Alchemic Verse

Well, after I let the sails take me to a movie by myself [the movie was better than I thought it would be, my ability to enjoy it was less than I hoped], a new friend unexpectedly called, invited me to come over – to grill and sing karaoke. Given how categorically alone I’ve been, this felt portentously helpful and like a chance worth taking to find some community here. As he is a successful self-employed human with several intersections to my own burgeoning ideas about changing my work life, I planned to pick his brain when possible but not pushily about how he got started, and where I could perhaps begin my own shifts away from corporate survival mode.

Things I hoped: have food, drink a beer or two, sing a bunch, head back to the slip and to my dog.

These things happily did happen; other things seemed to have woven in that I didn’t expect and attempted to simply roll with. My new friend was… rather tipsy before I arrived, perhaps the reason I was invited at all. Therefore, I drove us to obtain meats/drinks. Questions/my stories of how I got from ‘home’ to here and what I hope to build were met with swimming eyes and barely cogent answers.

I felt only empathy – this gent is having a very hard time, about which he couldn’t or wouldn’t share. He insisted on repeat that he wanted to sing, “c’mon let’s karaoke. I wanna sing.” In this way, with understanding that sometimes what someone needs isn’t what I might need in their shoes, I decided to support what he (and I by compassionate proxy) hoped would help him feel a little better; singing does also tend to help me feel better, I’m remembering.

He is profoundly struggling, though I could not and still don’t understand/see how/where on the surface. This was beyond evident in the albeit raw and rather excellent renditions of MCR that filled karaoke.
‘I’m not OKAAYYY—‘
‘Are you… okay, for real though, dude? Do you need someone to listen?’
‘… it’s your turn.’

By the end of the night, I could see he was barely holding onto consciousness and also hanging onto my every song… He also recorded me singing I believe I saw? Which, listen – whatever – but we should really be asking people before we record them [see previous blog for additional wtf-ing on this subject lately]. I don’t have TikTok, and my social media presence is super small, so I won’t even know if it gets posted. Even still, I sang without holding back, and it felt great, reminding me how much I love to sing when not mired in the fear of echoing criticism and violence, a past steeped in trauma. Taking the chance to make a friend and finding the courage to sing with abandon was well worth it, and I can’t wait to be somewhere I can make more noise/sing like that again.

There was a follow-up invite to hang out the next day on the lake, which I resolved to politely decline, as my needs the day after were to be coffee and contemplation, given the outrageously early work schedule I’ve had and the possible mismatch in my friend’s hopes and my own. I thanked my him for the hospitality, the invite while I was blue, and the time singing which I hadn’t felt up to for a long time.

A one-armed side hug and a goodnight had me driving back the 40 minutes or so to the opposite side of the city, feeling like a sponge that had absorbed the undefined darkness of whatever he did not wish to discuss, wringing out those painful feelings on the interstate by shuffling my Spotify library under the stars.

I declined the second invite as I had intended; he replied ‘oh thank god’ and agreed, citing that he was super hungover anyway. I suspect that will be the end of invites, and that’s OK – the friendship I sought, and communicated as clearly as I could without being an actual ass, may not have been what he hoped for in the end. If I am mistaken, and a new friendship can be forged, all the better.

I had my last cigarette yesterday, transitioning as I intended to the vape ramp down plan. My few-but-treasured readers, consider me writing about this a way to hold myself accountable rather than some toxically-positive ego mastur-… posturing, which on the surface it might look like.

Today I woke up egregiously early, genuinely crumpling, sobbing and actually begging the fading morning stars please, please, please – for some path forward. My swollen face garnered quiet concern from the sweet coffee angels, who I still will miss profoundly after I set sail. Then, I took the helm to stand up for myself and steer through the absolute worst work meetings I have ever had – which is truly saying something.

And then – the miracle of relief, a life preserver tossed that literally has elevated my mood a hundred-fold since I ended that conversation an hour ago. I am being redirected in the same role to efforts where I can actually, actually get some work done, while I continue to have steady income and find my new home – instead of transmuting my work laptop into the world’s most expensive skipping stone and hucking it clear across the lake in righteous but impractical rage.

I no longer have to be up and online at 3am tomorrow. I have a couple more hours after my lunch break to organize my pivot and then – idk? I feel like I could fly, I could sing. I long for a cool swimming pool and margarita to sip in this impressive heat. Nonetheless, knowing I might have a little room to feel something other than the slowest sink into quicksand of mired misery feels like a partial cooling of a raging fever I had started to believe might actually kill me. The rage breaks, solar fire glows, and hopeful gratitude remains.