Greg.

I don't remember the first time I met him, but it would have been during a Salzburg orientation meeting. He was one of the people I'd be spending a year abroad with, and we all had to go through them, so I assume he was in them. The thing is, moments in your life pass by unnoticed, and you never think on them until years later, and you find that the memory is gone. Can't have been important, you tell yourself. We called him the Patriarch, cos he was older than all of us, and the name lent itself in a year we were studying Art History like it was going out of style. He was lucky enough to get one of the only two single rooms that the UP Salzburg Centre has to offer, and he would stand on his balcony, cigarette in hand, and survey the courtyard-- and mutter comments about Schneibel under his breath. Or maybe he didn't, but this is how I remember it. I do remember he was there, with Bri and Ali, on the day I got back after a night of extra-curricular activities. And he wondered why it took me so long to start enjoying all that Europe had to offer.

After Salzburg, we were part of a great group of friends who hung out with each other and, to be honest, whoever the fuck wanted to hang out with us. It wasn't until after University, when I moved away because working on a cruise ship seemed like a better idea than getting a real job, that I lost touch with him. Then he went into the Army, and I don't think we said two words to each other in twice as many years.

It wasn't until FaceBook that we started to reconnect. Say what you will about the evil timewaster, it IS a good way to keep in touch, reconnect, and bombard people with game notifications. It was good to catch up, and to find out that he was going through some of the same things I was. Drifting apart from people, through no fault of anyone's but life, it was a comfort to know that there was nothing wrong with me. While other people were getting married and having kids, he made it okay in my mind to not want any of that. And when I coerced him into coming down to Portland for our 10-year Reunion, it was because I was selfish and wanted someone to grumble with.

The last time I talked to him was January. He asked me to write a letter of recommendation for Seattle University. He'd decided to go back to school, Seattle University, to join the Therapeutic Psychology Program. I'm lucky, because I got a chance to let him know what I thought of him, how highly I valued our friendship, even if the letter was for a specific purpose. I didn't have to embellish.

Fuck, this is hard. I'm going to miss you, Greg. I'm going to miss your 'Ladieth Man' impressions. Your opinions, your stubbornness, your compassion, your generosity, your friendship.

Thank you, old friend.

Motivation Pt. III

This month has been productive for me so far. I finished building a set, opened the show, grilled for twenty people, started re-doing my 3000-piece jigsaw puzzle, ran a console twice, and have written almost thirteen thousand words, spread out over three projects. Four, if you include blogging as a project. There's something else, but that's private. And the best thing is, the month's not even half-way. I'm looking at my original goal of twenty thousand words for the month, and thinking I should shoot for thirty thousand. I mean, why not? Why stop when it seems to be coming right now, the characters are just setting themselves up for the situations and conversations they've been having?

I'm not going to knock it. I'm not going to stop and ask why I've all of a sudden got this burst of motivation, because as soon as you wonder if the motivation is going to stick around, it buggers off.

This blog entry is more a reminder to people to not stop. You can take a break, pause by all means, but don't do what I've been doing for years. Don't make any excuses, cos they're all bullshit. You know it, too. There's a quote from Nelson Mandela that I have up on my bedroom wall, and while I make no pretenses that my goals are as noble or lofty as his, it can speak to everyone:

"I have walked that long road to freedom. I have tried not to falter; I have made missteps along the way. But I have discovered the secret that after climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb. I have taken a moment here to rest, to steal a view of the glorious vista that surrounds me, to look back on the distance I have come. But I can rest only for a moment, for with freedom comes responsibilities, and I dare not linger, for my long walk is not yet done."

