The Right Choices (9-27-13)

Remember those plans we had at the beginning of the day? How about those plans we made the night before? I’m not really talking about plans we made with other people. They are the plans we made for ourselves- perhaps an outline to keep us on track and productive, or maybe a blueprint needed to best utilize our time, because let’s face it, there’s never enough time. How well do we stick to these plans? How much of what we think we intend to do is subject to change? How often do we plan to do one thing but instead end up doing the opposite?

“No, wait a minute… I always have tuna on toast. Nothing's ever worked out for me with tuna on toast. I want the complete opposite of tuna on toast. Chicken salad, on rye, untoasted ... and a cup of tea.” –George Costanza

Everybody knows how delicate life is, how short the amount of time we get on this earth can be but that doesn’t stop us from procrastinating like our lives depend on it! We waver, flip-flop, make excuses, rationalize and become indecisive. We make decisions based on our mood. We sacrifice long term happiness for short term bliss. We change our minds so easily and we do so for the silliest of reasons.

The worst part about it is we know what we are supposed to do. We know which path is the one we should take but we allow ourselves to get distracted. We choose to do the wrong thing because it feels good, tastes good or looks good. We put things off and then tell other people; “oh, the thing that happened was”. Sometimes we might even get people to feel sympathy for us since this “other thing” happened that prevented us from doing what we planned but that other thing is us! So what do we tell ourselves? How do we rationalize excuses within? How do we get away with it? Why don’t we hold ourselves accountable?

I’m not sure we do get away with it. Maybe we pretend we do in the present sense but the damage gets done. We add more stress, more pain, more weight, more debt, more time spent anxious that would have been better spent relaxing after we took care of whatever we had to do. This conflict within limits us. I sometimes like to fool myself by thinking I can accomplish so much more than I do but it’s just a case where I choose not to. I choose to stop here. I choose to overdo it. I choose to have another serving. I choose to sleep in. I choose to spend money I shouldn’t spend. Yes it is a choice and because we know it is, we validate bad decisions but we are doing nothing more than lying to ourselves and we’ve gotten really good at it! Lying to yourself isn’t easy, you know all your tricks, so the best lies, the most convincing ones, the most devious ones are the ones we tell ourselves.

This happens to me all the time; I know I should do something but I really want to do something else. I feel like I have choices when maybe there shouldn’t be one. I chalk it up to immaturity both in my actions and my thoughts. It’s something I have to work on. It’s something I have worked on. I also settle for the bare minimum most of the time. I tell myself not to be greedy, just get what you need and be done with it. I do this in many areas, except one crucial one, love. When it comes to love, when it comes to potential mates, I don’t settle. I do anything but settle. Maybe this happens because in this department my heart overrules my head, and my heart… doesn’t play around. But when my head is in charge and that’s most of the time, look out because who knows which way the wind blows.

“If every instinct you have is wrong, then the opposite would have to be right.”  -Jerry Seinfeld

When I know I have to do something but my mind instead wants to convince me to have fun, indulge or do the easy or lazy thing I have to be strong of mind. When impulses mask themselves as instincts I need to be wise enough to see through them and do the opposite. What I feel like I desperately want at this moment isn’t worth the cost of something I need down the road. It sounds easy, I mean I just typed it but following through, putting the preaching into practice is where the message gets lost in translation. I need to remind myself often.

When my mind craves/wants something I shouldn’t give in. There’s a difference between being young at heart and being young at mind. Frankly, my inner child is spoiled rotten. He always wants to push it a little longer, linger, fester and opt for fun over responsibility, chillin’ over working, excuses over solutions.  I don’t even know why I need to have this conversation with myself because I’d like to think I know right from wrong and I’m smart enough to see through my own ruses. Do you know what the funniest part of this whole conversation is? Doing the right thing often feels just as good if not better than doing the “fun” thing. The only difference, other than helping over hurting is that the good feeling doesn’t come quickly enough when we have to make the right decision. In this day and age when everyone has the attention span of only 140 characters, we want it now. We convince ourselves that we need instant gratification over hard earned satisfaction but instant gratification isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

For example:

My job allows me to work pretty much whenever I want to get my 40 hours in during the week. I have 7 days to play with and Monday through Saturday we are open from 10am to 8pm. Now, on weekdays I could come in an hour or two earlier as there is usually someone in the building earlier than 10 so from Monday through Friday my window is more like 8-8. Do I take advantage of this? No I don’t. I often go in as late as I can and in some cases I work so few hours on the weekdays that I have to go in on Saturdays to make up the time I am short. It’s not even a matter of sleeping in. Most days I sleep no later than 9:30 or 10 but I might not head in to work til Noon or later. On nights where I have something planned after work (you know, something fun) I do go in earlier because I can’t stay later but without that incentive I’ve gotten into a rut where I am in no hurry to get to work in the mornings. I sit at my computer and I write, I read, I watch Sportscenter and I play with a cat. These are all things I could do after work but why wait, right? I want to have fun now! I want to do what I want when I want it. It’s like I’ve convinced myself that being an adult entitles me to be a child.

