Like anyone else in this world my life has been a mix of successes and failures. Of making good choices and terrible mistakes. For the most part one has often served to balance out the other. It’s where that balance hasn’t, or at least has yet to, occur that make life difficult. Some time ago I made a mistake that took four years to truly play out its consequence. It was a mostly wonderful trip from that first mistake to the eventual end but that success doesn’t balance out the failure that was to come. I realized that mistake on some level as soon as I had made it but not enough to have taken it back. I’d love to say I had the ability to do that now, to right every wrong or at least move forward from them, but I’ve always known on some level that I wouldn’t have the opportunity. It is a sad fact that I must face made sadder still by the fact that I am part of why that opportunity will not arise. It becomes a depressingly cyclical conversation over the realities of that situation. If I hadn’t made the mistake I wouldn’t need to rectify it, if I didn’t need to rectify it I wouldn’t need the opportunity, and the mistake is one of the reasons I won’t get the opportunity. The whirling vortex of thought involved in even writing, let alone knowing what it actually means, that sentence could drive a person crazy. If I hadn’t have made that mistake I might not have lost something special and important to me. If I hadn’t lost it because of that mistake I wouldn’t think I could have it again if I fixed that mistake. And if I hadn’t made the mistake I might have been given the chance to prove that I could make up for that mistake and all the rest that happened because of it. But it comes back around to the beginning again and the cycle continues again and again and again. I need to get off this track and get onto a hopefully straighter path because I’m getting dizzy and the mental vertigo is making me sick.

To boil all of this down:
I’m a fucking idiot who made his bed and, because I made it so damn well, I can’t do anything to get out of it. I just wish it wasn’t a bed of nails. Should’ve figured out what went wrong a long time ago, then I’d still be sleeping on a pillow-top with memory foam and I’d be happy still. But I didn’t and now I’ve got to find that miracle position on this thing that doesn’t cut me nearly as much. Or at least not as deeply.



Given my recently grown friendship with Scott Free’s brother, as well as my current emotional predicament, I may final be able to add another film to my vast conversational film reference bank. It’s not a line I ever had reason or ability to use but one that occured to me just now nonetheless.

“She’s my Rushmore, Max.”

I wish more than anything that it wasn’t still true, and I would give anything to have that back again. Someday one of those will be true and sadly I have never really had any reason to doubt which one it will be. Really wish that just once I could be wrong…


Well, I’m back from my trip. Or rather I got back incredibly late Monday night. I had planned to be gone for at least another week, and could easily have spent the remainder of my planned time in Austin, but I had a job to do out on the road and I did it. I found something new, or in point of fact I found that there was nothing new to find, just a new way to look at what I’ve always had. I won’t get into it because every post for the last month has diverged from its intended purpose drastically, this one included. I came here to write about something entirely different than the trip, mainly because it occurred to me to do so but also because I don’t feel like struggling my way through another needlessly verbose post on this fucking phone. I came here to kind of continue the subject of my recent posts.

I’ve written a lot about how I’m still in love with my ex-fiancée, about how my perceptions of our relationship have troubled and, to a degree, haunted me. I’ve written a lot about how her absence from my life is like a continuous torture and I’m getting tired of it, as I’m sure my anonymous readers are as well (unless you’re silently gloating or rejoicing over my pain, who knows. I have my suspicions about who my most recent visiters have been, The Lady in question excluded of course, and would like to think this wasn’t the case.) I’m getting tired of bemoaning the sad, sorry, state of my life without her. It still sucks, to be sure, but none of this writing has helped much. Or at least not for long. I’m still in love with someone I shouldn’t be and I accept that now. I used to be angry, and that’ll probably pop back up from time to time, but I’m getting over it. I am who I am and I’m ok with that. I wish I didn’t still love her so much, but if I didn’t I probably wouldn’t have loved her as much as I did when we were still together. And that would’ve made the better part of four years of my life a foolish act filled with a lot of unnecessary pain. The feelings I have now are a consequence of the feelings that began growing in me almost as soon as we started hanging out and I need to be ok with that or I’ll ruin years of wonderful memories. And I am ok with it, I’m fine knowing that I still love her, still want to be with her, I’m even fine with her knowing it (though I have no doubt that she didn’t need to read it to know it.) I just fucking want it to stop. I want to stop playing a hand from which I came away a stronger player but still lost my shirt. I want a new dealer and a new hand that I can maybe have a chance of winning. I loved our time together and I always will. It was something rare and beautiful that few people every really get, but it’s over. I’m tired of holding on to my cards hoping the game’s not over and that I might come away a winner when it comes time to call. I’m tired of hoping for something that, for at least five reasons I can think of and probably a lot more that I can’t, just is not going to happen. And the truth is I have never really had any reason to think it would. The fact is, if she had wanted me back anytime since the breakup it was likely a fleeting moment that came and then went as soon as it drifted into her mind. But maybe I’m wrong and maybe I’m underestimating what I meant to her for the last four years. I just know that if she had that moment, and if It lasted long enough to act upon, I’d be spending my Saturday with her instead of being alone at the beach reading waiting to meet up with some random Germans I met in Chicago. I know that my time with her was not foolish, as I’ve said before it was a gift I will always cherish, but this time now is. At the end of the day I need to reexamine my personal definition of self-respect. I need to learn that self-respect shouldn’t come from being quixotic. I shouldn’t have to tilt at windmills to respect myself or my feelings for anyone. And as soon as I figure out how to do that, without turning into a heartless asshole, I’m going to. But for now I’m still, more or less, exactly where I was before I left. I found some shit out there that was good and certainly added a couple of crazy stories to my repetoire. Was the trip worth the time and money? Who knows, it may be to early to tell right now. I guess we’ll see when the dust finishes settling.