While my use of the quote is pretty selfish, and I see freedom as freedom for myself than a whole country, it's good to remember that we're all headed somewhere. Maybe Vegas is just a place I've stopped for a while, to catch my breath and enjoy the view, but it sure as hell isn't the place I'm headed to. There's no freedom here for someone like me. And right now the view is my motivation. Looking back, seeing where I've been and how far I've travelled, and looking forward, seeing what's in store, is the best muse a person could ask for. Because you're all there, and I can see the whole world from up here.

obsession

I have a healthy tendency to obsess about things. I say it's healthy, because it's how I've manages to get where I am today. I obsessed about working on cruise ships while I was in University, and two months after graduation I signed on for my first contract. I then obsessed about working for Cirque Du Soleil, and two years later I moved to Las Vegas and started working at New York New York. I've become obsessed with being a writer, earning a living doing it, and I'm chipping away at that too with novels and screenplays and short stories underway. And now I have a new obsession. It's been about a week now, and it probably has a little to do with watching the DVD of my 24th birthday last week, and some of what's going on financially in my world right now (that's a whole 'nother blog). But basically, I've become fixated on living on a boat. My own yacht. Nothing too guady or ostentatious, but no floating bathtub either.

It just sounds ideal for where I am in my life right now, or rather in a couple of years once I have a writing income. I know that's assuming a lot, but if I don't aim for it then I won't get there. But living in Vegas for over six years, I feel a little trapped. I'm trapped by the mountains that ring us on all sides, and the dirty ceiling of smog. There's still too much for me to go and see and do in the world, and living a 5 work-days-a-week isn't cutting it for me. I want to sail through the islands of Puget Sound and catch my salmon for to grill. I want to sail back through the Panama Canal, and actually set foot in South America rather than be yards away and still not there. I want to go to Galapagos and dive with the schooling scalloped hammerheads. And I want to do it all on my terms, in my time.

And it's the perfect time for me. I'm young enough that it still seems like a great idea. I'm also young enough to be able to forgo some of the things we take for granted in our daily lives, rough it a bit. I'm single, with emotional attachments that would for sure be tested with prolonged absences, but that's been the story of my life so far and those friendships I still have are all the better for it. I'm old enough that I won't just jump into it without doing the proper research and preparation. I'm old enough to know that it's not as glamorous as most people might think. And I'm old enough that I've done a lot of things that were goals as I was growing up, so I'm in search of new goals.

My opaternal grandfather was a fisherman, and my matyernal great-grandfather was a fisherman. Or maybe great-great, I'm not a hundred percent on that. My father was in the British Merchant Navy after school, and that's partly why I worked on cruise ships, to fulfill some sort of perceived familial obligation. But it's more than that, I realize now. There's something terrifying and fascinating between me and the Ocean. It scares the crap out of me, with its changeable moods and bewitching peace. It's a healthy obsession to have because it's seventy percent of the planet's surface. And wherever you go on it, you're linked to everywhere else.

So I shall live on a boat. I'm giving myself five years to achieve this goal, and I'll definitely be talking about it again as I head towards it. Five years. I'm obsessed.

I've already got a name picked out.

Memory. . .

. . .all alone in the moonlight, I can smile at the old days. . .nah, screw Cats. I was going through the stack of disks that I have in my office. Some are labelled, most are not. There are CD's and DVD's, not all of them play, and it has become my life's work to work out what is on all of them. Half way through one of the piles, I found one labelled 'Amazing Grace, January 2004.'

I don't remember if I've talked about my 24th birthday before on here, so forgive me if I bore you with the details. I was still working on cruise ships at the time, and it was towards the end of my contract on the MS Zuiderdam. That's right, the contract I got put on the corporate blacklist for Holland America Cruise Lines after. Anyway. A group of us, the people I hung out with most during that contract, decided that for my birthday we should rent a sail boat. So as soon as we could, eleven of us got off the ship with a bunch of coolers, and headed to the rental place. Our boat was a 42-foot Catalina 42mkII 3-cabin yacht. Not something you'd take 11 people on for an extended cruise, but for a day it was perfect. Getting away from everyone, disappearing for a few hours where no-one could reach us was perfect. We drank beer and snacked, sunbathed, got naked and splashed about in the water, snorkelled, and stopped caring about the world for a while.

