Am I Worth It?

 [As with several other posts, this is actually from ~ the future ~ (January 2025). I've buried it in the past so my whining is not at the top of the timeline. Also I'm not drunk, but wish I were, if anyone got caught up on that tag.]

Betteridge's law of headlines is an adage that states: "Any headline that ends in a question mark can be answered by the word no." Am I worth it? No, I suspect not.

I'm not sure how many times I have to be taught this lesson, but apparently it must be smacked into me a few more times. A few memorable homework assignments are Fuck Hope from 2013 and Backup Dick from 2018 (also hidden, to appear in 2016). Will the lesson stick this time? Probably not.

Discovery

I will never find love
I will never find love
I will never find love
I will never find love
I will never find love

.

It is important to remember.
Halfway around the world.
I am not immune.

.

Girls break up with boys.
Not to be with me.
Never me.

.

I am traveling by myself.
Not just this year.
Forever.

.

I will never find love.
I will never find love.
I will never find love.
I will never find love.
I will never find love.

Of The Girl

I spent the last two years of my life trying to rebuild myself emotionally. And overall I’ll say it’s been a success. Not too long ago I ran into a bartender at Cooperage who I hadn’t seen in a long time and she made a point of saying I look much happier. So it shows, and that’s a good thing.

I’m 42. I’m single. The only girlfriend I’ve ever had was back in 1993/1994 and she dropped me when she graduated high school because of my emotional dependence. I didn’t want to be abandoned again, not after what my dad did to me. But she did it anyway, and I can’t blame her. Smart move because we all have to do what’s best for ourselves.

Aside from that I haven’t been in a relationship in 25 years. That’s my entire adult life. I personally haven’t met another person who has been single for that long. I’m sure there’s a few of them out there, but we’re definitely the oddballs or the outcasts. Or unicorns depending on your point of view. And the bitch of it is, the longer you go without being a viable partner to someone, the bigger the stigma. The unspoken complication is that something must be wrong with you if nobody has picked you up by now.

I’ve been on a lot of dates over the years. Four is the magic number. There’s been three great girls I’ve met who went out with me four times but that was the limit. By date number four they all made up their mind and decided to move on. I frequently tell myself it’s gotta be physical because I’m a huge fat dude. I get that. But even I have to admit if that was really true then there wouldn’t have been a second date. They all could have backed off at any point. So maybe they get a glimpse into my insecurities, maybe the sense of humor doesn’t click - who knows? At the end of the day we went our separate ways.

As a result I’ve spent so long building up a metaphorical brick wall around myself because I’m tired of being hurt. I don’t want to allow my emotions to be fucked with anymore. After I got seriously hurt by a non-relationship 2 years ago I decided to throw in the towel. At my age dating isn’t worth the potential downfall and although it’s the easy way out, declaring myself as a solo artist is the safest option. I might be passing up potential happiness and a genuine connection that I’ll never know, but I can do what I want, when I want...and that’s true freedom right there.

I learn from my mistakes. Except when it comes to girls. Maybe it’s a deep rooted desire to feel important to someone else, or just plain old wanting to feel needed and relevant to someone else. But recently a girl I’ve known for a while suggested what I call “Schrödinger’s Date,” which is both a date and not a date until you take the lid off the box and observe what’s actually going on. This happened to me in 2016 and it was one of the best experiences of my life, followed by an absolutely crushing downfall.

Even though I’ve molded myself into the steely lone wolf persona, I buckled and accepted because it was technically her idea. So recently we agreed to an outing (date? hanging out? not-a-date?) and I guarantee she would tell you that it was every bit as awesome as I thought it was. We both had a fantastic night laughing and getting to know each other. It’s a rare moment when you connect with someone and feel that spark, but it was there. I can’t speak for her but I’m pretty positive that it was mutual. Maybe she just wanted a friend, and I've been that person many times. I'm glad to be there for my friends. It's one of the few things that brings me joy. Yet something about this entire night suggested more than that.