Well, the truth of the matter is that when I go in late I’m usually not in the greatest mood. It’s like I was outside playing and my mom called me in for the night. Since my fun was cut short I now have to make the switch to work-mode for several hours before I can have fun again. Making the switch from funtime to serious-time never goes over well, that’s why we usually go to sleep shortly after we make that switch at night but to make that switch in the late morning, it’s just not natural. I know this because yesterday I came into work early and I noticed something. While I was a little grumpy because it was early and because I’m not used to that, once I got into work and settled in, my mood was great. I was happier than usual. Perhaps not having “fun” for 2-3 hours right before coming in made it easier to adapt. Now, much like work used to be or even how school used to be, I’m really looking forward to the end of the day so I can unwind a bit. It almost feels like I’ve earned it more today than yesterday when I showed up after 1pm. Maybe there’s something to this whole satisfaction over gratification thing. Maybe if I get right into my responsibilities instead of right into the fun, the fun later on means more. It’s more satisfying. There’s that word again.

A similar thing happens when it comes to my diet. I’m traditionally a very emotional eater, plus I always try to enjoy too much of a good thing and that makes me a downright dangerous eater. Once I start having fun I often overdo it. At my worst I’ll scarf down sweets like I was on a dessert island the last few years but you know what? When I give in to my cravings it might feel pretty good at that moment but not even 10 minutes after I finish the chicken wings, the cookies, the ice cream, the pizza or the sexy bread the guilt starts creeping in. I always know it is coming but something convinces me that a quick fix is the way to go. I truly am a junk food junkie! A couple months back I posted something about how my diet needs to grow up. Maybe it’s more than my diet.

Then there are those times where I control the cravings and make the healthy choices. When that happens I feel proud in a way that scoring a pack of raspberry Zingers can’t provide. I feel happy with myself. It’s a tremendous feeling and I know this but then the next day is like the first day as I’m back to that struggle between a delicious here and now over a tasty tomorrow. Considering how good I feel when I eat right, or when I find the time to get in a work out, you’d think I’d be addicted to THOSE things. Instead I’m often upset with myself because when I have to make the right choice I’ve done the opposite.

For all my failures there are some impulse success stories too. There are times when indulging the cravings pays off. When I was younger I used to write poetry. Granted it was silly stuff and overly cheesy romantic verse but I used to write. I dreamed of one day performing my work but I was too afraid. I was terrified of public speaking and I lacked confidence and with that stalemate the dream eventually went poof. Then several years later I started going to poetry slams and the dream was reborn. I went to this monthly slam starting back in 2006 and continued to go nearly every month for 2 years. The dream was reborn. Finally I heard some poetry that really spoke to me. It inspired me. Suddenly the cravings were back. The cravings to write and perform my work for others returned… but the roles were reversed. I fought the cravings. Fear and insecurity defeated the cravings for a time but finally by 2009 I was ready (just barely) to perform my work for others and I went out to my first open mic. Slowly I gave into the cravings. By 2010 I started to read out monthly and during this past year I began appearing regularly around town. By now the cravings have won. In this instance giving into them and doing the opposite of the easy thing worked out.

I guess my point is that we have to know when and where to give in to our desires but that’s only the start. For the most part we already know what’s best but actually making the right choice plays a pivotal role. Knowing really is only half the battle. After all, what good is knowing the difference between good and bad choices if we are going to make the bad ones most of the time? That just introduces guilt because we know we're wrong. We may as well be as ignorant as we want to act. If you’re like me and there’s this demanding little voice that’s always telling us to do the fun or easy thing maybe it’s best if we just do the opposite. 

“Yes, I will do the opposite. I used to sit here and do nothing, and regret it for the rest of the day, so now I will do the opposite, and I will do something!”  -George Costanza

Necessary (9-18-13)

Hobbies are supposed to bring you joy. That’s why we pursue them. We do the things we love to get away from the things we don’t. Maybe we do them to escape the daily grind or to help us cope. Anyone who has one knows the joy and comfort they bring to us. More than that I think everybody remembers what the first time was like, you know, when you discover it- a new hobby to pass the time, an exciting interest that breathes new life into you. It makes us feel taller. It makes us feel like the people we’ve always wanted to be.