The memories I have from that day are some of my fondest. It's almost definitely my favourite birthday so far, which is funny cos no one does anything special for their twenty-fourth. The disk had a short video of the day on it, so I popped it in my computer to watch. It was exactly how I remember it, with Jurgen narrating over cheesy music he'd added. Alec and TC by the wheel, Katie rapping, Mel sticking out her tongue at the camera. Ben and Audrey, Dom and Jessica.

My memory of the day is better. When I remember the day, I can conjure up how I felt that day, and out myself into the situation better. Watching the video, all I could think of is how many of the people who figured in my favourite birthday have fallen by the wayside. I'm in touch with a few through Facebook, but I'm not close with any of them any more, especially Mel, who I haven't talked to since my twenty-fifth birthday when she randomly called me as though we hadn't been through a completely shitty break-up. I've tried to say hi to Dom and Jessica when I've gone to LA or they've come to Vegas, but there's nothing but silence form them. I couldn't even tell you what became of Ben.

The thing is, none of that matters. Watching the video didn't steal the memory from me, I'm still going to look back on it fondly. I still want to take a vacation one day, three couples on a yacht in the Caribbean for a week. The memories give me dreams, goals, and no matter what happened between us, I'm still grateful to the people who were there for helping build those memories.

It's the same thing with my friends in Portland, Oregon. They aren't the same people I spent a year in Austria with. They aren't the same people who shared stories about their first blowjobs (on a back alley in Florence from a chick called Di 'like the princess' as she told him), or got chased by drunken Frenchmen with (bottle of Jack between the four of us), or walked around one of the most famous sites from antiquity with hangovers with (who knew Delphi had such cheap wine and an awesome dance club? It's in the middle of the mountains!). They've all moved on, and I'm not saying I haven't, but they've all settled down, started families. When I was in Oregon in June I realized it, but they're still with my friends despite the diapers and dribble in their lives. Finding video of friendships I don't really have any more makes me treasure the memory more, because I can't reminisce about the memory with anyone that was there. I can always talk to about head if I wanted to, because we are still friends. Until he reads this, that is. The video and my memory I have of Tortola, where we rented Amazing Grace for the day, will always be how I remember it because there's no one I can talk to who can fill in the gaps I may have developed over time.

So is it the friendship that's important, or the memories? The only answer I have is a cop out. It depends on the friendship, and it depends on the memories. Friends are important at the time to create the memories, but sometimes it's the memories that get you through the droughts.

Advice

I spent two nights this past week giving relationship advice. Each time was to a woman, who if they were single I would be interested in dating. But they're not, so I'm not, and instead try to give advice to the best of my abilities. I'm just not sure why people listen to my advice when it comes to relationships. As I believe I've mentioned before, I've been single now for six years. In that time, whenever I've even come close to a relationship I've managed to convince myself it's not going to work before I've even given it a chance. I know this about myself, and still kill them before they even have a chance.

Regardless of that, I spent Sunday night- well, Sunday night into Monday morning- talking to a woman I'd just met about her current relationship. She's been seeing this guy for a few weeks, and really enjoys the time they spend together, his personality, she thinks he's hot, and the sex is great. And despite all this, despite the fact that when he goes out of town on business and calls her every day, she keeps asking herself why he's with her. She's pretty confident, and although I had only met her that night and we were both a little the worse for beer, she seems pretty sensible and put together, but because he's friends with a couple of playmates she questions why he would be with her.

Now, if he was to keep her away from his other friends, I could see why she'd be suspicious. But she's hung out with them all, they all know here and know he's with her. The logical part of me says it would make no sense for him to introduce her to them if he wanted to cheat on her with them. I mentioned this, and told her to just enjoy being with him because the more she over-analyzes everything, the sooner it'll be over.