But after that night, what’s next? I’m scared. Can’t lie. I decided to break my own code and allowed a beautiful girl with a killer personality into my inner circle. We get each other’s jokes, laugh together, and also both have a shared feeling of loss and heartbreak that we don’t talk about but is hovering just under the surface. We share that feeling of uncertainty where we both aren't 100% sure if our lives are going the way we'd pictured. And the thing is, maybe she’s scared too. Just like me, maybe she’s been burned one too many times and doesn’t want it to happen again. After you’ve spent so much time building up that wall it’s really hard to let someone else in. Because when things go great but the ground eventually drops out, the fall is a killer.

So we could just chalk it up to a good time and walk away. Or one (both?) of us might decide to be brave and see what happens when you slowly and carefully let someone pass through that brick wall.

Maybe we’ll take a chance and put ourselves out there to learn more about each other. Maybe we won’t talk again save for when we randomly run into each other. But there will always be that one night where we laughed together and forgot about all of life’s other problems. And that’s a magical moment that can’t be taken back. 

If that isn’t worthwhile, what is?

“Oh, he chose a path, heavy the fall, quarter to four...

Fills his mind with the thought of a girl.”   - Pearl Jam

It's never been about the Money

Since Hoss has been posting a lot of his autobiographical stuff and I'm in a real weird spot (geographically and mentally), I figured I'd write a little piece about my own pile of shit. As with the piece that will be published on my travel blog on Christmas, this is going to be a lot of me complaining and generally being grumpy.

Trying to come up with a title for this piece, one of my thoughts was "Sweet & Sour". I don't know if that's still a good title, but it might work for splitting this into two sections. My grumbling and griping followed by a bit more perspective. It's a good exercise for me to do more often, as I'm still a human reacting to what's around me rather than thinking about the arc of my life. Beware, dear reader - every sentence I type under "SOUR" needs an asterisk - I'll try to broadly address my own logical faults in the "SWEET" section.

Suicide King

I shot myself.

Sometime in March 2006. Not sure of the exact date, but I’m pretty sure it was March. I remember time by relating it to movies. I can remember in startling detail where a saw a movie and who I was with. And in this case I know I had already seen Revenge of the Sith about a year before. And that came out in 2005. So when I tried to kill myself the following year that’s how I know it was 2006.

I used a Glock .40 caliber pistol. Serial number on the barrel was CRF 404. I bought it at a sporting goods store in Tallahassee in the late 90s when I actually feared for my life while delivering shitty pizzas to even shittier neighborhoods.

Anyway, in that spring of 2006 in Portland, Oregon, I damn sure left a suicide note for my then best friend and put a round right through my gut. Left side of the abdomen because I was shooting with the right hand. I was going to go for the head but I chickened out at the last second. Metaphor for my own life, right? Turns out I missed the vital organs so after I realized I made the biggest fuck up of my life and called 911 I had a fair chance and didn’t bleed out. I’ll spare you the details, but it was a shitty experience and I spent 2 weeks in the mental health ward. I’m told it was the same hospital where they filmed One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest. Not sure if I’m supposed to wear that as a badge of honor or not.

While I was there I had a few calls from family members at a pay phone in the ward. My mom telling me I should maybe go live with my dad for a while, and my dad saying maybe I should come down to California. Seems like both of them wanted to pawn me off to the other. My parents’ relationship is probably the number one thing that fucked me up since I was six years old, so who knows what I was supposed to make of this.

My best friend and his wife visited me in the hospital. They were good friends and I was the best man at his wedding. This was one of the last times I saw either of them, and flash forward to years in the future: they don’t talk to me anymore. I don’t blame them. I’m a liability.

The one phone call I remember the most was my sister. She broke down even more than I did and I could tell she was in tears. She said, “I just want you to be happy.” We didn’t grow up together, so it really made it that much more poignant when I realized that my actions had hurt her. Of all the moments in my life I don’t think I’ve ever felt as bad as when I heard her crying on the other end of the phone.

