De* lamentationem de Ethan Ben Saul**, Cantorae...
Well, the dust has settled if only somewhat from the hurly-burly of last week's emotional endeavours, and now we look forward to the field of battle to be entered, that of the profession I like to think of as my vocation, yes kids that calling again, being a musician. Only then can we truly say that it's over, because the worst is yet to come.
So, what am I losing? Surely I'm always on the losing side? Victory doesn't favour me very often, that's true. But let's look in that sideways fashion (if you're having difficulty imaging that just turn your head sideways as you read) like I always do, and see if we can learn anything through that most important of rabbinical teaching tools...sarcasm. I'm going to take a two-pronged attitude to this; one prong will be my never ending campaign against the vicissitudes of emotion, and the other...well, the other will be everything else; finance, work, and the reality of being disabled. I realise that in putting a like in my sidebar of my FaceyB removes much of the anonimity that I once enjoyed, but if you don't know me by now, you never will. Or maybe you won't ever? Hmm. But I will be very careful with names &c...I don't want people working out that I've referred to them quite so quickly, for reasons that will become clear as we plough on.
Well shoot. As I'm sure you can work out for yourself, things have proceeded in their usual fashion: I like a girl, decide to take the plunge and do something about it and end up being, well, you know...rejected. Ugh, nasty, eh? I decided to throw all caution to the winds and just go with my gut and that didn't really end in the fashion I was hoping. The hell it did. I ended up walking home through snow in the park to get back. I say that and make it sound terrible, but I had always planned the long walk home regardless of the outcome. I guess I can say that I held me head up high, and did and died! While my courage might have been slightly dutch, at least I went. But like always, it's a sharp reminder of the sad truth that I cannot, and never will be able to tell when is the right time or who is the right person. I thought I had made made the right decision. There's no way under the heavens I would have even considered it had I not thought it was certain. Look, this isn't meant to be some sort of internet-based guilt trip either. It is the way of all things, and of course as I like to say, the shape of things to come. It's just how it went.
But what happens then? I can only doubt my judgement. Perhaps Descartes was right, and sensory information id indeed a total falsehood. I can only perceive these things to be through my senses, and not through a priori reasoning. In fact, using my powers of reason only leads me to one question: who would look at a freak like me?
Although it's not like this is an unique occurrence this term. Long time readers and neighbours may remember that time at the end of September, when I lost it completely and ended up bawling my eyes out. And then what about all the people whose names I've never dropped as well? Apart from the loser I've had more than enough heart ache in between; passing fancies not accounted for (or indeed those already in relationships because I sure can't tell who is or isn't these days). I was moved to pass a fresher until the eternal words "I hope you don't fancy me" happened and I also decided that I wasn't going to have another Stockholm Syndrome relationship. Then there was her from the Other Place; it was always tenuous but after Saturday night's Crime of the Century, I fear it may not be just I who reassess my position. More on that story later. And of course, the lady I followed through sheer intuition. The question truly remains unanswered (in my mind at least), but two good and close friends have told me to shut up shop and move on, to avoid the chance of future upset. I have to admit, it's probably for the best. I can't help but see the pattern formed. What can I do though? Being told to give up and leave off never sits well with me, due to the fact that my daily existence keeps me away from the majority of people being, y'know, autistic and feeling uncomfortably awkward in any social situation. Perhaps it's my efforts of seeming normal that have made people forget that any gathering of any sort pushes me to the edge of my coping, and God alone help me with interpersonal contact and indeed any sort of intimacy. Oy gevalt.
Which leads me to the next part. Crime of the Century. Ho ho. I'm using this as my example, as it reminded me of well, everything, I suppose. I won't name names. Mainly because I suppose I won't have to. The particulars are irrelevant, it's more that I observed and recalled. Or maybe the disbelief.
Watching two people, arguably with the aid of alcohol (but how much aid was really needed is a subject of much speculation), who became continually closer as time went on (but only a short space) and shared...how do we say...a succession of moments. Suffice to say, it wasn't that this was happening that distressed me so much, more that I found myself thinking that I have almost completely forgotten how I would do similar. There is no situation in my life now that demands a knowledge of one-to-one (or indeed, one-on-one) intimacy, even less that require the action. It was just at that point that I realised it had gone completely and that I had lost it, that I decided to get completely smashed. It made me remember what I had and what I lost, and I'm frightened I will never have it back.
So where does that leave me? A bucketload of self-doubt, a lack of self-worth, and certainly no belief in one's self. And of course, the question. Who would even look at a poor, mentally disabled depressed cripple? Yes, I'm back on the stick. Snow, freezing fog and a night temperature of minus FUCKING five means I am down to using my cane again. I tread a fine line of having enough ankle support and keeping the blood flowing. Oh, that and the fine dusting of grey hair I have now. Feh.
So, anyway. Sexual frustration aside, I am tired and I have had enough. But I can't stop, because I never do. You'd have thought I'd have learnt something by now, but OH NO. Not me! No sir. I'm going to keep on until I go snow white. And what about the girl who calls me Bubby? Even in my iciest of dispositions I can't help but kindle warmth for her; she improves my day more than I should want to admit, but sure as hell I ain't gonna breathe a word. Other than this, I'm keeping that one close to my chest. Well, I should like to keep her close to my chest, but you know, I'm not even sure I'd know what to do anymore. I'm repeating myself now, so I shall stop. If you've read this far, then congratulations! Hopefully there won't be another pathetic moan like this for another month or so.
I can't go on, I must go on. I have no choice. The less people can tell, the better. Tomorrow is my recital day, and I must sleep to prepare.
* 'Of' or 'from', 'out of' &c
** My name as originally intended, in its Hebrew form
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