The second friend, I'm not going to go into as much detail about, because it's a harder situation to give advice about. It's easier to give advice that someone wants to hear, as in the case of friend one, than advice that might not be welcome, which is what I gave friend two. She basically described the relationship to me, and I told her I have no idea why she would be with him. Beer was drunk and reasons were given, none of which I thought were any good. Admittedly there may have been a lot that she held back, but from what I got he treats her like crap and she shouldn't have to settle with someone like that. That's the advice I tried to convey, but nickel PBR has a wonderful charm and I probably wasn't as eloquent as I fancied.

So why advice from me? I can think of myriad reason to not come to me for advice. . .Been single for six years, I'm sometimes too logical about things, and I tend to drink when dispensing advice, to name a few. But thinking more about it, I'm not sure that it was something about me that had them asking my opinion. I think it's one component of our society, our species even. We ask advice even if we're already convinced of the path we should take. I know I ask people's advice, but don't always listen to the response. It's more about getting it out there, saying it, because that often helps me work through whatever I'm going through on my own. Not just with relationships, either. When I'm writing I like to let a few people read what I'm doing, and technically it's for feedback, but I've made very few changes based on feedback I've received so far. I'll add a few lines here or there to explain a situation better, but that's about it.

So here's my goal. To actually use the advice I'm given. Mostly. Cos it stands to reason that not all advice is good advice, but when someone suggests something to me that I know is the right course of action, I've been thinking about it myself for a while, I'm going to try and do better at heeding it. Starting today. Got some advice last night, and I'm trying to stick to it today. It's been. . .interesting. Not the easiest thing, but we'll see how things work out.

And if they don't, I can always blame the bugger who gave me the advice.

Success.

I'm not there yet. Not by a long shot. But I think I've made a pretty good start on it. The hardest part was deciding what I wanted out of life, but for now I've mostly decided that. It's good, it gives you something to strive for. I've decided I'm going to be a writer. Scratch that, I've decided I am a writer, just not a published one yet.

I know I've listed them off before, but I'm going to do it again because it keeps me focused on it. I'm currently working on four novels (although one hasn't been looked at in months, it's still there waiting to be written). I've got four short stories I consider ready to be published (and I might just throw a couple up here in the meantime, see what you think). I have three short screenplays that could be filmed tomorrow. I'm working on two feature screenplays, with one more I need to start and a fourth I'm thinking about.

Now, none of this is success, because one of the purposes of writing is to be read. I'm not Kafka. I want it all published, even the stuff I don't finish before I die (and just a heads up, I am so going to fuck with people and deliberately leave something bizarre unfinished). I haven't been successful yet by my definition as a writer, but I think I'm on a good track and it'll come.

I've been working in theatre for eighteen years. From being a chorus member and giving a hand at weekly set builds, to programming Automation for a Cirque Du Soleil show, and being the TD for a theatre company I helped found, I've come a long way. That's pretty successful, I think.

But there's one aspect of my life that I feel is a failure right now, and it's bringing down the rest of it. I feel like my personal life is a shambles, that I'm failing at something that used to come so naturally to me, and it's buggering up my focus and my motivation.

I always thought I was a good judge of character. I prided myself on working out who someone was, and what they were like, and whether they were worth my time. Moving around as I did, this was really handy; I didn't have years to develop friendships, bouncing from one place to another. I made a lot of good friends, most of whom I still have today. But it's been living in Vegas, and doing so well in every other aspect of my life, that has made this stand out recently. I still have a few good friends here, but I've always been better at focussing on the negative rather than the positive, and it's the friendships that have fallen by the wayside, that have revealed themselves to be less than I thought they were, that I can't get out of my head. It's the people who declare friendship, but then only remember it when it's convenient, or they need something. And I feel that it's my failure. I don't understand people any more, I don't get how they can be like that. I feel like I'm disconnected from the human race, standing outside looking in, and scratching my head in confusion.