After I got out of the hospital I was homeless for a few weeks. About a month in total as I remember it. I grabbed my most important possessions and abandoned the rest to drive down to my grandparents’ house in Salinas where my dad was still freeloading. I remember him yelling at me because he demanded I go with him to some bar to hang out with his friends, while I didn’t want to. Because I was scared of interacting with people. Also I’d just shot myself and tried to remove myself from this Earth. He stormed out. I told my grandma that it was time for me to leave. I got in my truck and left. It was the last time I ever spoke to either of them. Grandma Hosford passed away shortly after this. My dad died 10 years later in 2016. We never spoke in that 10 year span. I was too furious to reach out and he probably didn’t know how.

Ironically I got the news while watching Star Wars: The Force Awakens with my mom in Philly. I say “ironically” because Star Wars was the one thing my Dad & I bonded over. He took me to see Return of the Jedi on opening day May 25, 1983 and it was arguably the best moment of my childhood. To quote Eddie Vedder and Pearl Jam: “Oh how quick the sun can drop away.” I associate Star Wars with my dad, but I remember the first movie I ever saw in theaters was The Empire Strikes Back with my mom. Can you be any more fucked up as an 80s kid in a broken home?

So after the .40 cal event. 10 years later, where am I? I’ve got a great job. I own a house, which is weird because  I was homeless living out of my Ford Ranger for a while until my mom took me back in. I activated the G.I. Bill and Veterans Vocational Rehabilitation, and went to school in Florida at UCF. Eventually I ended up with a degree in accounting and got a great job with the IRS in Philadelphia. I chose that city because my sister lived there. She got engaged while I’d been going back to school and I figured a change of pace would be good for me. And it would be awesome living near a family member who understood the ins and outs of a broken home.

After I moved to Philly my life started to get on track. There was a good 2 years where I didn’t socialize and just adapted to having stability in my life. Eventually I met some folks thanks to the Internet. I have a few good friends to this day dating back to 2013 when I decided to leave the past behind and see what was out there. Guarantee a few of them are reading this story. And to quote my favorite literary character Roland Deschain: Thankee-sai.

One of these friends, a lady... I call her “Bartendress” for the same reason that Charlie in Always Sunny referred to “the Waitress.” She understood my mental health issues. It was the biggest weight off my shoulders knowing that somebody understood. That’s all I needed. Someone to understand. I’ll probably never talk to her again because people go their separate ways and I’m a burden that people would probably prefer to forget. But I will always be grateful that she was an ear when I needed it most.

And although my old friends have lives of their own and we don’t communicate anymore, I do have a few select awesome folks that I met since I moved to Philly. We don’t talk to each other on a daily basis because that’s how it is in adult life. But we’re all there for each other when we need someone to listen.

I consider myself a minor character in everyone else’s story. But since I live my life my song lyrics and love 90s rock, here’s my favorite Alice In Chains chorus that I feel is relevant to this story. If you read this far you’re a champ. Thanks for sticking around.

“You my friend

I will defend

And if we change, well

I’ll love you anyway.”

B.H. Hosford

July 14 1976 - ??

Best Man

I've been tapped for best man duties twice. I did and still do consider it a great honor. It's a pretty big deal if a buddy thinks highly enough that he'd ask me to fill the role over say, his brother or a friend he's known since grade school. And in both cases, these were two friends I'd only known for 2 or 3 years at the time they got married.

First time was my rookie outing. My friend and his bride were together since high school before I knew them. I remember being really nervous because I knew I'd be expected to do a speech. Nowadays I'm much, much better at speaking in front of a crowd. I fucking hate doing it, but I've got a certain sense of style and comedic timing that I've developed over the years. So for my first time doing a speech I gave up trying to write something and just decided, "Fuck it. We're doing it live." Shot from the hip and totally winged it. I was nervous as hell but glad when it was over and I could get back to drinking a beer and reenacting the "Louie, Louie" scene from Animal House during the reception. All in all, I'd give it a 3 out of 10. They were really good friends and it felt awesome to be included in their special day.

