The Home Visit.

If things pan out as they should for once, i will be back in my hometown for a few days to celebrate the New Year. Before i get into that, i should talk a little about my Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas: i did nothing, for all three. I sat inside the apartment and watched tv.

I digress.

There are no expectations of what i might feel when i get back "home". It's an experience i have seen played in many different forms; movies, but most often in novels and i can see myself reacting similarly. From the "glad to see you again", to "i love you guys but i am happy i moved away", and finally, "a miserable place for miserably like-minded people". The latter being a bit of a stretch considering i don't imagine they or myself have changed to such a glaring, unrecognizable degree where we can no longer see each as our peer.

But that's for the people. As for the land itself; the place i have memorized all the summer sunsets, to the chilly winds in fall that hurt my nose. Can scenery really provoke my nostalgia to have enough lament in my heart as we drive back? It makes me a little nervous, but i really wish to find out.

Midnight Pictures

i dreamt of high school.

That sentence along with the actual circumstances that orbit it can easily be deemed as ridiculous, well for me anyway. I can't say for most, but i don't really reflect on my 4 year tour of limbo. Mainly because there was only one year that was amazing (junior). There are a few i imagine would describe it as either of the usual spectrum of "good" or "bad", for me: i floated through.

Mostly, if i ever really say i do, i like to think back on the years after high school, almost the year directly after. So to find myself considering or even weirder yet, to dream of that time is truly odd. The odder part was i had all my knowledge, my 32 year old self placed into my (i'm guessing) 17 year old body. I remember thinking i wanted to make sure everything would stay the same for when i returned to my time. Which meant i would make sure that all my mistakes were redone in proper time and order and my resolve to purposefully redo some of those questionable actions did not falter. To make sure i would be friends with the people i know now and that my life with my family would go unchanged i was more than willing to do wrong.

I purposefully cheated a few times and strayed from the path i walked all those years ago and went to go see people i hadn't in years. I spoke with my friend's sister Bobby for no other reason but to say "Hello." I searched for Mike, whom i didn't really know in high school just to see what he looked like then, he actually had hair. After school was out i ran to my usual meeting place with Genesis, the old grump was there begrudgingly waiting for me so we could walk home as i chatted "at" him, not "to" him, but "at" him. The boy at that time very rarely spoke. As we headed home i think i was uncharacteristically quiet for G asked why i was being quiet. As i considered his question i realized i wanted to tell him everything about his life for the next 15 years. That his road ahead was not going to be easy, that everything from then on was going to deliver him to the brink and not often would he be able to come back. I wanted to warn him, shield him, do all what i felt was reasonable to save him from himself. But lessons aren't learned that way. I decided to trust his future self when i got back to my time that he would/will find his strength. i wanted to pray.

Sometime after i met up with Josh, Billy, Aaron, Betty, James and a few i can't remember (or at least my dream self couldn't) and old times were had. Again i think i was uncharacteristically silent; they asked me "what's wrong?", i was busy studying them, remembering the future them and my place with some of them 15 years from then and watched as their usual mannerisms and idiosyncrasy's played out as i narrated their patterns right before they did them. Strangely seeing them was bittersweet at this age, i missed them from my time. They were good here, i am/was glad i knew them then, but they were/are great later.

Lastly, i saw Ashley again. This was shocking considering i hadn't expected to see her, hell even my 32 year old brain that had been calling all the shots knowing exactly where we had to go, do, and say, wasn't ready for the blindsiding that was this event. We could not remember if we had actually met with her at that time, it wasn't on the itinerary to get back to ourselves.

We spoke as i walked with her to some place with no destination. Well, she spoke, i listened and of course was asked "what's wrong?" when my silent studying seemed off to her. i have no hang ups for her, i remember thinking. She was a pleasant girl that had the misfortune of actually dating me. She was another with a hard future, but considering i hadn't spoken to her in nearly 5 years from my time, i truly don't know how hard or pleasant it is/was. We walked along a park near her home (one i think that is still there to this day) and we took a seat on the mini merry go round and a song that i wouldn't hear for 13 years but was made 20 years ago played in my head. That very thought of knowing a song i would hear much later even though it currently already existed made me feel very old and scared for my future-self. Did knowing this song mean i was on the right track? If i did something that wasn't quite right would i start to lose my memories from my own time? I would i not meet Sarah: the water bringer of my once dry soul? Telly: the appointed sister, fellow comrade in sarcasm. Irene: the watch-guard, always being distant but loving; forever eyeing my best interests. A multitude of others leaped into my head, Lil'Sarah, Kyle, Kali, Brady, Carla, Natalie, just so many jumbled into the dark spot behind my eyes.

Panic filled my stomach, sweat poured from my temples and i could almost feel the blood rushing around my body. I breathed off the pain and continued on.

I broke off the conversation here and walked Ashley back to her (then) home. I didn't kiss her, somehow her being 16 and my mind being 32 it felt odd, plus i think that would still play to my then character. Younger William would have stayed the polite route, well polite/inexperienced, either way it wasn't going to throw off the time line.