It turns out that the search for alien life has been a success. You need to stop looking off-planet, because I'm here, living amongst you, watching, making mental notes, and trying to understand. Although whether or not it's intelligent life is debatable. . .

Taking Stock

Numbers from my Portland trip: Five thousand, two hundred and sixty-nine words written.

Thirty-one beers, two bottles of wine, and two jack and gingers drunk, and eleven new wines tasted

Twenty-one friends and two professors seen, and nine people met.

Four offspring introduced to.

Three hours spent in Powell's City of Books.

One Pub Quiz won.

And yet quantifying things like this doesn't really give the whole story behind a trip. For instance, some of the beers were drunk on my own, winding down, relaxing, while others were watching Joe, Eese's fiance, try to hula-hoop. The conversations, religious and political discussions, and memories dredged to the surface are the treasures I'm taking away from the trip. Meeting the kids of some of my best friends for the first time still hasn't sunk in, even though I've got pictures to prove that I didn't drop any of them. The ache in my legs that only feels like it's gone now, from a night of drunkenly wandering around Portland looking for another bar with Shannon-- that is one thing I'll miss about Vegas if and when I move away from here. There's always something open; a bar, a pub, a grocery store or supermarket if you need.

So taking stock in the trip, it was a good one. The numbers may speak for themselves, but not at any volume. That's where the details come in, the little incidents and trivialities that seem and are so minor, but all of them added up made it a good trip. A very good trip.

PDX

I'm not sure what I expected coming to Portland. I spent three years going to University here (with a year interlude in Salzburg, Austria). Most of my friends still live here, but I never really come up for more than a day or two, between weddings and other trips and not enough time off in the corporate world (any coincidence that corporate is close to corprolith, a word meaning fossilized shit?). So this time I wanted to give myself a longer stay. I got a hotel rather than stay with friends, because I don't like being a burden. Five night stay should be long enough, right?

Yes and no. I've got two nights left, so I'm still squeezing peope in. There's some I'm not going to get to see, places I'm not going to get to go, things I'm not going to do that I wanted to do. But it's all about balance (which I've come to the conclusion means running around like a headless chicken, frantically trying to get everything done). It's noon, and I'm still in bed so I'm not doing the shopping/reminiscing I intended to do today. But the flip side to that is I hung out last night with someone who is a much better friend now than she was beforehand. . . Even if she did tell me to fuck off on Twitter.

It's all about using your time. It's the one thing you can't hoard, the one resource that truly is precious. So having said that, I'm going to haul my almost-hungover arse out of bed, and continue to bounce around Portland from commitment to commitment, with maybe a litte sushi for breakfast/lunch.

exes

I have a lot of exes. Well, we all do. Ex-friends. Ex-girlfriends. Ex-people we hooked up with a for a bit but it didn't get to the point of significant others. And I think that it's unusual that I'm still friends with the majority of mine.

I got an email from Jenny a couple of days ago reminding me that it was 11 years ago about now that we met, in a McDonalds in Munich at Oktoberfest. It should never have happened. First off, McDonalds in Munich? There's so much other incredible food, but I was with a couple of Americans, Leif and Clinton, and they wanted McDonalds. Clinton was lamenting the fact he can never meet women, and Leif and I were consoling him (and I was lamenting too, only to myself). Somehow Leif starts talking to this girl, Jenny, who is there on her own and is walking in the same direction that we are. He starts talking to her and introducing her to Clinton, and we're all talking until it turns out that even though the three of us are drunk off our tits, I have the better German and Jenny and I hit it off. We exchange contact information (all the while Clinton is cussing me out), and I visit in two weeks time and Jenny and I are officially boyfriend and girlfriend. (There's a little more to the story that involves 'accidentally missing my train' and telling her parents that there was nowhere else I could stay that night, but that's a story for another night).

