and whatnot, considering that I'v e said this before, it's starting to get annoying. So, for the last time, I do not proofread my posts, and furthermore, I will not proofread my posts. I type it, I post it. Done. I don't write a blog to showcase my life to people. I do it cause this is an avenue for me to express myself without inhibition. (And, what with the slippery memory I have after all the drinking and other equally mind numbing activities, documentation.) If it's getting too hard to read, no one's twisting your arm to read the damn thing. I rarely advertise the blog, and whenever I do, usually it's to update specific people that I haven't seen in a while so I wouldn't have to talk about my life at length. Telling me to proofread my posts is like telling me how to dress in public. If you don't like anything I do or say, you can simply divert your attention elsewhere and we can all live in peace without getting into each other's business. (I'm not starting any fights, here. I just thought an explanation would be far more mature than responding to these people with "blow me".)

With that out of the way, I'mma get my rant on.

The Early Onset. There aren't many people who have been unlucky enough to experience this in my presence (and to those that think they are, you're wrong), but every December my "episodes" get worse in terms of intensity and frequency. It's not something I'm proud of in any way, but it's a part of me and it's not going away. On certain years, they tend to start earlier, and such is the case for this year.

As the latter part of November rolled around, I increasingly have been handicapped by anxiety attacks and depression and all of the wonderful things that come along with the package. In the past couple of years, I've managed to get by with the simple act of getting drunk every day, a luxury that I don't have this year thanks to my job and recent exodus from my spheres. This year's annual blues tend to be a tad more challenging, considering the amount of time I spend at the Think Tank and the number of people I interact with. All the changes that have been circling around hasn't helped at all.

One instance was when I had to buy food from the nearby mall. (On a somewhat related note, it's called fast-food, not take-your-sweet-fucking-time-food. Dicks.) So I got there, and I sat for two hours, staring into space, feeling my left arm tingle and my heart race for no good reason. I felt detached to the point that I nearly panicked, and I found myself clutching this lucky charm I usually carry around with me. I started clawing at that spot in my arm in hopes of snapping out of it. Once it normalized, I went and bought the medicine one of my teammates required and the doughnuts another colleague asked for and went back to the office like nothing happened.

I've been running on low energy and spirits for weeks now, and so far I think I've done a good job of hiding it from my colleagues. Now that December has started, I'm just hoping I am going to be okay enough once my birthday rolls around. I don't think this year's crazy days phase would be worse than last year's, since I've managed to separate myself from many triggers of last year's hubbub, but then again, I think I've uttered those same words before.

I'm just glad the office is open on the holidays.

Breakfast of Champions. In an act of complete self-indulgence, I joined the rest of the Breakfast Club to Manila to eat the biggest burger I have had the pleasure of (mostly) enjoying. I've had a lot of people point out that the majority of my friends are on the umm… "heavier" side. It's true. I never really felt all that much comfortable with people who exhibit self restraint on things and activities that they liked so much. (Having two exes who have uttered the words "I'd rather be miserable as long as I'm thin" strongly reinforced that preference.) It's no surprise that I'm enjoying being a part of a team composed of heavyweights.

Back to the burger breakfast… we had what they referred to as the Tombstone Burger. It was a two pound burger composed of four half pound patties, each with a slice of cheese, slathered in cheese sauce. It also came with a shit load of fries and iced tea.

None of us managed to finish our meal, and we went back to the office and worked with an extra two pounds in our system.

This Year's Rock Pile. On the third weekend of November, I was to go to the beach and read poetry with the rest of the OWLers. I was hesitant at first, but considering I really needed a trip tot he beach, and here's one that's offered that I didn't have to pay for, I thought I said yes. I even agreed to do it for free. As I left the office on a Saturday morning to go to the shuttle that was taking me and the others to Coco Beach, I figured this would be a nice weekend shared with fellow artists and I was more than willing to be as hipster-iffic as they are. Just this once.

None of the other poets showed up. Motherfucker. The whole spoken word part of the program got nixed.

However, the time alone did me a lot of good. I had the opportunity to do the rock pile thing I annually do at the beach. Since I never got the chance to hit the beach last year, I figured my rock pile was going to be bigger, so I went with smaller stones. I mentioned this activity I do before, but for the sake of those who just tuned in, I'm going to go over the basics. Every stone represents a shitty thing that happened. I bury the stone. I leave it behind. A year passes, I go back to the beach (not necessarily the same beach.) with a new set of rocks to bury. It's a personal tradition. The quiet time did me a lot of god, as with each rock I pick I had the opportunity to really reflect on whether or not that particular thing the rock represents is indeed something I should leave buried. For example, the girl that I fell in love with the day after my ex and I broke up. I eventually decided against pursuing her, initially because some people of questionable judgment told me to go for it, but eventually because I realized that in the long run, if I did truly love this girl, I would serve her in the best capacity I could: as her friend. She was not part of this year's rock pile.

The sun set, and I had drinks with the person who invited me to this shindig. She is an old friend and an ex, and this was the only time we got to hang out alone after we broke up back in college. She's doing well. Remarkably well, in fact, and I am proud of what she's striving for. She's someone who gets it, and I'm glad to discover there's someone I can call for when the weight of the unnecessarily complicated world we live in takes its toll.

Another Birthday Party. I went home from the beach the following day, and by home, I don't mean a comfortable place where one can truly ponder the direction with which life is going under a familiar and relaxing setting. I mean I went straight back to the Think Tank, where the majority of the Breakfast Club was there to get some work done before celebrating a team mate's birthday.

It was everything one can expect. An old guy like me sees things here, and an old guy like me knows to not say things about it until the time is right. I have shut my mouth on a lot of goings on in the office, and I have made it a point to play the part of the fool for the vast majority of the people of the Think Tank. There isn't a single person there that knows where I've been and what I've been through, and most especially, what I'm capable of. It's refreshing and interesting for me, what with everyone not really keeping their guards up when I'm around. They see one facet of who I am, and for now, that's enough. (I'll probably get into detail in my next post.)

I left the party in the morning, as most of them were stirring, and my thoughts were geared towards anything but work or comedy or poetry. It's hard to be productive, or funny or poetic when you're having another attack.

Thanksgiving Weekend. The work week was kinda slow, what with the lack of students due to Thanksgiving. The weekend came and I found myself having one of my worse attacks. I left the house despite the fact that there wasn't any work to be done, and dropped by the office. There were a few souls there, mostly the new managers and Erin, so I left after my brief appearance to wait for confirmation for this foodfest thingy that I agreed to go to with the rest of the team.

Wandering around Alabang did not do any good, as I found myself on the receiving end of another attack from my physical and mental condition. I went home in the vain attempt to find some peace. It wasn't until the day after, when the Island Girl dropped by for a visit, that things got a little better. There were crazy thoughts here and there, but I guess since I was around the right person, not having to deal with the extra strain of putting up a mostly okay facade I normally do at the office, it went well.

Faith. The day after, I worked at the Think Tank and even met up with the mother's boyfriend to talk about the upcoming job. I honestly nearly walked out when I found out that it was his recommendation that I was put in line for the position, not my mother's. She apparently believed that I couldn't do it, even refused to put me on the payroll for the next project, thinking I would have to prove myself.

Let's look at the facts here. Despite the bad shit that may have happened to me over the years, I've been living alone and doing fine all by myself. In fact, I've been looking out for myself ever since college, and once I graduated, I worked towards complete independence. I have done everything that i set out to do and I did so in a manner that didn't compromise my ideals, my principles or my decision to not ask for any of her assistance. I've been a teacher, worked for crazy politicians, religious organizations, TV networks, managed to work four jobs at the same time to a specific level of quality, (all of which I landed through my own hard work and, admittedly, lack of shame) dealt with both physical and psychological issues and most recently traveled overseas cause I was good enough to perform. More importantly, I never answered to anyone, and while that may have put me in dire straits before, and would definitely put me in trouble again, I've never wasted a second doing things in any way other than my way. And now, I learn that I have to prove myself to get a job that I didn't want and ask for in the first place? Shit, the only reason I'm living in her house (which is actually costing me mow money than when I was in an apartment ten fucking minutes away from the office) is because she asked. I was fine all by myself.

But, I will be the nice guy here. I plan to treat it like any other job (or relationship, har!) I've had. Provide my best, and then leave when it's no longer ideal. Again, it's a damn good thing I have work on the holidays.

"Now, for ten years we've been on our own

And moss grows fat on a rolling stone But, that's not how it used to be When the jester sang for the king and queen In a coat he borrowed from James Dean And a voice that came from you and me" - Don McLean, American Pie