Much later i woke up in real life feeling old and even though i haven't had a drink in almost three weeks i felt what could have been a hangover. I got on the rest of the day glad my life had returned and that it had been a dream. i never bother questioning dreams, i think of them as nothing more than nighttime movies your mind comes up with to entertain itself. But this one, this one in particular i considered far longer than i do on most.

I mean, hell, i took the two hours to write it all down and place it here so i don't forget this one. This one showed me that for all of the bullshit i went through and put myself into, so far it has all been worth it because of the people i met, know and love. There is a part of me in the corners that i could easily take the role of the villain to maintain my loves; that is both monstrous and comforting.

As i sit here alone, but not without some occupancy of loneliness, i read my book on the floor underneath the cool breeze of my window. As my Venetian blinds gently sway and thunk against the glass i can faintly hear violins; Ode to Joy, in fact. I stand in the opening of my window to look down the hill to the apartment below, and in the off-center of the parking-lot stands two people rhythmically undulating with the notes they were creating. They play in the dark facing each other producing soothing vibrations for sometime. When the song ended i clapped; they didn't hear me. Which is just as well, who knows why they would play this late, those two song birds of the night.

Illusion Sleep

So what is it that i want to say? I've been awake for a long time now, not anywhere near ridiculous, not the usual ugly turn of my normal insomnia. This time my sleeplessness feels different than that. When sleep eludes my body feels sluggish until my knees, below them my feet feel as if they could walk and walk and never become tired, sometimes they even urge me to see how far we could get. And as this battle goes on, my mind floats around to trying to sleep, to listening to what's on the tv, around to hearing myself think then back to the tv. But here, this time i am just awake. I glanced over all of the tv shows on my computer and for the first time nothing looks interesting; not even something to turn on to sleep to.

My mind tugged at my writing lobe, but there isn't much there. So what is it that i want to say? Something is troubling me, but i have no idea what it is? Am i homesick because i am back "home" but my family is closer but still a good distance away? I have to consider those words as i type them, this is all being read as i write it, but even to me, the person writing doubts the homesickness theory. It could be simple as something like i am just so damned bored my mind is active from the lack of stimulant.

I've been sitting here watching the cursor blink for nearly five minutes, nothing is coming to mind on how to continue. I think i am just really bored and everything to distract me from it doesn't appear interesting. i guess i'll get up and head to the living room and watch tv until i  am no longer paying attention to it in hopes sleep will find me there.

Hi CA

We stepped into our new apartment in the early evening of Aug 20th and it was clear to see for me that i really did miss the California sunsets, for when i stepped into what was going to be my room, even with my window facing north the rays that entered we a ping of nostalgic. For reasons i know that could be explained but i have no wish to truly know, but the sunsets here are pinker than Virginia's. There they are more dark blue, the sun doesn't fight for its light to linger so it easily fades out, leaving a feeling of gloom.

Even though it's only been two weeks in someways i already miss Virginia, for one i miss clouds. It always seemed to be cloudy there, which made for interesting skies to look up into. Here, it's just as i remember it: dead cloudless blue.

I wrote a good amount in my notebook as Ness and I crossed the states something i plan to put in here so i can see them when the notebook itself may be damaged or lost in the ethereal undulating waters of time. But for now my days are filled with gaming, cleaning and making this place a new temporary home before Japan comes screaming in, chewing up all the time i thought i had left to get ready for her. Right now that's my biggest fear; i spent so long just waiting and waiting, not believing it was ever going to happen that when it actually does i won't/don't have enough days to prepare myself for my new adventure. Like skipping out on all my sword practice thinking the final boss would never come to me and my small town, and sure enough he's at the front gate, grinning a green teeth smirk as he darkens my doorstep and knocks.

Bye VA

So few days of Virginia left, and i already know that i will miss the few accomplishments i achieved here.  The cute critters that wander the yards. I can't say for sure if i will miss the Atlantic, i didn't get to know her enough unlike my beloved Pacific, but i suspect somewhere along the blurred line of my retrospect vision there might be a glint of nostalgia for her one day. I will miss the people i met, even if i can't remember near half of the conversations we had or their names. The warm sudden rains, to the cold that tries its most to take your noes but can't reach the depth of frost it would need to do so. I will miss my bar, with one of the best Reuben sandwiches i have had and the always changing stock of beers. I miss my roommate Telly and our sometimes snarky eye to the world.

But mostly i will miss those enchanting firefly filled summer nights.

Pre-departure Syndrome

I have no more than three weeks left here in Virginia and i can tell there will be a melancholy scarf to hang on my neck; which i find odd in a small way. There wasn't a lot i did here, or accomplished, in fact most of if was idle time, but i think i might have stumbled on what it is that paints the bittersweet departure. When i "graduated" 8th grade and was ready to move on to High School, i remember on the last day of Elementary school i was excited, looking forward to school after summer had finished and my childhood freedom was once again returned to the state. As i walked home i made sure to not look back, somehow this little act at that young age was a trend i would continue for awhile intentionally or not, but there in the late June sun i told myself to not look back at what had been my first two years of living in a new town, where i made new friends and started my life in said town for the next 20 years.