When I first started writing poetry 3-4 years ago I thought it would be a fun little hobby, perhaps a way to deal with the ups and down of life. Along the way I’ve learned an important lesson about it. When you can write it, you must write it. Once you realize that you can put your thoughts down to paper, once you accept the fact that your emotions, opinions and dreams can come alive on that page you now have an obligation to keep going. You must. It becomes more than a hobby, it becomes necessary.

Over time writing poetry has become therapeutic for me. Each poem is like a photograph. It’s a moment in time, captured. This was the time I was in love, this one was the time I was bullied, insecure, amazed, thankful, afraid, etc. It helps me to get the bad energy out of my system, and let me tell you, some of that pain has been there a long time. When I talk about how my grandparents wanted me to be aborted because they didn’t want a “mixed” child, that’s something that’s been with me for over 20 years. When I talk about getting bullied in high school, my first love, my weight problems, those are issues that are not new. Sure, there are also pieces about recent events but everything I write has been a byproduct of this journey I’ve been on my whole life. I learned early on to write for myself and I definitely do but I would be foolish not of think of others as well. Sometimes I write deeply personal pieces and I need to write them for me but the more I’ve performed them out in the world I’ve noticed other people relate to them. Some people have gone through similar things, felt similar ways and it floors me. To think I could speak for others in any way is a very humbling feeling. It was only a few years ago where I couldn’t even speak for myself.

I don’t know if I spoke for anyone Monday night at Babeville’s 9^th Ward but damn was it a rewarding experience. I had the opportunity to open for Saul Williams. Hold on, I have to type that again; I opened for Saul Williams. I still can’t believe that happened. When I started to read out almost 3 years ago I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking so sometimes I had to hold the paper with 2 hands just so I could steady it enough to read it. I was absolutely petrified to have everyone look at me, let alone listen to me. My voice was soft and searching for the right volume, the right rhythm, even the right words. One of my first times out, I actually let a bad day and some insecurities turn me around and make me run out the door before a reading. I went home that night, cried a little, wrote a wonderful poem about such a terrible night and made the most of a bad situation. To this day, even though I’ve probably read over 70-80 times now I still tremble, I still sweat like I’m being tortured and I still get butterflies like you won’t believe but I’ve come so far. I’ve read for 2 people and 200. I’ve read for all ages, all colors and Monday was the culmination of all that work, all those nerves and a journey that shall continue, perhaps for as long as I live. There I was sharing the same stage with one of the titans of modern poetry, modern art. Part of me still feels like I had no business being on that same stage, like who am I? Then a different part of me reminds me that I am Eddie Gomez and I am a poet. I am a storyteller and my work is far from over.

In other news I am going to read the Alchemist again. I’ve already read it 3 times the last 6-7 years since I’ve owned it but I think of that book the same way people think of religious books, hell THE religious book. I think of it the same way people who go to church regularly or semi-regularly think of the word. They have to go church every now and then and remind themselves and reinforce what they believe in. They have to go and pay respects to the word. It’s the same thing for me and that book. I have to revisit it from time to time to reinforce and refresh the valuable lessons inside. I know that sometimes I lose my way and have to be reminded again of what’s important.

It’s been a heck of a week already, maybe even a heck of a year in some respects and because of how improbably awesome things have gotten, I’m starting to believe that things can get even improbably better! How’s that for optimism… thank you poetry.  

One Down, Two to Go... (7-29-13)

As I rode my bike down to Allen Street for my first Infringement Festival show of this year the usual pre-show nerves were kicking in. I had low expectations for this show but that didn’t mean I wasn’t nervous. I’m always nervous. That part of my mind that was too afraid to get on the stage for most of my life is still inside of me. It still tries to communicate. It still doubts and worries and sometimes tries to talk me out of commitments. I think it means well. I think it’s just trying to protect me from disappointments, embarrassment and pain but as I’ve gotten older and more confident in my abilities as both a person and an artist I’ve learned when and where to take that voice into consideration. After all, it’s a bit overprotective.

But my concerns about this show were real. I was performing at a clothing boutique I knew very little about. It was at the edge of Allen where Wadsworth meets it. I knew there’d be a lot of people at the College Street Block Party down the street but I had no idea if anyone would be checking out my out of the way show. I thought; I’d probably have at least a few friends there so it won’t be all bad.