The second time was like night and day compared to the first. You're gonna need a bit of backstory first, though. The groom in question was a great friend I met in the Army. My first line sergeant actually. Supposedly there's no fraternization with the enlisted Joes, but we got along well enough that we threw that rule right out the window. We had a lot in common, including the same birthday as it turned out. Odd, right? Anyway, he had met his bride back in high school (there's a trend here, I know) and they separated when he joined the Army and she went to college.

At some point when we were hanging out talking about high school girlfriends, the way guys do, he pulled out one of those wallet photos that were popular back when physical pictures used to be a thing. I was dumbfounded. She was a beauty. I recall my reaction was something along the line of, "This girl? She actually talked to you?" They were both from Portland, and one weekend trip down to Portland from Fort Lewis I got to meet her when she was home from college. We used to take a lot of weekend trips down to Oregon to escape the drudgery of being on base all the time. I was amazed when I got to meet my buddy's ex-girlfriend, because she had personality, manners, charisma: the works. Stellar human being. On the drive back to Fort Lewis we stopped at a gas station. And I remember while he was filling up his tank I said to him, "Dude. If I find out someday that was the girl that got away, I will find you. And I will beat you." Something really close to that, anyway.

Flash forward a few years. After me relentlessly egging him on, they ended up dating again. And eventually engaged. And since you started this short story at the beginning obviously you know they ended up married. When I was doing my best man speech I even invoked the "girl that got away" quote, which was now null and void since he was scared enough of me that he got married instead. Don't thank me. I just do what needs to be done. Anyway, I owned that speech and good times were had by all. Solid 8 out of 10.

I find it ironic that a guy who doesn't know the first thing about relationships or marriage somehow made a good enough friend to two different couples that they included me in their ceremony. And I won't lie. It does hurt a lot that they don't talk to me anymore. Friends moving on is sort of a recurring theme in my life. Over the years people fade away, and in their case it's more important to focus on their families than an old friend who isn't in the picture. I don't blame them one bit, and even though I'd like to say I'd never do that if the roles were reversed, I probably would. There's only so many times you can try to keep friendships active before you realize you're making all of the effort and it's time to stop. Eventually I learned to step back and let them move on to be happy in their own world.

What else did I learn? Good friends are rare and an incredible find when personalities click. Enjoy friendships while they last. Embrace the laughter and good memories. Step aside when it's no longer your time.

Also, I'm not the best man. But I do think I'm a pretty good one. Solid 10 out of 10.

In Hiding

"With birds I'll share this lonely view."

Am I really lonely? It's a question I ask myself all the time.

As far back as I can remember I've never really had a problem making friends. Growing up as the fat kid you've gotta sink or swim, so to speak. I had to develop a personality and learn the fine art of wit and comedic timing, or else life was gonna suck. There's a surprising amount of joy that comes from making other people feel laugh and feel more relaxed just because you're there. I can get along with just about anyone, and people generally enjoy being around me. That's not in my head. Over the years I have been welcomed with open arms into many different social circles. But here I am, sitting home and listening to "Scar Tissue" by RHCP and that line about the lonely view always makes me think.

"With birds I'll share this lonely view." The image it conjures up is someone surrounded by life, but utterly alone.

Thing is, lonely is a state of mind. There's a big difference between being alone versus lonely. I'm alone all the time, but I choose to be alone whether or not I admit it. In a city of 1.5 million people it's pretty easy to walk out the door and run into folks if I choose to do so. I enjoy hanging out at bars sometimes to collect my thoughts and feel like I'm still part of a community, even if I'm not talking to someone. Sometimes I'll meet new people through a chance encounter and get in a really awesome conversation seemingly at random, and that's pretty exciting when it happens. It's like getting in a mini adventure you didn't see coming. And forcing myself to be social by going out alone has proven to be one hell of a character building exercise over the years.

