a meaningless post

Falling asleep amidst a thunderstorm is one of the most peaceful experiences I’ve known. A large storm—though certainly not the largest we’ve experienced; no tornadoes this time—came through overnight, and I lied in bed, cocooned in the blankets, and I closed my eyes and listened to the pealing thunder and the rain rapping on the windows. I fell asleep almost instantaneously.

I continue to get through the mail good reviews of “Dwellers of the Night”. It’s encouraging.

There are several movies I am itching to see. “Zombieland” and “The Invention of Lying” are at the top of the list, and if I can find anyone to go with, I’m going to see “Paranormal Activity.” It’s playing in select theaters around the nation, and it is coming to the AMC in Newport on the ninth of November. Tonight I am going to see one of the first two with Sarah and perhaps my friend Dylan.

paperback cover

just another manic monday

Our friends Rob and Mandy came over tonight, and Mandy fixed a delicious fettuccini alfredo dish with chicken and broccoli and garlic bread. We sat around the table and devoured it in all our hunger. “There will be leftovers,” Mandy said. There weren’t. Mandy said it was a “Thank You” meal for letting us do their laundry at the house. I don’t care what it was, it tasted amazing. A lot better than the run-of-the-mill chicken & rice I generally eat for lunch and dinner.

“Dwellers of the Night” will be on Amazon.com within the next couple weeks. I’m excited about that. I am realizing more and more how much the writing of that novel infected me. I drowned myself into the main character, and in a sense his worldview (which was not mine; I made it his worldview in my original character sketch) slowly infiltrated itself into mine. I find myself battling between two opposing worldviews, and I find myself suddenly overcome with some of the same tendencies and habits and ways of speaking that I put into the main character. He is the only character I have ever become so deeply ingrained with, and when the book was over, I felt as if a part of myself had died (not that the main character died; maybe he did? maybe he didn’t; you’ll have to read Page 640 to find out!). I have been wanting to write again, but I find myself unable to depart from “Dwellers of the Night.” Not surprising: having invested one and a half years and innumerable hours in the planning and writing and revising of the novel, it almost became an extension of myself. Now that it’s done, I feel like a man who has lost a leg or an arm. Alive, breathing… But incomplete.

Remember how Sarah, Amanda and I carved a pumpkin some time ago? Apparently you’re supposed to do it late in the season, because the current humidity and temperatures cause mold and fungus to grow on them. And this mold and fungus attracts not only flies and beetles but also, in our case, yellow jackets. Hundreds of yellow jackets (okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration; but they had carved holes and crannies into the pumpkin and were crawling all over and inside it). I knew that it was a problem (they can get into the house and swarm the front porch), so I knew there was only one obvious answer: burn them out. So I dumped a quarter bottle of flammable Bacardi 151 on the pumpkin (with Sarah and Mandy observing), and I dropped a match into it. The pumpkin crackled and smoldered. Most of the yellow jackets simply flew away, but some were engulfed in flames, and with the alcohol on their feet and thorax, they were basically walking around on fire. The obvious issue would be incensing them, but I didn’t worry about it. Until they started flying into my clothes. Most of them (probably because they were drunk?) just flew out from under my clothes, but one unlucky yellow jacket managed to sting me on the leg, right above my ankle (it is currently swollen with what is called a regional reaction). In pain and angered (an unjustifiable anger, at that), I took the bottle of Bacardi 151 and doused the yellow jacket, and then I lit it on fire. I stood with my leg throbbing in pain, and I said to myself, “Looks like I got the best out of that exchange.”

the lehman house [22]

Monday. I worked 9:30-1:00, ate lunch with Mandy, and had class until 3:00. I grabbed some cigarettes from the Pit Stop and napped. Sarah woke me up with a phone call from Millennium (her day job): “I can’t stop crying.” I don’t hate anyone—except Keith. Mom came into town, and when Sarah came home we went out to eat at a Mediterranean café downtown. Mom left, and Sarah, Ams and I watched “Alone in the Dark.” Jess Lynn called, was feeling really lonely, and she spoke frequently of Alaska. “We can get married, move to Alaska, and I’d own a tourism shop and you’d be a fisherman!” Ams went to Chris’ and Sarah and I hung out. I told her, “I’m afraid you’ll get lonely and return to him, thus thwarting this chance you have to get your life back together.”

Tuesday. Sarah and I spent the evening watching TV, competing at Sodoku, and we fixed steak, taters, corn, mac & cheese, and sweet potato casserole for dinner. We watched “The Mummy” and she scratched my head and I scratched hers. She said my style gave her chills and she kiddingly kicked her legs. Chris S. came over for a bit, and then he and Ams went back to his place.

Wednesday. After all my classes I headed to Dayton to get the brakes fixed on my car. I ate dinner with Mom & Dad and then took the Vibe down to Cincinnati. Ams went to visit Kevin at Restoration and Sarah and I just hung out talking. We got bored, so I suggested a drive, and at 11:00 we drove into Kentucky, got off at the I75 Richwood exit, turned right, right again at the fork, and another right to reach The Graveyard. The stars shone down and a shallow mist wrapped around the tombstones. We smoked cigarettes in the chill night and then headed back to Cincinnati.