One of my first exes is an ex friend called Hamish. I knew him the first year I went to school back in 198. . .hell, I don't know. A long bloody time ago. But he moved away, and when your age is still in single digits you're not fantastic at keeping in touch with people. For that matter, there's Becky Cooper who was sort of my first girlfriend. She was my first friend who was a girl, back in a time when the only differences between girls and boys was girls had longer hair and boys had cooler toys. I remember when I decided to take the scholarship to Chafyn she would barely talk to me and I would pretend that it didn't matter, and all our mutual friends were telling me it was a mistake cos it was her and I. Shit, we were six years old, but people had already picked us for each other.

Becky and Hamish, I'm not in touch with any more. Hamish, I haven't spoken to since the day his family left Salisbury-- but I still remember the cake we had for his going away. I've seen Becky a couple of times in the intervening years, the last time was in 199. . .6?, a year after I left England, when I was visiting Salisbury and she was dating a good friend of mine. Jenny, as I said, just emailed me a couple of days ago. I have exes who are pregnant, married, still stalking my dreams, and among the last people I want to talk to. There are scenarios I played out in my mind that never happened, and things they talked about with me that didn't come to pass.

So what exactly is an ex? Is it someone you once shared something with but don't any more? I shared something with Jenny that I don't any more, but we still share the same memories from experiences from our time together, and we still keep in touch. Just because they're in the past it doesn't mean those memories have ceased to be-- that's not going to happen until we're dead, or have altzheimers.

One of the best and worst relationships I ever had, with Melissa, is definitely an ex-relationship. But the memories are still there, and the realizations I made about myself and things I learned about other people are still very much relevant to my life now. She's one of the exes I'm not in touch with, and deliberately-- that's how badly I took the breakup-- and while I'm unusual in that I maintain relationships with several exes, I lose no sleep with the decision for her to remain in my memory rather than my life.

I guess my point behind this whole rambling, look-at-what-a-great-guy-I-am-cos-I-still-talk-to-exes post, is that time is what fucks us up. Yes, the exes I have, whether they be friends, lovers, partners, or work aquaintances, have all moved out of my life to a greater or lesser degree, but they still have helped form it to what it is right now. In that sense not a single one of them is an ex, because each has a presence in who you are, right now.

This was all triggered by a good night with good friends that I don't get to see often enough. And $2.50 draft and dogs at sherwood bar in the Excaliber

mushy feelings and shite. . .

Ahh, the desire to write. No. The need.So it's Valentine's day, 4:15am, and I'm single. And I'm pretty sure I'm okay with that, for a couple of reasons. First, I'm too bloody busy. Second, I'm too selfish. Third, I'm too insecure. Fourth, I'm too much for a lot of people to deal with. Fifth, I can drink a fifth in a sitting, and that's bad news. Sixth, I'm only just using how to use the word 'love.' Seventh, I think I snore. Eighth, I get angry too easily. Ninth, I'm my own worst enemy.

But there's something great about waking up next to someone. Someone who doesn't mind that you both have morning breath. Someone who doesn't mind that the sign of last night's passion are still on the sheets, or your skin, or on those special occasion on the kitchen counter, the bathroom wall, and at least one window. Someone who has realized that those little quirks that you have are kinda cute.

So tonight I went out with a couple of friends. One I may or may not have the express intent of getting naked. Wait, who am I bullshitting? One I would love to get naked, and do all those things I've been learning since I was eighteen. But why this girl? I'll admit that the only time I have one person in mind is when I'm actually with someone. When I'm not, I'm generally thinking of a few people.

I digress. What is it about someone that attracts you to them? That's what I'm trying to work out. In the detritus that is my past relationships, generally I've been able to salvage some sort of raft of friendship. Okay, shitty metaphor, I know. But I've been drinking.

So, most of the women in my past are still in my present. Not naked usually, but they're still there. So what is it that makes some people date, fuck, tease people that will still be around in their circle of friends next year? How is it that some relationships end up as platonic relationships, and some end up as not wanting to talk to the misunderstanding/cheating/lying/fucked up bitch/bastard?