I reached Allen, locked up my bike and went over to Picasso Moon to meet their staff and let them know I was there. I looked over at Days Park and there wasn’t anything going on so I wouldn’t be able to get any audience from there. Next door at The Bend there was a rock band playing and all the doors were propped open making it very loud as I stood in front of Picasso Moon. I remember thinking that it was a good thing I was performing inside. Maybe we’d have to close the door so the audience could hear me clearly.

I walked in and saw a few customers looking through the clothing and accessories. It wasn’t a small store but there wasn’t a lot of space in there because there were a lot of items. I wondered where exactly I was going to be performing. I walked towards the guy behind the counter. He told me his name was Lindsey and by the way he talked, I sensed he owned or ran the store. I let him know who I was and with some warmth and a big smile he made me feel welcome. He told me the stage was outside and I went out to see what he was talking about because I guessed I had missed it on the way in.

I stepped outside and saw what he was talking about. It was a little one person stage with maroon fabric curtains and a sign that read “Infringement Stage”. It was adorable but I wasn’t sure if I would perform on it due to it being small (I have a hard time standing still when I read) and the fact that it was kind of facing Days Park more than Allen. If anything I’d perform on the sidewalk right in front or next to it. In the meantime it was 6:40 and I had 20 minutes to sit, wait and really get nervous!

I pulled out my poetry folder and took out the 7 poems I was going to perform. I started going through them and making minor adjustments here and there because no poem is ever truly finished and I’d pop my head up every so often to see if any familiar faces were approaching. The weather was cool and pleasant and I thought about the dynamic of performing right on the street, or sidewalk as it were. With the exception of one time 3 years ago I’ve never performed outside in public and that one time, I read one poem on a corner for 3 friends when no one else was around. This was different. Anyone who was walking by the high foot traffic area could stop and listen. I reminded myself to be aware of my surroundings because although I didn’t think there were any curses in any of the pieces I would be performing in a matter of minutes, if some little ones walked by, I didn’t want to say anything objectionable or even suggestive in their presence. Call me old fashioned but I care about the kids’ ears.

After being lost in my mind going through scenarios good and bad I looked at the time… it was 5 minutes to 7pm. Five minutes to show time and there was NO ONE there! That little voice I talked about at the beginning really began to get loud inside my head. What if no one shows? Should I still perform? And if I perform, should I do all 7 pieces and use the full half hour? It wasn’t like anyone was coming up after me. In fact there wasn’t anyone before me and that’s why I had low expectations to begin with. I was doing a stand-alone show and without a lead-in or a performance following mine it was entirely on me to draw a crowd.

When I first started reading poetry crowds were easy to come by. There was a novelty to it. Ed, who is shy and private actually going up and spilling out his soul… it needed to be seen and it was. Some early open mic appearances 2 years ago could generate 5, 6 or even 10 friends coming down to see it. My first Infringement show in 2011 had something like 40 people there. I felt so lucky. But when I think about the pieces I performed that day as opposed to now I cringe. I’m now 5 times the poet that I was then. My confidence and presence have improved as well as my writing and while my pieces are as sharp as they’ve ever been I still maintain that same relativity, vulnerability and accessibility that all those early pieces had, if not more so now. The fact that no one really comes out to hear me read anymore hurts a bit and on the cusp of my first Infringement show of the year it was hurting a lot.

So here I was, just moments from performing a show I’ve looked forward to for months in front of this strange place, performing outside for really the first time and there was no audience whatsoever and this band was rocking hard and loud next door. I began to despair. Am I supposed to be some kind of poet pied piper? I read and then they’ll come. Who would hear me unless they were passing directly by? The voice inside was still telling me to escape. To get the hell out of there, grab some ice cream, and to paraphrase one of my pieces, get a 3-way going with Ben and Jerry.

My emotions fuel my poetry but they can also influence me negatively. When the time came to begin and no one had arrived. I just wanted to run away and hide and never come out again, embarrassed and hurt to degrees of which I haven’t been in a long time. But that emotion, while it can hinder me, also makes me the person and the poet that I am and I’ve used it, not only to become a good poet but also to get through moments like this one. 