Thursday. I dreamt Sarah and I were cuddling on the couch and that I was stroking her cheek as she gazed lovingly into my eyes. I woke at 10:00 and went to the Hilltop to work on Greek. After all my classes I went to the Anchor Grill in Covington to drink coffee, smoke cigarettes, and write about this burgeoning attraction to Sarah. I’ll key it in here for posterity’s sake (below). I spent the evening hanging out with Jessie, who was also having a bad day, and after she left Hartman came over. He, Ams, Sarah and I made hamburgers for dinner and watched “The Office.” Depression overwhelmed me, so I left and went to Ludlow, Kentucky. The baseball fields by the river. I sat in the dugout. And there I prayed, “This is where Courtney and I confessed that in one another, we found our dreams coming true. Her dream came true. Mine didn’t.” And then: “Please bring me a wife soon. A woman I can love and be loved by. And please bring Sarah a wonderful husband. And if at all possible, please make that husband be me. I want to give her everything she wants, and I pray she’ll accept it.”

I feared this would happen, and it has. I can no longer deny that I like Sarah. Mandy H. is the one who unknowingly made me realize it in a conversation we had this past month. And as the weeks progressed, it became to me exceedingly clear that I want to be “with” her. And why?

1) She’s Beautiful. Everything about her is physically attractive, and so I’m sexually attracted to her.

2) We Get Along. We’re good friends, and we can hang out for hours doing nothing and still having a great time.

3) I Care for Her. Put simply, my heart’s attached to her. I’m sensitive to her wants and needs. I care about her day. And, mostly, I care about her well-being.

4) She Needs Redemption. Not biblical redemption, but redemption from her current plight with Keith, a.k.a. Dutschbag.

I want to be with her. She’s the kind of girl I’m attracted to, and I care for her very deeply. It literally hurts me to see her with Keith, to see her in that awful relationship. I want more for her. Better for her. I want her to be with someone who will LOVE her, treat her like the princess she is, dote on her and sacrifice for her and serve her. That’s what I want to give her. She’s been pursued by three or four guys lately, from her hometown in Hamilton. “A good thing about dating Keith is that I know what to look for. Red flags.” I asked her for my red flags. She thought for a moment. “I can’t think of any. You’re sweet, caring, sensitive, funny, attentive. I bet you’d be a good boyfriend.” Note she didn’t mention that I was physically attractive. If I were, she’d date me. “One red flag, I guess, is your lack of confidence.” How can I be confident when I’m surrounded by mirrors?

Sarah says one thing that keeps her at Keith’s side is that he makes her feel wanted and desired. The irony is that it’s just a cheap parlor trick. He’s keeping her around, giving her glimpses of affection every once in a while to keep her hooked. I don’t want her to be with him. She deserves the best and he dishes out the worst. She wants to be wanted and desired, and she’s settling for pseudo-affection. Here I am, right beside her, and I want and desire her. I yearn, so desperately, to give her what she so deeply and intimately desires: not just affection, but love. But I can’t give it to her because I can’t tell her how I really feel.

Now let me tell you why Sarah won’t date me. She says she wants a Good Guy, a guy like me, but only dates assholes. Why? She made it clear to me: “There just aren’t many attractive good guys out there.” So what matters most is physical attraction. She’d much rather date sexually appealing assholes than unattractive good guys. If placed in a position where she was required to choose between an attractive asshole and an unattractive good guy, she will irrevocably choose the asshole. And then she’ll complain about how he’s an asshole, and she’ll pine about how much she wants a good guy. And this is why Sarah and I will never date.

“Tell her how you feel,” Mandy suggested. That’s a ridiculous idea. She’d just tell me that we’re too close friends, it wouldn’t work. A cop-out answer. I don’t know why anyone buys into it. Since when has friendship negatively affected romance? And once the conversation was over, an awkward tension would develop between us. Since we live together, she’d probably start spending more time with Keith, deepening the hole she’s in. Our friendship would be strained. And don’t forget Ams, caught up in the middle, forced to take sides: one of her best friends or her brother? There’s no happy ending if I open my mouth and no happy ending if I keep it closed. I’m fucked either way.

Friday. Rob put on a coffee tasting at the Hilltop. Dominic and Cooper were there. Mandy wants to hook up Sarah with Dominic. I tried to shut that down. I ran the Vibe up to Dayton and got my fixed Prizm and returned to Cincinnati. A bunch of Sarah’s friends—Catherine, Justin, Henry, Jeremy—came over and played a drinking game. Rachel came down from Wilmington. Corey Isaac came by, and we sat on the porch and talked for a while. After everyone left, Sarah and I sat on the sofa and talked for a while. I’ve really no choice: I’ve cut to cut off my feelings for her before this turns into a nightmare.