When high school had ended and i made the walk back to the very same house i returned to after 8th grade, i didn't look back at the grounds then either. But both times there was a sting of regret, happiness, confusion, and zeal; which i have come to learn is simply described as: bittersweet. When i left California, my family, and my friends a little over a year ago no such sting showed, for i had made sure to squeeze out every enjoyment with everyone in the 6 months before i left; i didn't just left the golden years go by unbeknownst, i knew i was in them. So for my final days in California there was no need to look back, i didn't even think about it, my excitement to get on the plane and land in my new home was a pull strong enough to leave all longing at the sliding door that lead into the airport.

But now, with only three weeks left before i leave Virginia, possibly forever, i can detect that excitement and particular sadness that comes with knowing that life and I will be moving on and i know why. When i left 8th grade and high school i knew there would be a good number of people that i would never in my life see again. And there is someone here in Virginia that has a high probability i may never see again. That is Chantelle, my surrogate sister. The women i have known to close to eleven years and have i lived with for nearly more than half that time.  The sting is back, knowing one of the few women that i love with no sexual intent but purely as devoted protection, may leave my life. Sure, we will my stay in contact but we both know in a room next to each other sharing words, laughs and insults is our truest form.

To be absent from that presents of someone i feel at ease around is a lose not so great as to cry, but smile as i lament the possibility there may never be a time again when we are shoulder to shoulder judging our immediate world in front of us just for the laughs. When her and i say our farewells, the world will be a little less funny.

Ticking.

The official count down of Ness and i leaving Virginia and start anew in San Diego to wait out our last year in the States has begun. Japan is inking closer, yet somehow my enthusiasm hasn't jumped. Our days, these days, tend to be about more frequent chatting on about how we are going to clear the house and what we will be taking and when we should start packing, no action has been taken to actually do any of it as of yet. Mostly due to we don't leave for San Diego until August; so the rush of packing and moving is not needed.
What does have me excited is instead of boxing up our things, sending them to our new home (once we find a place) and then flying; is we plan to throw it all in a moving truck and driving across the country. An excursion i have never done before and one i am looking forward to, since it may be the only time in my life i get to do so. It's the great American road trip, wrote and romanticized by the first beatnik and Godfather of the counter-culture Jack Kerouac.

Heading off subject, or actually starting one; what is it about the road trip that entices American's so much? We have books about them and an over flowing catalog of movies that make them seem exciting and nearly romantic in the very act of moving across long spans of landscape and seeing sunsets over different mountains ranges other than the ones you grow up around. "To travel is joy. Passing witness of a rock, a river and a mountain in the beating heart of ones country is near the expression of love of seeing the adventure of life." A passage i once read in a book, who's title i have forgotten, yet i see what the author intended, but at the very heart: i don't. I lived in California, in the very middle of it and to get anywhere of real substance you will have to travel over an hour or three to get there. And i can say for myself only, that after the first thirty minutes i am already wishing our destination was closer. But i feel that is because i had been on those same roads numerous times. To this day i could drive from my hometown to my old home in Fremont without any reference as a map or a GPS, even if they changed the signs or closed down one of the major freeways, i could still manage to get there through other means than the main path. Digress.

Back when i traveled from CA to Salt Lake City for a wedding i was truly excited, for one at the time it was the furthest east i would have ever traveled, where before it was Death Valley. Once i had come down from the Sierra mountains and the long, lonely expanse of the desert opened up and then the ocean of the salt flats; i was ready to stop moving and just get to where we were going. I feel that somewhere on the road back to CA that will happen, that somewhere during our days on the road the excitement will cease and my longing to see the Pacific, to recognize her lovely curve of California's frame will grow to a thirst for our drive to end.

For man that has been waiting for more than two years to get things moving along; traveling is just more waiting, it may be waiting while moving forward, but i have seen the landscape, gazed at all the sights here it's time i see the next destination before we get to the last one.

The "story" of us.

A chill still runs down my spine when i remember that kiss. And not the real one, but the one i dreamed up; the one i wished had happened, the one that was perfect, the one that had meant something if only that something was for research, the experiment used and done for a legitimate reason as research. But much like everything the fake one is far more remembered than the real; the one i asked for, the one i asked to have again to help describe to no one. The tale i remember around the real, is far more odd than what had happened.

But somehow, i do not regret the real. It's the dream that makes me not hate the real. We kissed, i asked for another in that moment to help describe it later; in that moment i left my eyes open to burn the segment into the forgettable part of my head.

I told the tale from the part i made up, but both the fictitious and the real stick with me. I would prefer that the tall tale i made for us would stick more.

I love the fake part of us.