Mmm, hmm.
So, a few small things I suppose. Looks like my buying spree has finally hit a wall, as I am struggling to think of things to purchase in order to improve my home. Last night, I ordered in fridge magnets and an Emoji pillow from Amazon. Today, I started looking for a color changing sphere, alarm clock and a dancing groot to put by my front door.
There's really nothing left for me to get. I have everything. Maybe some new light fixtures, but those can wait, as can the ceiling fan for my bedroom.
Yep. I'm ready for the winter. I'm ready to impress.. I was going to say my lady, but all ladies.. I suppose. Whoever comes by.
Got to still finish staining my back deck, but that's not too important, and the weather right now is crummy.
Hmm. Yeah.
Last night at work, I had a good conversation going with a Muslim guy named Mustafa, about some of my theories on spirituality. He brought up the discussion first, when I teased him about standing around doing nothing all day and remarking that he must have a heck of an imagination to keep himself occupied with. He did, he said, and we got into talking about the things he thinks about, which I found intriguing (and rare, among construction workers) to debate.
He firstly, did not believe in reincarnation and believed there would be a "day of judgement" at some point. I challenged him by asking about one-year old children who die early in life, and he says they are exempt from being judged. I asked about a five-year old, also exempt. He then says that "puberty" is the point where a living person is held accountable for their actions.
I scoffed, inwardly, but kept things civil and respectful.
We talked about stuff that I'm already familiar with, regarding Islam, and I tried to impress on him the idea that we can't find "Truth" in one book. Also that, nobody can ever tell you what Truth really is and that it's something we have to experience in order to find out, and that all the puzzle pieces are scattered across many different mediums and inside of people, etc. He was adamant about following the Koran to the letter; and I had to tell him that if he was born in Canada and was raised a Christian, then his worldview would be dramatically different than it is now. Just because you are born in a certain geographic location doesn't mean you have to believe in the exact same ideologies that indigenous people of that region would believe in. That's not seeking Truth. That's just being conditioned away from rational, free-thinking and personal exploration. You can't learn about how to ride a bike, and what a bike is for, until you're on one. I mean, you can learn about it, but knowledge can't ever eclipse the value of personal experience.
And.. what else is there..
Thought about the distinction between faith and confidence for a bit. I've settled on the idea that confidence is having faith in yourself, while faith is having confidence in things outside of yourself. Given how closely related such words are, I felt it was necessary to differentiate the two so that their meanings become more distinctive, and better understood. I was happy making this little discovery.
Hmm..
Yeah, I cried a bit this morning. But when I "cry" its really just one or two tears and a swelling of.. sadness. I also noticed that.. this is going to be difficult to write about, but I also noticed that sometimes whenever my thoughts stray and settle upon Gina, I.. I kind of imagine for a brief instant, a moment of happiness we've shared, or a moment I'd want to share, or wanting to see her again, meet her kids, and whatever.. In that moment, this lightning stab of.. something between remorse and anguish crops up, and I immediately say to myself, "Oh, God" whenever it happens. Without realizing it. This happens multiple times throughout the day. I've been trying hard to figure out what triggers this, and it always involves Georgina. It doesn't seem to happen in isolation, as a response to loneliness or desire, or anything like that.
But, yeah. Noticing that "Oh God" thing I do, which has been happening for months now; I studied it a bit last night, and noticed that particular cry from some dark depth of my being, has gradually become more blunted and less.. intense, for lack of a better word. It feels like the color is gone from those words, and it's more hollow than it once was. This monochromatic cry of regret, and want, and despair.. Well, it's..
(sighs) It sucks. I can see how time will turn that cry of mine, into something that will eventually disappear or become so subtle, that I will hardly notice it.
I'm.. struggling, I admit. But.. Oddly.. at work, I'm really in a good mood. And these moments are like punctuation marks that randomly insert themselves into my stream of thoughts.
It's still odd that I'm not depressed over us being broken up, but maybe I am? I don't know how to define depression in this particular instance. Am I crying? yeah. Occasionally. Do I feel sad? Yep, in brief intervals. But.. I'm not depressed. I'm not slouched over and dragging my feet, and unable to concentrate, and wanting to curl up into a ball and die.. No, I'm.. still in a generally great mood. I'm still moving forward. Improving myself. My home. The relationships I have with people. Being able to make them laugh.
So, I don't get that. Three months after being broken up with someone who.. I really.. love.. and..
I'm doing okay, I think.
Despite all those blog entries I've written, regarding her.
I'm not sure why that is.
But, I know better than to fight myself. If the last few months have taught me anything, it's to stay true to what I'm feeling and not allow those feelings to overwhelm or cripple my enjoyment and purpose in life. Can't do it. I'll cry, but in private. I'll..
(sighs)
The latest reminder I've had of her, came from this, today:
For her birthday in May, I made her a mix cd and one of the tracks on there was a parody-commercial from the movie UHF, with Weird Al Yankovic. Spatula City. She loved hearing it, and I thought it was a hilarious skit.
So.. one day, she brought me these five spatulas...
(sighs)
I miss her.
Holy fuck..
Do I ever.
And now, the tears are coming..
...
Yeah.. so.. go ahead Dave. Cry like the baby I am.
You'll get over it.
You always do.
Now, I need to shower and go find a box spring for my father's bed.
It's a new day.