The Day Courtney Got Married. The only girl I’ve ever loved got married today, and I saw her driving down my street in the honeymoon limousine. I cleaned up from Sarah’s party and slept till about 5:00, feeling quite blue. Jessie convinced Sa-Rah to go on a “date” with me to cheer me up on  this day I’ll always remember, but Sa-Rah had her phone turned off all evening. So Mykaela and I went to Aroma’s to visit Jessie. Aubrey was there. Back home Sarah and I watched TV before bed.

Sunday. I didn’t sleep well all night. Sarah went to her mom’s to mow the grass and hack down weeds. I watched a show on UFOs in Chicago and had McDonald’s for lunch. I know, I know… We got internet here at the house, but I can’t get it to work on my laptop. When Sarah returned, we watched History Channel until past midnight. I looked myself in the mirror. I’m getting fatter. Shit.

on happy endings

I am not good at telling happy stories. Everything I’ve written in the past three or four years—be it short stories or novels—has had an unhappy ending. Let me rephrase that: I don’t go out of my way to make an unhappy ending. I just try to think logically. If a happy ending—happy in the physical as well as emotional sense—is possible, then I’ll embrace it. But if a happy ending is far from possible, then reason and reality dictates that I write an unhappy ending. They’re not awful endings where everything goes to hell; they are endings that reflect the most realistic ending to the given situation. Ernest Hemingway wrote that “all stories end in death” and reality—perceivable reality, not hoped-for reality—is built on the foundation that the world doesn’t operate according to how we want it to operate. As much as we may hope for a certain conclusion, chances are that conclusion is a fabrication of our imagination, and reality is not kind to such things.

october begins!

We don’t have heating or insulation in our house, so it’s getting pretty cold. We bundle up pretty tightly, and it’s only fifty degrees outside! The house traps the cold and expels the heat, it seems. “I dread this winter,” Sarah says. I offered to give her my room, and I would take the basement (where it would be colder), and she’s considering doing it. I think it would be cool to live in the basement. I would light my room with candles and candles alone. It would be like I were a monk or some peasant in Medieval Europe. Oh, me and my fantasies.

Sarah and her deuschbag boyfriend broke up. I’m glad they did. He treated her like shit, and she deserves so much more. She’s in a lot of pain right now, but she knows it’s for the best. She wants to grow closer to God, wants to start living in a manner that is pleasing to Him, and she knows that being with her ex not only complicates but also hinders that. She has a priority, and I hope the temptation to return to him doesn’t become too overwhelming. She deserves so, so, SO much more than what he has ever given her. It literally hurt me to see them together, to see how he treated her; and it hurts me to think that she may settle for less than what she deserves.

One of my exes is getting married Saturday. It’s kind of weird. I’m happy for her. She’s happy, her fiancé is happy, I think they’ll make it, and in a world where marriages fail every day, that’s something to celebrate. It’s weird for me because there was a time when we talked about getting married, and I had believed we would. Now she’s getting married to someone else, and reflections on the past just highlight how far I haven’t gone in experiencing my dreams; but that’s okay, because I am being refined by many experiences to become a person who will be an amazing husband and an amazing dad.

I am working on three different novels right now: “Metamorphosis,” “The Toothless Kiss of Skeletons,” and “The Boy Who Hoped.” Each is wildly and fantastically different than the other. I feel like I have no time to write, and Writer’s Block has been a bitch lately, but I’ve hammered out some pretty solid and decent material thus far.

autumn has come!

Autumn has come. “It came a few days ago,” Kevin said. But finally it actually feels like fall. Autumn is my favorite season. Pumpkin pies, hot steaming coffee in the cold, the way the leaves change colors and fall from their perches in the trees, the crisp coolness that fills your lungs and the football being tossed around. Nearly all my favorite memories come from autumn. Hot dogs, hay-rides, dressing warm and walking the windy streets. One of my high school friends, whom I’ve shared countless autumns with—“We’ve been friends eleven years,” he told me—came down to Cincinnati yesterday, and we went to Newport and saw the movie “Surrogates,” and we walked the cobblestone paths by the river and drank Venezuelan coffee, and when Sarah got back from work we went to Blockbuster and rented two ridiculous “horror” movies: “Teeth” (about a girl’s you-know-what that has teeth) and “The Gingerdead Man” which stars Gary Busey and is about, well, a vengeance-seeking gingerbread cookie (we stopped it halfway through because the acting and storyline was awful). We spent the night sitting around and talking about all kinds of things. The religious state of America, the biblical realities of sin and the need for repentance, false teachings such as legalism and antinomianism, and the status of Christians before God and whether or not addiction is sin.

It’s rained nearly non-stop for the last week, and it stormed awfully bad last night, but now that the sky is clear and crisp, Sarah and I decided to celebrate by carving a pumpkin! We bought it from Kroger and carved it on the front porch, and I dished out the seeds and cooked them salted in the oven. They’re delicious. We watched the Bengals vs. Steelers game on television, and she got really into it, leaping up and down and cursing and shrieking and screaming for every good play and bad play both. Here is a picture Sarah took of me scooping seeds from the pumpkin: