My stomach is finally settled. BURP. I drank too much; I got sick on Saturday night. But that's neither here nor there...
Friday was reminiscent of how my days were a few months ago. Jay was home working and seeing his family, Vinny was out to dinner with someone, and Elliot was working I believe, so I had the house to myself. I remember how I used to have that every night when Ryan still lived with us, and at first I cherished it, but it began to weigh on me.
Well, I welcomed the solitude for once. I was invited out to see Maria and Carolyn, but I was already down to boxers and a t-shirt, eating some chicken and watching baseball when she called. Another time for sure.
My time alone was wonderful, watching baseball and studying the game as usual. No other sport can attract both casual fans and "student" fans. I'm a student, and I love to see stats, match-ups, tension, and drama play out on the field. The Yankees lost 2-0 on Friday night to the Mets, and although they lost, it was great to see an entire game. That's the beauty about baseball. The Yankees lose to their cross-town rivals, and everyone just says, "eh, get em next time" and heads home. There are no tears, no screams, no boos, just a feeling that it's a long season, and sometimes you take your lumps, sometimes you give the lumps. It's a great way to view life. Every loss is not a cause for concern, unless the losses start piling up. Every win isn't meant to be jubilant, unless the wins start piling up. Then, in the end, the sum of our consistent efforts is what translates into victory or defeat. The way school works, with all the quizzes, papers, tests, projects, and so on. The way a marathon works, one foot in front of the other, 25+ miles.
After the game, I decided I would go lay down for the night, with it still early, because I knew full well that tomorrow would be a long day. When I sat in bed, I accidentally click on my blog when trying to log into myspace or something, and my last post came up. I read through it, and had an almost out-of-body experience. Often times I will re-read words or lines I have written, and they almost seem to be from the mind of someone else. I never quite know why my soul chooses the words that it does, and I think when I am in a logical, normal mode, like right now, my mind is speaking. But, when I wash away all the muck, and let the soul speak, I see and read things I wasn't sure I was capable of articulating.
For example, I wrote, in reference to my feelings of loss and being let down: "Hamlet to Ophelia: Adieu, adieu." In context, it made perfect sense. Hamlet is the most compelling and intriguing character I have ever encountered in literature. The stakes for him could not be higher - a recently dead father-king, an uncle marrying a recently-widowed mother-queen, and a ghost commanding him to "avenge me." He is betrothed to Ophelia, daughter to Polonius, a court advisor. Hamlet suspects his uncle has killed his father, and then charmed his mother in order to become king. He feigns madness (if you ask me), and casts aside all others in his attempt to get revenge.
Hamlet's relationship with Ophelia is one that particularly always interested me. While pretending to be insane, he pushes her away; he calls her names, shoves her, and makes her incredibly uncomfortable. Then, after an unfortunate accident, he accidentally kills Polonius, her father. Ophelia then goes insane from this, and kills herself out of grief. She lost everything, including herself. Hamlet pushed her away, on purpose; he removed her from his love and affections.
Looking at things from Hamlet's perspective, there were so very many factors that were weighing on him. He had the immense grief of suddenly losing his father, coupled with the frightening and sobering request of the spirit to "avenge me." He had intense anger at his mother for not mourning her husband long enough, and quickly marrying his brother. He had recurring thoughts of suicide, which is where the "To be or not to be? That is the question." speech came from. His childhood friends, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, were trying to murder him, and his future father-in-law, Polonius, worked for his uncle and was a royal pain in his side. All this swirling around his head, his room, his life, his sleep, his soul.
And then there was Ophelia. The little flower that loved him. The one source of true love and concern in his life. His one opportunity to feel alive again, to feel something again. Hamlet becomes an animal before our eyes, and his one chance to turn back, if you ask me, was in staying with Ophelia. Hamlet slaved over this, until finally deciding he would end his times with her, as it oft made him lose focus on what he felt needed to be done. He called her a whore, screaming "Get thee to a nunnery!" and scared her sick. Polonius was trying to use her with him, and he realized it, and needed to cut her off.