In the 3 years I’ve been a poet, I’ve learned so much and come so far. One of the most important things I’ve learned along the way came from the old Caffé Aroma open mic days and 80-something year old poet Al Felix. He told me to do it for myself. That if I’m not doing it for my own benefit that I’ll never be that great of a poet nor will I enjoy myself. Then I thought of Bukowski who said that if it isn’t bursting out of you, in spite of everything, don’t do it! Well it is bursting out of me. Since I opened the dam, it has definitely come bursting through and the longer this journey goes, the stronger the flow seems to get. The flow is bursting with heartbreak, setbacks, losses, dreams, hope, admiration and so much more. The bottom line is I’ve come too far to let a crowdless crowd stop me now. I would wait til a little after 7 in case people were having parking issues and then I would read. I wouldn’t read all 7 pieces, maybe 3 or 4 and then reevaluate from there.

Then right at 7 a great omen occurred… the band next door at the Bend stopped playing. I guess they were done. A minute after that a ray of light approached in the form of my friend from work and 2 of his friends a block away on Allen and getter closer. So I had 3 people coming. 3 is definitely better than zero! When they arrived I was very happy to see them. They were surprised when I told them I was performing out in front of the store. I told them I’d start in a few as I wanted to give anyone else who was coming from as far away as they did (they parked near Delaware Ave.) a chance to make it down.

It was nearing ten after 7 when I decided to begin. My thought was so what if only 3 people made it down… those 3 people were going to get a hell of a performance! Plus they had never seen me before so there was the fun of making a powerful impression on them.

I took one last look down Allen to see if anyone I knew was coming and after I couldn’t see any familiar faces I turned my attention back to the 3 who made it and let my first poem rip. I did “Modern Day Fairy Tale” a story about how I collect movies very seriously but hardly watch them as I await the right woman to start watching them with. I jumped into “One Plus None” my piece about my lifelong battle with isolation, then “The Poet Soul”, my piece about what poetry means to me. I told them I was only going to do 4-5 pieces but I started to rethink that because as I was doing the 2^nd piece a few men came over and sat on the curb and then during the 3^rd piece two couples, one older and one younger came over and started to develop a nice little half circle with the 3 people who were there from the beginning. As I began my 4^th piece “Newtown” a few more people came by and stopped and when I began my 5^th and so called final piece “Home” I looked up to see a few more people were there as well as a few people listening from over at the Bend’s front mini-patio.

Now that there was about a dozen people, and mostly strangers taking in my words I decided to do one more piece. I got into “The Angry Poet” and at the end got a hug from one of the guys looking on. At the end of every piece I could even hear Lindsey behind the counter inside clapping as loud as any of the onlookers. I just had to do one more piece. I had planned to do 7 anyway, so I did the tale of unrequited love and friendship “For Her” and then ended to a very warm response. I made sure to let everyone know about my 2 remaining shows during the rest of the Infringement Festival. Many of the onlookers approached me afterwards to tell me how much they enjoyed my work. The young couple came over and the young female told me she had seen me before at a poetry slam at Merge 2 months prior and that she really loved my piece about my music history. That was the night I won the slam for the first time and did my biological music piece “I Like Everything” as an encore. I thanked her sincerely and mentioned how I was going to do that piece Tuesday night.

I thanked everyone for listening. I went back in and thanked Lindsey again for allowing me (and the Infringement festival) to perform in front of his place and he asked me to come back and read for some weekly Thursday night series which is starting after Infringement in August. It was truly a night of surprises. My emotions were all over place but I didn’t let the bad ones take control of me. I stayed the course and had a very lovely time despite the inauspicious start to it. It goes to show you the power of words. It shows me the power of my words and of course it shows the power and unpredictability of the Infringement Festival.

Tomorrow (Tuesday) night I’m expecting a bigger crowd because I am performing with other poets who have their own sets of friends and fans and because it has been better promoted than my first show was (again a testament to the other people involved). The show is at 1045 Elmwood, right next to Poster Art and Bird Ave. The poetry begins at 7 and I wrap up the show at 8. I hope to see you there.   

"Coming to Buffalo" (a romantic tragedy) 3-21-13

I’m probably overreacting to a run of recent bad luck with the ladies but lately through the help of several women I have discovered something. I am apparently a mutant. I’ve discovered lately that I am undesirable in pretty much every way possible. I get it ladies. I’m too fat, too poor, too this, too that… I get it. Can’t you see I’m tapping out? You see, lately I’ve been trying to talk to several women, to get to know them, so they could get to know me and I am not exaggerating when I say NONE of them want anything to do with me. Historically my confidence can go up or down and those times when it’s low I keep a low profile. I wouldn’t have the issue I’m having now. When I’m down, I don’t leave the house much and spend most of my time inside my head lamenting who I turned out to be. When it’s higher or at a normal level, like it has been lately, I am proud of who I am and I think of all the wonderful possibilities a relationship might provide and the many things I could give to her. When my confidence is solid I will approach women I like and attempt to talk to them. But I always struggle with forced conversation. On the one hand I tell myself, you might only have this one chance to speak to this person, go do it! Then on the other hand when I do head over and try to begin a conversation the words never come out right. I feel like a phony, like I’m on some sleazy audition and I have 30 seconds to impress this person before she yells out “next!”

