A life not my own, a dream my own

Two lives intersected at a restaurant — a patron and a server — sharing their autobiographical information with the freedom that social etiquette did not suppress.  This is an approximation of their conversation:

Patron

I got pregnant with my wonderful daughter when I was 13 and had her when I was 14.  You want to know why?  Because my mother was a whore and my father was a perv.  I remember when my husband and I were in Egypt.  He hired a Turkish maid for the trip.  I say “maid” because she didn’t do a lot the whole trip but sit on his lap, if you know what I mean.  By that time, she and I were the same age, 19.  My husband, when I complained about his relationship with the maid, told me he was comparing the two of us to see which one of us he was going to leave in Egypt.

Server

That’s cool.  When I turned 19 I took off with a friend to Israel.  We lived on what we made.  I worked as a bartender for a while.  Once, my friend and I decided to go to Sinai in Egypt on a whim, sneaking across the border.  We had a great time.  My friend was better-looking than me and one of the men we met offered 100 camels for my friend.

Patron

An Egyptian general, who told me that he was supposed to kill me because he had talked to me alone in the dinner tent without my husband present, offered my husband 100 camels for me.  My husband said he would have taken the offer if he knew what to do with 100 camels.

Server

You’re lucky.  If you’re not a good prize, they only offer 10 camels.  I said the same thing to the man — I had no use for one camel, let alone 100.  We stayed and played [لعبة الطاولة?], or backgammon, and had a great time.  My mother about died because I didn’t talk to her for several days — there was no cell service in the part of Sinai we were in — she thought I’d been kidnapped.  After two years of bartending, I got bored and saw my life was going nowhere so I came back here, got an associate’s degree in engineering technology, and am working on my mechanical engineering degree, hoping to graduate with a 4.0 GPA.

Patron

Good for you. I’m proud of what I did.  I raised three kids on my own while working at Columbia Records.  You can do anything you want if you have the determination.

= = = = = = = =

People’s lives are innately unique no matter how much they may be led to follow social trends.  After all, the patron and the server were inside P.F. Chang’s, a chain restaurant located at an outdoor shopping “mall” with other franchise stores.

How many of us do what I’m doing right now, cocooning myself with thoughts directed at a computer screen, talking about our lives or playing computer games rather than living our lives?

If I decided that I no longer enjoy dancing with my wife, that listening to her voice now that I have hearing aids has enhanced my desire to escape to this computer screen, that her desire to spend more time with me is not reciprocated, where does that leave me?  What determination do I have to do anything I want?  What do I want to do to accomplish a goal 13271 sols from now?

When I heard the conservatory students of Robert McDuffie describe what they’d accomplished as musicians, I realised that when I decided to marry my wife, I had given up on what I wanted to accomplish when I was a ten year old boy who had just viewed his dead girlfriend in a coffin — honour her life through my writing, turning my thoughts into action, conquering the known universe or as much of it as I could before I died.

In the Earth year of 2014, half of the marsyear I’m labeling Marsyear One, it is time for a new beginning, sol number 4 of 668.

It is time to determine if I move out on my own, perhaps sharing a place with friends, increase my number of labour/investment credits and give a little attention to the dreams and aspirations still cooped up inside the happy, hopeful boy who’s part of me.

I am responsible for making my dreams come true.

A simple sensation

To know what I’ve missed, including the quiet fizzing of escaping gas bubbling and bursting out of a glass of freshly poured Pepsi…

…or the creaking and pops of our cabin wood floor under the pressure of my body lumbering through…

…the price of hearing aids is worth the sounds I didn’t know I was missing.

To Margery and Clair: your music is ever more delightful than before. Forgive my ignorant deafness in not knowing what I’ve missed during your previous live performances!

The beauty of [inebriated? drunk?] confessions

In this state I’m in, at 12:54 a.m. on the 1st of January 2014, when what I know is what I know, but what I feel, what I truly believe, is the primary condition with which I express myself is the only reason I’m here in any way, whether writing, or drawing, or animating, is the raison d’être, the very core, the dried grape of the lightness of being that brings me here rather into the arms of my wife…

Does it make sense?

Damnation!  I’m hurting…and it’s not the hearing aids I wear while listening to the Pandora bluegrass channel centered on my favorite artist, Claire Lynch, with whom I want to spend three weeks al0ne with the two of us making whatever music we can in the moments between her tour life and my home life…

No, it’s the thought of another man’s [common law] wife with whom I want to spend time but can’t, knowing she has another set of conditions I don’t know about.

It’s more than that.

It’s a bearded fellow who has recently encouraged us guys to take on teenage brides…

It’s a dance floor of possibilities that I can’t shake out of my thoughts on a night of drinking Straight to Ale brew.

It’s meeting Eric and Judy of Moondust Jazz Band, friends of a friend named Jennifer Nye, a/k/a Guin, common law husband of Jerry Gilley, my new brother, that sets a line in the sand of the dunes of life.

Drifting…

I know what I want.

I know what I can’t get — children with Monica Guinn Prewitt, who read a poem I wrote her to her children with Dean, planting a formative years’ thought pattern within Christy, the child I didn’t have with my dear, sweet friend from forever, Monica, who once told me not to be confused, who lives with Dean in Singapore, last I knew, who has enjoyed a successful business career, much like Monica’s father at Eastman before he died in a Porsche 911 with a friend of his a few year ago…

Can you buy love?

My wife bought me hearing aids, which were fitted and software-adjusted for my ear earlier today.

My wife and I danced from 8:30 p.m. until after midnight at the warehouse where brewed hops in steel containers and wooden barrels produced Straight t0 Ale beers, where we ran into old friends Brandon and Caroline Dewberry whose son, like me, achieved his Eagle Scout rank.

How typical is my path through life, from Eagle Scout to now, many a diversion worth a written tale or two?

Je ne sais pas.

I hurt for a late night dance with Abi.

I ache for an unencumbered dance with Jenn, my new friend from forever.

I need to memorise chants with my new friend, Jenn’s [common law] husband, her partner, Jerry.

How much more do I need to delve into the difference, the commonalities, between the rational and the religious, the Christian/Buddhist/Hindu/Islamic/etc. and the Bright approach to the connection between sets of states of energy in the known universe?

At 1:14 a.m., I want to lay my head on a pillow without the world spinning, without the influence of the passage of fermented products from my stomach into my bloodstream making me naturally dizzy on New Year’s Eve.

I don’t always get what I want.

Oh well.

Time to say goodnight to the new sensations of the sound of my fingers clicking plastic keys on a laptop computer keyb0ard and give attention to a living being, my wife, if not our two Cornish Rex cats, wishing it was, instead, a last dance with Jenn or Abi.

Such is life.

We get some approximation of what we think we want.

I want two children to call my own.

How shall I accomplish that?

Wuth my fracking buddy, Neal and his daughter, Melissa?

If not her, then whom?

Shall I ask myself in the later light of day of this first calendral tick in 2014 not to read what I wrote when my inhibitions were questionably lowered?

Questions don’t always need answered.