It’s often been my wont to say “life’s a process” and I’ve realized that the only way to make it through is to live it. I’m certainly doing my fair share of that, even if it is a hell of a lot lonelier than I’d like.

Still battling his demons and looking for a Vorpal Sword (if you haven’t read or seen Jabberwocky you’re just not gonna get that reference,)

I have to say that occasionally google gives you way more information than you want. It’s admirable sometimes, and certainly beneficial most of the time, but occasionally annoying. I had cause recently to use the word misanthropy in conversation, the conversation itself was incredibly interesting despite being had over probably several more beers than should have been consumed (don’t drink with Germans if you can avoid it. The peer pressure is intense and they have the whole “we killed 6 million Jews like they were nothing, so we can take you out in an instant” vibe. Or at least most of the ones I’ve ever met do. Although I have met several that were perfectly lovely people despite the intensity.) The guy with whom I was having the conversation spoke perfect English and had lived here for ten years so he understood most of what I was saying. He did however question me in regards to misanthropy, both in what it meant and the properness of its usage. I tried to define the word for him but he just wouldn’t believe me. So I pulled out my trusty iPhone, love this thing by the way, and Googled the word. I typed in “define: misanthropy” as you are supposed to and the definition came up. He accepted that I was right, earning me another free beer (I ended up paying for only one beer the whole night.) As I continued to look at the results though I was annoyed by what had come up. I got what I was looking for but there were several results that, though informative, were unnecessary. I couldn’t care less that Misanthrope is a French metal band who got their name and inspiration, though admittedly my interest was peaked, from Moliere. Nor do I care that it has been the title of EP’s for two other metal bands. It isn’t surprising, given what I know of metal music, which is sadly quite a lot, that the word would be used in someway by a band. I just ultimately don’t care, and certainly not when I’m trying to prove a point. But maybe my annoyance had more to do with having to prove the point and not so much what arose while doing so. Either way, I got free beer so I should probably drop it.


As an aside, Greek Beer isn’t very good. Give me a Guinness, Newcastle, or Smithwicks (only in Ireland though, not nearly as good here) anyday.

Much Needed and Deeply Felt Retraction.

Over the last several months I have once again begun to visit my little corner of the web. I have made the mistake, based on the stalled hit count, of thinking this had somehow become my private refuge. A place where I might vent my spleen and try to come to grips with my feelings in the best way I know, my writing. I should have done so in another vein but I have exhausted the patience of my willing listeners. I should not have made this mistake, especially as I had done the same thing years ago. My little space is not private, it is not a solitary refuge where I can say whatever I feel in the moment without fear of there being consequences for others or myself. My humorous pseudonym aside, the identity of the person writing is as transparent as if I were in your room writing my angst ridden prose on your walls. As are the people I write about.

And it is for one of them that I write this now.

I have written a number of posts that have been hurtful. That have made unfounded accusations or insinuations of her actions since our unfortunate separation. I have no proof of the actions I accused Courtney of in my recent posts. Everything I wrote was written out of confusion, anger, hurt, and the foolish belief that those statements would never be read by anyone but me. I truly apologize for making the mistake of believing this space was private, for continuing unabated when I began receiving more readership, and mostly for having written things I did not know were true and that hurt Courtney. She is, and always will be, everything good I wrote about her. So, for any of you who have read those posts, and began to form your own opinions of a woman you perhaps have never met, I ask that you dig further into this site and read what I’ve written about her that shows her for the person she really is. And that is someone special who deserved better.

James (Crotch)

First day of the trip and it’s already been eventful. A security guard tried to steal my new shoes, I cried twice (once was because they showed Marley & Me on the connecting flight out of Salt Lake City. The other is my business,) I was punched by a drunk guy on the El train in Chicago, and I had a bunch of Germans buy me beer. It’s been random, occasionally unpleasant, but fun so far. Admittedly would prefer to be at home with a glass of wine, tucked up in bed, watching a movie with someone special. But that ship sailed two months ago and won’t be pulling back into my particular harbor again so you gotta learn to make the most of it. Two more days of Chicago, one in Green Bay (maybe) and then it’s on to Austin and maybe the Grand Canyon.

(Can’t help but feel annoyed by the belief that this money should have gone to a wedding and honeymoon. Yay, for still dealing with shitty emotions! Do you sense the sarcasm?)

Je suis toujours ici pour vous,

Taking a Break

So, for those of you who have come to enjoy reading about me battling my personal demons, I just wanted to give you a heads up. This is probabaly going to be my last post for a couple of weeks. I’m leaving tomorrow morning to find whatever there is out there for me to find. It’s just going to be me, a back pack, and thousands of square miles of country to explore. Hopefully when I get back I will have slain my demons and have more interesting things to write about. We’ll see…