There's a lot to be said for having the luxury to be alone whenever I want. Don't feel like talking to anyone today? No problem. I've got no roommates and can make the day free to do whatever the hell I feel like doing. I can play guitar and sing without judgment. Take an hour and create some art by drawing Zentangles. Drop 4 hours into playing a video game that I've already pumped 200 hours into over the years. Go for a walk around my local park and listen to some 90s rock. I know scores of people that have either been in a relationship or lived with roommates since their college years. And while I used to think being alone is a downer, truth is many other people would love to be able to have the kind of freedom to just be by themselves at any given moment without any social penalties.

But...

I always have this phantom cloud following me around. As if there's something wrong with me because I'm alone. No roommates, no girlfriend, wife or kids. As if there's a social council that condemns me for being a 42 year old guy no attachments. As if I'm a lesser person because I never found another person to be my "better half."

Fuck that. I am my own better half.

 I've overcome what I consider to be some pretty serious shit to get where I am today, and from my point of view I'm doing damn well. There's always things I'd like to improve of course, but sometimes it's nice to step back to appreciate all the things I've accomplished. Even though at the time it didn't seem I was making progress towards goals. Because when you're on a really long road taking one step doesn't seem like you're actually getting anywhere.

So, lonely? Adding other people to your life doesn't fix lonely. You fix lonely by yourself. You fix it by realizing you're the only person who has the power to dictate your state of mind. It's been very hard over the years to learn this and separate the concept of being alone and being lonely. And it's constantly a learning process. I walk a fine line between deciding if all this is really true, or if I'm just buying into my own bullshit. But I think the latter is just when I don't rise above my own negativity.

I just changed the song to "In Hiding" by Pearl Jam. Time to be positive and enjoy the rest of the day. Free to do whatever I want. Because I'm not lonely, just alone today. This moment is mine to enjoy. And it's pretty liberating to be able to realize that.

"It's funny when things change so much,
It's all a state of mind."

Insignificant II

I am a mote.
A speck.
An organelle.

I am a rounding error.

I am forgettable, immediately and evolutionarily.

This is my struggle. This is the struggle of sentience. This is the Absurd.

And I have been quite absurd lately.

Screaming and crying and gurgling beyond breath for attention as a baby for its mother.

But mother is vast and uncaring.

Yet here I am.
Screaming.

Forgettable.

Forgotten.

'struction Crew

I've returned to the scene of the crime and my plans strictly involve further bad behavior. This past week has been manic in so many ways. I've accomplished a lot - writing, reading, working, calling, romancing. I've drank even more (and adding to that tonight). I've also cheated on and broken up with someone - both firsts for me - and the knowledge of the depth of her hurt (certainly some proportion of her great heart) has become a parasite on my mind.

I have been a great towering crane this week, alternating between wrecking ball and construction hook and uncertain with which I identify the most. I'll find my center soon though, I'm sure.

Insignificant

I am a mote. A speck. An organelle.

I aspire to be a statistic.

I am forgettable, immediately and evolutionarily.

This is my struggle. This is the struggle of sentience. This is the absurd.

And I have been acting quite absurd lately.

Chaos

I am chaos. I am confusion. I am that wriggling doubt that gnaws at the edges of your mind when your head rests on the pillow.

Where could you be? Where would you be? Where will you be?

Your life could be better!

A better lover could be yours!

A better job (indeed, wealth freeing you from work) will be your next!

A better body is just days away!

Why haven't you made the switch?

oh?

YOU DID!?

Fat

I have become fat.

I have always been fat in body, but now I have become fat in outlook.

I found someone who loves me. I rejected them.

I ate my dinner and wanted something different.

I faintly remember something I wrote six years ago about flailing for love, flailing for meaning, flailing for self. I faintly remember being starved in spirit. I faintly remember that not all the food on the table is meant for me.

I must drill back down to my core, through these layers of fat, to find truth.

I must drill back down to my core to find self.

I must drill to remember.

An Assessment

Where am I at today? I feel like it's another glass-half-empty day, though there's no real reason to feel that way (other than, perhaps, a bit of a hangover). My objectives of the day were: do my taxes (complete), go to Cooperage (complete), bring my laundry up from the basement (to be completed), and podcast (failed). I'm in a weird place emotionally; I feel like my insides are being squeezed. I'm a mess - and unwarranted stress and the feeling of not having accomplished anything twist me up inside.