Last night was the latest stumble. A female who came in a few weeks back at the end of the open mic came back, once again at the end of the open mic. I saw her walk in the building and my eyes were set ablaze. She wasn’t what you’d call a stunner but she looked really cute to me. For me it was her eyes and her energy. Her eyes had power behind them. She had a fun, dynamic aura like she was never afraid to speak her mind but at the same time didn’t take herself too seriously. Plus she was wearing a vintage style leather jacket. I love a woman who can wear a vintage leather jacket or a jean jacket for that matter… those are my favorites. When she came in the last time I made my way towards the door before she left with every intention of talking to her but I got involved in a conversation with a friend who was there and then she suddenly walked by and as she did our eyes locked and she smiled. I froze. I let myself get distracted and I wasn’t ready. I basically had a split second window and flopped.

So she came in again last night. Again I positioned myself near the door before the end of the show. When it ended she turned to walk towards the door to leave and passed by me again but before she could pass by I blurted out something to the effect of “Hey, weren’t you here a few weeks back”. She confirmed she was and I mentioned how it seemed she’s come in at the end of the open mic both times. She revealed that she has a commitment at the same time as the open mic but tried to stop by on her way home. I replied that I thought that was too bad and mentioned how sometimes the open mic goes later but it depended on the number of artists that night. I looked down at her backpack and I saw a yoga mat attached to it. Perhaps she was coming from a yoga class. Say something! My mind was struggling to come up with another sentence and before I could get out another word she left. Great conversation Ed! She didn’t seem terribly impressed or interested in me but I didn’t have anything too great to say. Something inside of me just panicked when I saw her again. I thought, ooh second chance, don’t waste it and something propelled me over to talk to her without really thinking it through… it showed.

I had given up online dating for the better part of a month but some of my friends have been having luck lately so I decided to give it one more try. This time I was going to go all in. I signed up on match instead of free websites and I bought a nice 3-month membership. This is where the serious people go… the people who are willing to put their money where their mouth is. I checked out many profiles. I entered in a nice age range of about 12 years, looked for women without children and made sure to block out those who smoke.

Anyway, after going through many profiles I found 3 out of the 304 in my search results that I liked, that intrigued enough to write. Of course some of the best looking profiles on there were of friends of mine! I swear there were no less than 6 of my female friends on there and damn if they were not some of the best sounding and best looking profiles in this area! That said, I wrote to all 3 of the women I was interested in a few days ago… so far none have written back. So last night after my failure at the open mic I went back on and tried hard to find a few more that interest me. This is so tough! I’m picky even though I know, on paper I have no reason to be. I don’t necessarily put all my eggs in one basket but let’s just say I don’t have many baskets.  

It was like the poem I wrote and performed yesterday was a premonition to how I would feel. Well, obviously it is how I feel and the last 24 hours really topped it off. The poem starts; “Use caution- you don’t want to get involved with a guy like me”. Seems about right these days. I feel like a mutant.

All I’ve ever wanted is someone who will like me for who I am. In my dreams I’m like Eddie Murphy’s character Prince Akeem from Coming to America (one of my favorite movies by the way). Akeem pretends to be a poor African student and tries to find someone who will love him for who he is rather than because he is the super-rich Prince of Zamunda. If I can find someone who will want to be with me warts and all, then I’ll know she’s not only a keeper but is there for the long haul. The only difference in the plan is once the woman falls in love with Akeem, he would reveal that he is a Prince whereas I will reveal that I really like Prince. But hey, at least I don’t work at McDowell’s! If you’ve never seen the movie, first of all shame on you, secondly you won’t understand that last paragraph.  

Maybe it’s a cynical part of me but like Prince Akeem I worry that if I ever get to where I want to be on my own, you know slimmer, happier, a little better off financially and someone does fall for me then, will it be real? I mean would that person still want to be with me if I gained weight, had money troubles and basically went to where I am now? I want to connect heart and soul, not looks and pocketbook. I feel like giving up on it. Is there no one out there for me? Sometimes I wonder if I will ever find her in this town. Maybe I’ll move to Queens.

