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Avoiding the gym. I don't wanna bring down my resistance. I'm much better now although I swear, this is the absolute last bout of the common cold I'm planning to have for a real long time. I'm pretty much baby-ing myself, refusing to go to the gym if I didn't get a good night's sleep. There's the rub: getting a good night's sleep. Lately I've been trying to arrange a normal human sleep schedule for myself, and I think I'm losing more sleep than ever. Waking every hour, restless sleep, bad dreams... I really don't think I was meant to sleep at night.
Whatever. I'm trying to quit smoking and that's going about as well as the normal human sleep schedule. Then again, I am cutting down.
And I showed amazing restraint last night. Dell Pickle gave me a rare page and even though he was with the Hairy Editor (how the fuck did that happen?) and the Samoan Nose Picker, I decided to chuck some sleep and meet them for a drink. We ended up at Player's and I had an Oakland(?!) burger and my first Bud Light in ages. I can't believe how good a fucking Bud Light tasted. In fact, that's my first time at Players. The really strange part was, I ran into Say What. The weird thing was, I was with the Hairy Editor and the Hairy Editor is a really big fan of this one act play I wrote that just happened to revolve around trying to find Say What, and here we just randomly happen to run into him. And I'm like, what the fuck are you doing here? You're supposed to be a mythic, fictional creation that never actually shows up! Go Home! But then, I couldn't really say that so I think I just ended up shaking his hand and incoherently stuttering for five minutes.
That's the thing about me. If I stutter, it doesn't mean I'm a complete head of cabbage. I'm just thinking a strange neurotic thought about you and I don't wanna go through the trouble of saying it to your face.
Then came Aaron's Most Remarkable Moment Of Restraint Of The Millenium. We stopped by the Great Hawaiian Hope's house (I went strictly to say hello) and after a beer, they started rolling a joint. And since I had a lotta work and sleep to catch up on, I actually forced myself to say goodbye. Then I actually made it out the door!
(Begin applause.)
That's kinda why I was scared to go to the Great Hawaiian Hope's house. Evitably, you get stoned. No wonder the Hairy Editor was being such a pouty bitch and wanting to rush out of Players. Fucking tweaker. But it was so long since I drank with Dell Pickle, I figured what the hell, and basically ignored him.
I finally saw myself in print. The first time doesn't really count since the audience/readership is probably five. Anyway, I finally saw the story in the issue and I nearly threw up. I can't believe I wrote that crap. I wanna just pretend like it never happened and kinda store my copy in a box under the house or something.
What made it worse was, I had a deadline for another fiction thing the next day. Shocking the shit outta myself, I actually managed to finish. I picked it up today and it turns out I got a pretty response out of it. I kinda like this story way better (although I always think that when I finish something). But this one is a genre piece. I feel like less of a sell-out when I do something in genre, as opposed to the utter crap I somehow managed to get published. Seriously, I look at the thing and I can't write for the next few days. I can't believe I actually sent a couple copies out. I totally wish I could take it back. Then again, I really should cash that check.
Tuesday, December 21, 1999, 4:30pm
I finally cashed the check and encountered my first bout of fame! (Insert sarcasm here.) The bank teller noticed the name on the check and she goes, "Wow. Are you a writer? Did you write a book? What kinda story was it? Ohmygod, my friend is a writer and she'd be sooo jealous! What do you do for a living?"
And she was so damn loud too. I just wanted to crawl into a hole. Especially considering that I've officially disowned that story.
I think I'm going to do some work that is actually productive as opposed to something that I'll find embarassing once it's published.
Wednesday, December 22, 1999, 10:21pm
Slutt called me at 8 in the fucking morning to ask me if I'm going to the funeral. I'm all like, "What funeral?" Apparently Lockjaw died last week in a diving accident. I first told her that I'm not going, I didn't think it would be appropriate.
Then I thought about it for a few minutes and told her I'd meet her.
I'm not dealing with this well. I wrote a few entries ago how I found out that Lockjaw was indeed alive, it was just a rumor and someone else with his exact name died. Then I find out this morning that he indeed did die.
There's so much fucking water under the bridge on this one, and a lot isn't good, but on the other hand, there's a lot that was good.
I feel like I should've made an effort, to form some sort of communication again. (Dental Chick was trying to make me feel better by saying that sometimes it's better to leave things as they were. She's probably right but still...)
Slutt told me that lately, Lockjaw's been coming into the bar a lot, and he talked about high school days, and he mentioned me-- and at that point I cut her off, I didn't want to hear it. We used to be really close in high school, but then... You know how it goes, shit happens, and enough time goes by and shit, I guess the next thing you know is that you're at their funeral.
Cliche: you always think there's gonna be more time.
As we walked to the funeral, Slutt told me not to worry cause he had good memories of me.
I really want to believe that.
That's so cliche. Regretting things you'll never be able to fix cause the person's dead.
I'm rambling. Is this grief? Grief is something I'm not used to. When Grampa went, that was different. I got to spend a lot of time, to say goodbye. And it's not like there were any bad terms or anything. Things with Lockjaw was different. Maybe that's why I'm not quite handling this well.
And the thing I can't get over is, it feels, to me, like Lockjaw died twice. When I finally found out five years ago that the rumor that he died was just a dumb bonehead rumor, I should've done something about it. At least had one drink with him or something. Did something to let him know that I still thought of us as friends. (I'm trying to be objective. It's not just cause he died unexpectedly. I think there's a whole bunch of people out there whose guts I hate that if I found out they died, I wouldn't feel any regret about.)
That's another cliche. Suddenly I just feel like life is all precious and shit. Pack as much as possible in one day.
I never even cried at Grampa's funeral.
This must be normal. I mean, I find out someone's dead and go to their funeral in the same day... There's got to be some sort of amount of shock involved right?
That is just so wrong. To die so close to the holidays.
At least it seems like he had a lot of friends.
I think the last time I truly talked to him was over 10 years ago.
The real trip at the funeral was this girl who talked for five years. The thing is, she kept saying shit like, "He was my best friend. I'll miss the way he'd put his hand on my back. He used to bring me a towel in the shower. And when you slept next to him, you felt safe." Then she mentions that even though she had a small wedding, she was glad that he was there to share that day with her and her husband. HUH?! You're thinking, "So, uh, were they fucking or not? There's definitely some issues in THAT marriage..."
There's a running joke that I'm atheist. Technically I consider myself agnostic, but I try not to say that cause it takes too much explaining and I'm not a fucking dictionary. But there's something really comforting in thinking that someone is in a better place.
Q, or the man who played Q in nearly every single James Bond movie, died in a car accident last week. What the fuck is it with all these people dying in accidents lately? Sigh. Believe it or not, I'm gonna see The World Is Not Enough again. It's really sadly ironic how they basically say goodbye to Q in the gadget scene, and it turns out, that really was his last movie. Sad.