I have absolutely no answer to that question, but I have a few observations. Look at me, all scientific and shit. But. Right now, I would say there's a couple of women I'm interested in. At least two of the aren't actually my type, but when has that stopped anyone? Why are we attracted to people that we know, really, aren't our type? When they're into going out, being social, knowing everyone, and you're not, why do you still try? When they like to hike, bike, camp, climb, and you're a huge fan of your Roman bathtub and all those indoor amenities, why do you still think about it?

Is it the opposites attract thing? I don't go for that, cos so far in my life there's always something that's been opposite between myself and my partner. And it's usually the dealbreaker, like I'm insecure and she's not, or I want to talk more often than she does. But at the same time, there's no way I could date someone too like myself. . .you know, charming, witty, thoughtful, considerate. . .um, full of shit?

Anyway, I'm babbling. That's the vodka talking. And the tequila. And the single malt. But tonight there were lots of things I wanted to write, but I'm ending up writing this. . .

To all the women in my past, present, and future, thank you. Not some pathetic, thank you for laying me, but a thank you for sharing a part of yourselves with me. Thank you for those 3am caresses that we're both too tired to keep going, but too fascinated by each other to stop. Thank you for the way you smell, you taste, for the way your soul responds to us. For all the women I should have loved, to the women I didn't know I loved, or wouldn't admit I loved until it was too late, and all those I couldn't, wouldn't let myself love even though I should have, here's to you. Enjoy this world, this life, because you've all been a part of both my life and my world, and it's all here for you, for the taking, so enjoy it because you've already made it worthwhile for me. And whether it's me doesn't matter, that's not what life is about, but I hope someone has made it worthwhile for for you.

Strange mood

This isn't the blog I was going to write, or probably should have written. The drafts for those are scattered between my laptop, a couple of computers at work, one thumb drive, and the digital graveyard. All those blogs I started but didn't finish, or saved because I meant to finish, and now never will because life got in the way. I'm happy. I have been for a couple of hours now, although for reasons I can't really explain. Went to the bar, had a few drinks, played some trivia, this has all happened before. But driving home after the bar, I decided that when I got home I was going to chill some Whiskey, and go for a walk. This I did. I got home, retrieved my backpack from the boot of my car, and went to the kitchen to chill some Whiskey. The single malt I had in mind was a 10-year-old Laiphroag, which was given to me for my birthday, and which I'd never had before but have decided it's one that I very much like. Decanted a tad into my flask, and went out the front door, which I seldom use because I come in through the garage most days.

I went for a walk because it was raining. Having lived in England, Louisiana, Oregon, Austria, Hawai'i, and the Caribbean, all those places have a fair amount of rain. Some are warm, some cold (guess which ones!?!), but I think all are refreshing to some extent or another. The rain in England is why it's green, and can support 55 million people living there. Louisiana, Hawai'i, and the Caribbean, the rain is warm and is much better than the humidity, because it's nice to be wet from something other than your sweat. Oregon is somewhere between the two; it can be warm, it can be cold, but it definitely rains there.

And now I live in Vegas. (Oh, by the way, I might go on for a while. I'm not busy, or in any hurry to go to bed, so I might sit here and type for a while. There, you've been warned.) Vegas is one of the last places I thought I would end up. And I shudder to use that phrase, cos I ain't dead yet so don't like to think of myself as having 'ended up here.' But I've been here for coming on to four years, and that's a long time for me to be anywhere. I'm a little antsy, to say the least. There are things I miss. I miss seeing those friends that at one point or another in my life I've taken for granted, and now they're not just a couple blocks away, ready to go out for drinks. I miss moving around, and having to see a new place and how I fit in to it. I miss being able to start fresh every few months, with at most four or five people who knew me before. I miss not having to drive home after going to the pub. This list could go on forever, but I'm going to grab another drink, back in a few. . .

