Onset of a New Year

One could surmise by my silence here,
that the wedding did in fact kill me;
but no, I am in fact, very much alive;
and at this moment enjoying a sunny morning in San Francisco;
drinking coffee to the view of a blue, cloud mottled sky and a plate of dark atmosphere that threatens to deliver rain from the west
(This is not a metaphor or foreshadowing, merely reporting).
I am still listening to Christmas music
and have the tree lights glowing.
I have no pressing matters other than to be right here,
with a steaming cuppa joe.
Not a bad place to be at the end of the year.

It is in this moment of comfort and peace that I wish you dear reader,
a Happy and Prosperous New Year.

3 Days and Countin' - A Groom's Journal

I've been experiencing a bit of turmoil throughout this experience of planning a wedding. I've heard from many friends that the wedding becomes an entity of its own, and to allow myself to be swept up and enjoy it all, the stresses, the joyful moments of anticipation and hope, the little arguments over details that will be forgotten in the years to come. I have found myself not enjoying the process and experiencing quite a bit of intestinal distress. The whiskey has not been a fantastic go to as it has proven (and as I had suspected-read known) left me to deal with what I had postponed with inebriation, save for slightly less time to deal with it.
My family and some friends ask, with a wink and a nudge, if I'm getting cold feet yet. I don't have cold feet, I am not questioning my decision to get married. I just don't understand why there must be a wedding that includes the emotions, interests, intentions and expectations of other people, while not financially or ultimately emotionally invested. I find this frustrating. I find little joy in this. Observations of myopia, self concern and abject ignorance of self with those involved aside. I have felt some guilt and shame for not experiencing joy or excitement with this whole process. This has added weight to my shoulders in a way that has become counter productive. I find myself wanting to not be involved or waxing apathetic while secretly judging. This in turn opened the gate for greater feelings of shame. It is at this time that I am grateful for friends, especially those who have been through what I am now experiencing. A dear friend pointed out that this time in my life is emotionally rich and complex, and that it's ridiculous to feel that only one emotion (joy in this case) can encapsulate or label this period. That whatever I'm feeling is what I'm feeling, and that whatever it is I'm feeling now, I'll feel a different way a little later. It was a reminder to take it easy on myself, not beat myself up for something that I'm experiencing. So, as I am on this up and down, joyful to grim to down trodden to ecstatic, that at the moment I'm enjoying, but may not be in a little while roller coaster, I'm glad that I'm feeling something because it means that I'm a live and that I care about marrying my sweetheart.

A Groom with a view

I have not really enjoyed the last few months. Work has been incredibly slow, and payment for services rendered has been even slower. Further more, my life outside the base desire to pay rent and the cable bill, has been dominated by the minutiae of weddings. My wedding in particular. A wedding that has come to life like Frankenstein's monster, and I feel my self screaming "It's alive!!! It's alive!!!",not in victory but in abject horror. I've frequently had these dreams of being in the back seat of a moving vehicle. I'm uncomfortable on the warm blue vinyl and uneasy. I want to be in the driver's seat but can't quite crawl over the seat to grab the wheel or hit the gas or break. Invariably the car crashes. This is how I've felt from the moment I proposed to my sweetheart. I have no regrets about my decision and no doubt about my desire to marry her, however, I could do without the wedding I think. I'm too stressed out thinking about where my next job is going to come from, when the check from the last job is going to arrive, and whom it has to go to once it comes in. I feel like a pipeline.

It's ALIVE!!! It's ALIVE!!!

It's after my wallet, my calendar and my soul! Such a time honored, nostalgic, cherished, vile event.

I've committed to the ride. Let it be done. Let my blood pressure rise. Let my bride be right. Let my wallet be empty. Here is the prayer of a weary groom o' lord. Amen.

I am attempting to write more...

.... so I am writing this.

This is what I have written.

I am now stepping out for coffee.

Denied

It has come to this, a software generated rejection letter from SXSW arrived in my email inbox this week. You have my sixty dollars, at least have the decency to send me a lovely hard copy version suitable for framing. Oh well.... next.

I Would love to hate L.A.

but I'm finding an odd affection for it. Wayfaring misfits with bigger dreams than sense, make this their light bulb and move toward it, dance around it and never settle. This glowing orb of a dream makes audacity bolder, the self smaller and kindness a gift given in small change. The Bourgeois PIg is a place that seems to embody the Hollywood id. While waiting for the German TV crew to inform me of their schedule this rainy day (another story for another time dear reader) I have heard the same conversation from several mouths from different points of the room. Blank (insert name of pseudo celeb/C-lister here) has signed on and loves the concept. We're really looking for a new fresh face to play _____. (an aside: This sounds like it is this director/producer's first film...I think fresh is the only thing they can afford.) And the piéce de résistance of my nearly three hours at The Bourgeois Pig, a writer's strike of a different order. Two struggling writers who appear to be acquaintances, two wayfaring moths, two misfits of the pen (keyboard rather) decided today that the town was just too small for the two of them. It began with a discussion of copyright. It continued with the discussion of story and structure. Then came the accusation of a missing flash drive. She, small and fiery, he big and offish. The words started quietly, with a whisper. All the world's a stage and these people merely displayers.
To Be Continued...

Christmas Mourning

The presents are unwrapped. The paper discarded and gifts in use or cast aside. The money is spent and the bank account empty. No more carols on the radio or in the stores. Packed up and put away more quickly than it is placed, posed, poised and angled on the greater consciousness. It's the new year, and the tree in our living room is an anachronism. It's needles browning and lights are dark. It will be stripped of it's medals and charms and cast onto the street without dignity; collected by the city and join the other discarded brothers and sisters of pine and fir. The longest nights are gone, but it feels more dark and more cold to me on this January day. What to look forward to now? What to anticipate, meditate, linger on, over obsess about? Time for coffee I guess.