For my friend Colby (3-15-13)

I lost a friend today. Not an old friend, a school friend, work friend or sports friend… a furry friend. It wasn’t a huge surprise because the poor little guy had been in a very long fight and finally, it was time. I guess that makes it easier to accept but not easier to handle, especially in the short term. On my walk into work today I think I cried for about 30 of the 40 minutes of it. I walked down less busy streets with my hood up and my head down as I thought about the loss of my little friend.

The friend I lost today was Colby. If you looked through my photos on facebook you’ve might have seen him a few times. He was my roommate Jamie’s cat. He was a diabetic and had been for a little over 3 of his 11 years. From what I understand he outlived his expectations but after knowing him for over 6 months now I’m not surprised. Colby was a tough cat. Do you know the term “man’s man”? Well Colby was a cat’s cat. Of the 3 cats I’ve lived with, he was the toughest and I say this with only the experience of knowing him for the last 200 days of his life. He provided me with so many laughs, memories and stories in the time I knew him.

When I moved into the new place at the end of August I bonded with Bailey immediately. Bailey is a 10 year old cat but if you spent a day with him you’d never believe it. He’s a kitten deep down and with me and my young heart we hit it off very well. I probably enjoy playing with him as much as he enjoys it. Also with Bailey being so affectionate and sweet anyone who knows me would have guessed we would have become BFFs. We’re the same in many ways. With Lana I’ve had a good relationship but Lana is more like a typical cat, albeit a nervous, skittish one. She sleeps more and isn’t nearly as needy and playful. There are some days where I am busier and my interaction with her is brief. Bailey doesn’t allow me to not spend time with him, even on a day where I’m barely home. I joked with Jamie the other night that I wanted to come home and eat right after work before going out to a few engagements I had that night but that I thought to leave work a little earlier to allow an extra 20 minutes of “Bailey time”.

With Colby the relationship has progressed over the 6+ months. At first I kept a respectful distance from him. He could be a little temperamental, mostly due to the diabetes and the effect it had on him, so early on he usually wasn’t friendly with me. I didn’t blame him. He also didn’t know me. The first week I lived there he bit me because I either pet him at a bad time or maybe he hadn’t decided if I could pet him so familiarly yet. He was a loyal cat and was kind of like a big brother figure to the others. He’d go over and smack Bailey if he was being too rambunctious (which was often) and he’d let Lana know the deal when she lashed out at him due her skittishness or paranoia which was often unfounded. When Bailey tried to play rough with Lana, he'd put an end to it. He would be aggressive with the others when needed but he would watch out for them too. Due to the illness he had good days and bad days and on the bad days it was usually best to give him some space and quiet. He also had the biggest appetite of any cat I’ve ever seen. It might have had something to do with his illness but I heard he had a pretty hearty appetite prior to that as well… perhaps that appetite is what got him in trouble in the first place. You could almost never cook anything or have a meal in the house without his familiar meowing and mooching for a portion. Sometimes, if you weren’t careful he’d steal a chicken wing, a bone, a piece of meat, etc. right off your plate. One night I heard Jamie yell out “Hey! You asshole!” from another room only to find out Colby snatched a piece of steak or some tasty treat right from her plate as she tried to eat dinner. It made me laugh so much. He was bold and he was always hungry. This meant I stayed locked in my room, far away from him whenever I ate.  

By the end of my 2^nd month living with the cats my body had adjusted to them. I no longer got sniffly in their presence and their fur, saliva or whatever it is that makes people sensitive or allergic to them no longer had any effect on me. It was as I'd hoped. I had grown up with several cats and dogs but I hadn’t had any pets for 13-14 years so whenever I would go to a place with them I would get a runny rose and itchy eyes. I wasn’t used to them anymore. When I first moved in to this place I had both the runny nose and itchy eyes sometimes but since I didn’t allow the cats in my room, we had hardwood floors throughout the house (instead of carpeting) and I would sweep up the living room from time to time I think it helped to ease my transition. So by the end of my 2^nd month I decided to lift the cat ban on my room. My door was now open to them. Bailey obviously loved this as he was the one trying to force his way in most often but the other 2 cats began to stop by and found comfortable spots. I also loosened up in other ways, like whenever I had chicken, turkey or something Jamie approved of for Colby, I started to give him a few pieces instead of ignoring his pleas.

Now after 2 months I was letting the cats come and go as they pleased, even through my room plus I giving them, well Colby, some samples of the foods he cried so hard for. I was getting used to them and vice versa. With Colby it seemed like the more I opened myself up to him, the more he did to me. We became friends. I’d talk with him and tell him whenever I was going to have chicken or turkey next, you know, give him the scoop… as if he wouldn’t have come out from anywhere in the house the second he smelled the food anyway. Many mornings he’d come by my room while I was at my desk drinking my green tea or catching up on emails before work and he’d tap me on the leg with one of his paws to get my attention. That was his way of telling me he wanted to be pet. I’d pet him for a few minutes and he’d be all set. He was never as needy as Lana can be sometimes and Bailey is all the time. It really seemed like the longer I lived with him the better friends we became. I began to understand him. Unfortunately our time ran out today.  

This past month the long term effects of his diabetes were really obvious. He had lost half his body weight from 16 to 8 pounds, his hind legs were getting really shaky and his “bad days” were becoming really bad days. He was having trouble going to the bathroom, trouble climbing up on things he used to always hop up to easily and he just looked so frail and sick. The little guy just kept fighting though because he was that tough. He’d have an awful day and then rebound a little for a few days or a week before having another bad one. He’s really looked like he’s been at the end for several weeks now and those rebound days were nice but even on days where he seemed better it was only relative to how bad he had been the day before. Despite the glimpses he wasn’t the same cat he was a few months ago, let alone the cat he must have been in the years before I knew him.

Last night I made some chicken and he went bananas. He meowed in his distinctive style and even stood up on his hind legs against the counter. We hadn't seen that from him lately. I remarked to Jamie that it was “vintage Colby”. After getting the green light I gave him a small piece of chicken after it sufficiently cooled and he gobbled it right up and within a second was asking for more. This happened 3 more times, I’d give him a very small piece and he’d gobble it up and request another serving. I finally gave him a chunk instead of a sliver and he gobbled that right up but then surprisingly walked away. I thought that was odd. Usually I’m the one who walks away leaving behind an apology for the insatiable cat.  

Within a half hour of eating the chicken Colby threw up at least 3 separate times and that sparkle in his eye that was there when he was begging for food in the kitchen was completely gone and replaced by a distant look. It was like he tried one last time to be himself but as much as he wanted it; his body was just too far gone. He also tried with no success to go to the bathroom at least 15 times, a continuation of a problem he’s had this week. He tried to hop on top of the dining room table (one of his favorite hang out spots) but couldn’t make the jump nor land on his feet when he didn’t. It had gotten to the point where you have to ask yourself, how much is enough? Do you keep him around for a few more weeks, days or however long he has left just because? Last night he also did something that Jamie had never before seen, he actually asked to go inside his cat carrier. All 3 of these guys would traditionally run for the hills when their carriers were taken out. She interpreted this as Colby telling her it’s time. It was one of the saddest things I ever saw. As proud as he is, I went to sleep last night thinking about how hard life must be for him of late where it seems his body keeps letting him down, one thing after the next while there was absolutely no way he would get better. And now it was like he finally knew too.

When I woke up this morning I knew this was going to be the last day I’d see Colby and I thought of my favorite memory of him. Back in the fall during football season I’d have some friends over to watch Bills games. It was usually a painful experience but we often made the most of it. We brought food and treats and sometimes a few beers and we’d cheer, yell and undoubtedly laugh. The noise and commotion kept Bailey and Lana away from wanting to join us but Colby would often stroll right into our get-together like he owned the place, which of course was always how he walked into a room, lol. He’d mooch for food but this one time he did something that had me laughing so hard my jaw hurt.

He hopped up on the coffee table in front of where Andrew was sitting. This might not have been a problem except Andrew was slouched back on the couch and Colby was standing as tall as he could thus obscuring Andrew’s view of the television and the game. Andrew then said; “Hey cat, you’re in my way!” to which Colby prompted smacked Andrew’s pack of cigarettes right off the coffee table and onto the floor. My other guest and I were rolling. It was like he was saying "Hey buddy, don't forget this is MY place." It was vintage Colby.

When I left the house for work today I went over and pet his little head. I wanted to say something to him but I was within nanoseconds of completely losing it so I couldn’t speak. That’s why there were waterworks pretty much the whole walk to work and most of the time typing this. I feel very sad… sad on a selfish level for losing a relatively new friend that I really liked… sad for my roommate and friend who has lost a member of her family but I'm also happy… happy that Colby doesn’t have to suffer anymore. He had nothing left to prove… he was as tough as they come. A cat’s cat. Ironically, today is Colby’s 11^th and last birthday. I don’t know what else to say except happy birthday, thank you and rest well my little friend. I will miss you.

These pictures are from his last night with us.