The doodle on this particular document.

I must produce something soon something soon. It feels like every obligation - from eating to laundry to friends to work - is a fishhook ripping at my skin as I try to walk forward. I am impatient for success but lazy in pursuit. This impatience, however, has not bred haste; rather it's only fed frustration, planting a seed around which other stresses have grown. Around which my waistline has grown.

Backup Dick

[written March 2018, but buried here]

I got cocky (excuse the pun). After more than a year as someone's first choice, I was stupid to forget that I am, and forever will be, "backup dick" for everyone I fall for.

I suspect there are several reasons for this. First and foremost, I tend to give freely of my attention. That is to say I let others - specifically those who I want to date - know that I'm interested in being with them. I feel this attenuates any desire on their part to pursue me and rather encourages women to seek someone they have (or are perceived to have) a harder time securing attention (and affection) from. This puts me in a difficult situation, however, as I'm not attractive enough to cause women I'm attracted to to seek me out of their own accord.

Second, but close behind, is my appearance. Probably also my demeanor. I can't pretend I've taken care of my body. I'd also admit I'm moody and demanding. Hell, my father called me "fat, lazy, and whiny" to my face in the house I bought.

With these (and other factors, surely) combined, I am someone women seek out for attention (and therefore lead me on to lesser and greater extents) until they find someone who has a better balance of attractive to attention, at which point I'm given the boot.

Knowing all this, and knowing nearly a decade's worth of this pattern, I should be more numb to the most recent demonstrations of proof that I am, and will forever be,

Backup Dick.

It was a day of eyes and ears

It was a day of eyes and ears; upon leaving my hibernation, the world exploded. I soaked up the afternoon light - something I oft forget to enjoy - as I made my way to the El.

The usual assortment of stories were along for the ride, including a beggar just beginning his routine. I closed my eyes and shook my head when he turned to me. He nodded his defeat. I watched a man eat Burger King, his one eye affixed to the door while the other focused on the meal.

The Demon's Visit

There came a great triplet of knocks from the front door.

"Who could be calling at this hour?" Amanda thought, navigating through a darkened hallway. She'd been careful not to seem like she was reacting to the visitor until she knew it was safe.

As she silently peered through the peep-hole, she saw two demonic eyes meet hers and a mouth full of sharp teeth stretch into a smile.

Fuck Hope

--or--

Why the Greeks were right and hope is the worst thing ever.

Of all the emotions I am subject to, it is hope which vexes me the most. Unfortunately for both my peace of mind and my ability to go to sleep at night, I can not control my hope as I can other emotions.

Hope sucks.

On Passion

I am a fairly dispassionate person. While I don't know if I would recommend this state of being, it does help when confronted with emergencies and dilemmas.

It does not help, however, when interacting with others.

It seems that other people expect you to be aghast when they tell you that some celebrity or distant relative has died. While I certainly understand the pain a person feels, it seems that expecting me to feel the same pain is unproductive, at best.

Mantras

Possible Mantras:

• An adult is one who has control of their appetites.
• That which is outside the self is outside control.
• Having control of one’s self is to be one’s own person; control else-wise is an illusion.
• Keep that which you cannot control external from your self. Know that what is controlled may be changed.
• Control the self, accept the world.

A Perch

I sit above them, looking down, but yet looking up at their enthusiasm.

It is infectious, yet I feel immune - for whatever reason, I feel that to join in would be a mistake. Perhaps I know my penchant for showmanship, perhaps it is due to a lack of confidence (which could merely stem from my discomfort in my own skin), but whichever it is, I find that I am obstructed in my endeavor to fit in with those who I observe so dispassionately.

This is most unfortunate, at least as far as my social skills go, as this would be the perfect opportunity to "let loose" and enjoy an evening of a little alcohol mixed with a little music.

Whatever the reason, I wish to remain undiscovered, sitting on my perch.

[written 27 May, 2011]