So I poured myself another Whiskey, and I'm going to take the chance to correct my spelling from up above. I'm drinking Laphroaig. 10-year-old. Nectar. Anyway, where was I.

I miss the rain and the ocean. Vegas is the first place in my life that I don't get either on a regular basis. And when I do 'end up' somewhere, I'm going to need one or the other. I drink less water than anyone I know, I'm a prime candidate for dehydration, but I seem to have this need for water in my life. As long as I'm not drinking it or putting it in my Whiskey (I'm a one ice cube guy), I seem to love having water in my life. Walking in the rain tonight, deliberately neglecting to put on anything waterproof (including my shoes, as it turned out). I think the rain is one of the things I'm really going to miss when I die.

So let's make a list of things we're going to miss when we die. . .I'll go first (and these are in no particular order):

1. Rain on my face. in fact, rain in general whether it's on my face, a tent, windscreen, wherever. 2. My parents. Although I'll probably miss them before I die, cos I'm sure they've arranged things so that they won't have to be here after I'm gone. So my family as a whole, because I'll probably leave some of them behind, and I'm sorry for that, but hey, we had fun, right? 3. You guys. I'm going to be sorry that I won't be able to write anything that might make you smile, frown, or just bring a thought you might not have had were it not for reading some crap I'd written. And hey, we had fun, right? 4. The sound of the ocean. And the feel of the ocean. Whether it's fucking around in the surf, jumping in time with the waves and snotting out salt, being on a ship and feeling the whole thing move under you, or being a part of it, diving, there is something I find calming about the Ocean, even when it scares the shit out of me. 5. Sunrises and sunsets. 6. Dogs 7. I'm going to miss being able to close my eyes while listening to some pieces of music and just feel that things are better. And there's a couple on the album I'm listening to right now. 8. Alcohol. Be it Whiskey, Cider, Absinthe, Jager, Beer, or any of the others I have come to know and love in the past 17 years of imbibing. Mostly I'm going to miss the feeling that comes with having just enough but not quite too much. 9. Orgasms. Mine and other peoples. Mine, because at the end of the day it feels good to come. Other peoples, because if you're lucky enough to get to give someone else one, then you've delved that little bit deeper into their soul, you've both shared something of yourselves that you don't give out to everyone. And it feels good to come. 10. Smells. There are some fantastic smells in this world, from fresh-cut grass, to someone else's skin, to a wood fire, to a summer wood in the middle of the English countryside. 11. Tastes. See above. 12. Anger. Because it feels good to be angry. I'm going to miss being angry. Angry at nothing, at things that dont matter or mean anything, and anger at those world-changing issues that some people just don't seem to get. I know I shouldn't feel this way, but anger can feel good, and I'm going to miss the feeling that righteous anger can give. 13. I'm going to miss the feeling standing in the middle of a club, with a bit of a buzz, and just giving in to the music. To feel the music in every nerve, muscle, et cetera et cetera blah blah blah, insert body part here.

Thirteen seems like a good number to stop on. Promise there are more, but I'm not thinking of them right now. And after going back and looking at them to make sure I'm not repeating myself, I realized it might seem a bit morbid to list things I'm going to miss when I die. But the strange thing is, I'm not depressed or morbid when talking about things like this, I'm just matter of fact. I think that the short story I just wrote has something to do with it, cos it's sort of about death. Well, more about fear and selfishness, but death's a big part of those two things. But we've all got to go through with it, so why ignore it?

Well, I'm done with this for the night. But I'm not done writing for the night. Going to work on some other things I've been thinking about, might finish up in time for the sunrise; I just hope it's still raining, because two for one is always good.

The revolutions that change the world are the ones that happen inside of people's heads. I'm not sure if that is a quote, but it feels more true than ever right now. Peace out. And thanks for making it this far with me. . .