Now, that is remarkable. Standing in the face of all that, Hamlet even turns away romantic love. Not even his heart is worth saving, and he shuts it down. That is where I can begin to relate. I have never lost someone so dear to me so suddenly, and my heart goes out to those who have. I can only speculate on what that must do to your feelings and mind and body. But I do know what it is like to deny someone your affections, despite your inner-workings wanting otherwise. I know what it is like to feel tricked by someone you loved, as Hamlet did with Ophelia, and feeling the wrath associated with it. It makes you a cold, calculating animal. You want to feel nothing, and you want to build a massive wall, so your bleeding stops and you keep any new information from getting in. You say adieu, not bon voyage. Adieu, out of frustration, longing, anger, and sobering clarity.
There is another facet to this I think. It is more a jealous feeling than anything. There are certain people who have a knack, not that much different than the way I have a *knack* for solving problems with electronics, for being in love. They go from one, to another, to another, to another, blowing through people, cherishing every moment, and getting drunk or high from whatever it is that love does to us. You know what I mean; this is not just some girl who finds her flavor-of-the-night when out, or a guy who hooks up all the time. I'm talking about the people who have 7 6-month relationships in a row, dating back to sophomore year in high school, or the ones that always are on the cusp of seeing someone new, because she seems so exotic, wild, or grounded and normal for once. I don't really understand it - is there a love receptor that they are especially biologically attuned to? Do they just get lucky that many times?
I have been in love twice in my life. For two distinct periods, no more than 14 months at a time. I have much to show from those two times, and I cherish them no matter how they worked out or ended. They are times I fall back on when I feel no love, and those people, ironically enough, are still a big part of my life. The love never leaves you, you know?
But what is frustrating is how so many people blow through others like Hamlet's mother. They mourn a relationship for a moment, and jump at the next thing that comes forward. Good for them, right? Way to get back on the horse, eh? Just because I haven't had that good fortune, doesn't mean I should get pissed at those who have, ya know?
Yeah I know, I get it. And I cannot just neatly put someone away and stop feeling. I cannot pour myself into someone new without living out the one before. It fucks me up too much. I doubt myself, my spirits, and who I am as a man before I can ever let someone new in. And I cannot even begin to wrap my mind around the people who can do that with new people. I admire you, and wish I had what you have. I get tastes of love every now and then, and I get all excited and anxious for it to take hold, and then I'm left there as the bus leaves. "Head in my hands, here I am standing in my bare feet / watching you drive away, watching you drive away."
Hamlet has shown me a way that I can deal. I have to turn to ice, to completely shut down. To guard myself ferociously until that hurt goes away. It feels like a caged animal, more a golden retriever, who wants to lick everyone's face, but can't get out of his pen. You say adieu, you must say adieu.
So love is lost on me, and maybe always will. I've yet to meet someone willing to give what I want to give, at the amount I do and expect. I wonder if there is such a person.
And in this very notion, I began to play my guitar in my room, and a song came out. Based on Hamlet, based on me, feeling the depth that comes from a soul speaking, not a mind. It felt GOOD. REALLY GOOD.
I went to bed on Friday feeling numb, but comforted in my new addition to my repertoire.
Saturday was good, with rehearsal, the show, good friends, and getting sick on the way home. We played excellently, and Zuppe came up to play bass with me, which meant so much. I felt respected by him; I felt I was part of the scene here. He's a tough sell, and he was itching to play on stage with me. It was wonderful. Maia Davies was wonderful, all the way from Quebec. I was so sorry I missed her show on Sunday too. But I suspect we will cross paths again soon.
Sunday was golf and relaxation, once I calmed down about playing terribly. But, my spirits were up and it was a nice day to hang out with Vinny and laugh. My friends make my life so beautiful, so wonderful, in their own way.
Wow, this is long. But I can go on and on about Shakespeare, most especially Hamlet. It feels good to articulate that all for myself, and for others it may ring true with as well.
Adieu.
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