Death Becoming...

I got a call from my dad today, letting me know that my uncle Teddy is in the hospital, may not live through the night.  He was up to see him yesterday, and this morning apparently Ted flatlined.  They revived him, but his organs are shutting down and it would seem there is little that can be done at this point. 

It feels weird to consider the contrast.  I was sitting on my couch tonight, quietly reading (a book about the history of death, ironically), and thinking how casual my night was.  I still have so much life ahead of me, so many things to do, so many people to upset, disappoint, make laugh, arouse, etc.  I am so filled with life I'm flinging it everywhere I gesticulate. 
Ted, however, is laying in a hospital bed, barely able to move, attached to machines, and possibly fighting for every minute of life he has left.  The fight is a losing one for all of us, but his is more than likely coming to its non-dramatic conclusion tonight, maybe tomorrow.

I imagine what it's like to be in his place.  Nurses and doctors hovering around me; I wonder if I'd be aware that rather than make me better or cure me of my ills, they are simply trying to make me comfortable so my exit is a peaceful and painless one.  I wonder just how coherent my thoughts would be?  Would I be with it enough to tell people to stop wasting prayers on an atheist, to tell them I really don't care if "God" loves me?
Or would I just lie there in that tense repose, going crazy from listening to my own heart beeping at me through a monitor?

It's probably been a few years since I last saw my uncle Ted.  I frankly don't have a lot of memories of him.  But I'll miss him nonetheless, as I would the loss of any of my family, keys to my past. 

Michelangelo

I love Irving Stone's portrayal of Michelangelo.  At least so far, anyway--I'm only about 1/8 of the way through The Agony and the Ecstasy.  I relate to Michelangelo's personality, especially how he relies on people but keeps them at arm's length.  He gets along with them fine, but seems to feel as though they have no business inside his head.  If not for the pseudoanonymity of blogs and facebook, I would not have been as approachable as I am.

I cannot relate to his artwork, obviously--his was a kind of genius mind that coordinated with his hands to create some of the most magnificent sculptures and paintings detailing human anatomy and emotion like few others of his time. 

I noticed recently a movie was made partly based on it.  While I am excited to check it out, I'm a bit disappointed in their casting of Charlton Heston as Michelangelo.  But whatever, it could still be good.

Life is...

I feel like I've been very busy lately.  But I don't think I really have been, haha.  In a given week I work anywhere from 9-12 hours, band practice on tuesdays, occasionally followed by a brief visit to the Hub to relax and check out whoever is playing Open Mic.  The rest of the days I'm usually down in the basement after Isabella goes to bed, doing a little drawing.  Fridays I've been going to the Firehall Theatre to watch B movie double-features.  Just about every other weekend we play a show, or volunteer for a Derby event.

It's not a terribly hectic schedule.  I feel like I'm making much better use of my time than I used to, though.  I love to have things going on, although occasionally I begin to feel rushed, and that's where it all stops being fun.  I was reading some argument in The Agony and the Ecstasy where Michelangelo had the thought that there should be no difference between the statements 'life is work' and 'life is for enjoyment'.  In our day and age there would be some kind of catchy saying that represents the same philosophy, I really don't care to know it.  I'd rather repeat those two statements in my head and hold the meaning to its fullest. 

I love that I can look at life right now and not feel dread.  For everything that is wrong in life personally and otherwise, it feels good to be human and experience all the highs and lows required to maintain that humanity.  I get scared by things like anyone, but it's an incredible challenge to see how far I can push that fear.  I'm arachnophobic, yet I'm fascinated by two funnel-web spiders in our basement.  I'm afraid of heights but it's still fun to climb rocks in Gooseberry Falls.  I'm afraid of speaking in public yet I'm the vocalist in a band.  I'm not a thrill-seeker, but I do feel the rush of facing your fears and testing your limits.

Girls

I like girls. 
I've had the opportunity to get to know quite a few over the last year or so, and I love seeing all the different personalities that make one different from the other. 
One of my best friends is a dominatrix.  She immediately liked me because I didn't flinch and guard my balls when she told me what she did.  She's loud and rude--hard for many to take for more than 3 minutes--and talks with her mouth full.  She has panic attacks and fantasizes about chicks with dicks.
Another one of my best friends is also one of my oldest friends.  I've known her since high school, and have seen her evolution into a hardworking person who isn't afraid of a challenge.  Her dedication to her work, friends, family and photography have earned her much respect from me.
One girl I actually developed an deep attraction to--something I hadn't expected--and when I revealed this to her, was let down in a very respectful manner.  She could have laughed it off or downplayed it.  She could have chosen not to respond to me and let the silence speak for itself.  I respect her candid response, and still feel pretty good about myself as a result.  So I didn't get the girl, so what?  Better than not fucking trying at all.
I suppose some day a girl will come along that can become more than all that.  But I'm not too worried.  Six months ago I might have said something different.  However, I enjoy holding humanity at arm's length.  I feel good about distancing myself to a degree.  In the meantime, I'll "pull up a chair next to my dirt road while watching all those folks try to find their highway."

Motel Reveries

I was thinking about April being done at Comfort Inn after having been there so long and put so much into it.  I'm excited for her to move on to the Sleep Inn, a bigger and better opportunity.  It got me to thinking about my own past career in hospitality.

I started working at Travelodge in 2003.  I remember my first week there, because it was the week Dru Sjodin was kidnapped and murdered.  I had worked in 2 motels prior, and loved being in the hospitality industry. 
While working in motels has shaped and enhanced my misanthropy to dangerously high levels, it has also shown me what it's like to take pride in one's job.  I worked at Travelodge for 6 years, was friends with my coworkers, loved my boss and the owner who worked on site.  They all knew how weird I was/am, they not only accepted it but liked me because of it. 

For all the assholes that came through and talked down to me and treated me like garbage, there were still more that came down in the middle of the night for some coffee or milk and were very polite, even friendly.  I actually felt pride in making sure guests were comfortable, preparing continental breakfast, doing laundry, basically being part of a team that did good work and made the place run as well as it did.  I also had a boss that made me feel appreciated and listened to her employees, good or bad.  My coworkers saw me become a father, welcomed me into their own homes.

Then the motel was sold and the new owners unceremoniously fired her.  Most of us walked out as a result.  I layed into the new owner who was staying there at the time and ordered him back to his room, then worked my last shift as a parting gift to the guests who still depended on me that night.  I often wonder what things would be like if it hadn't been sold.  It was the one job in my life where I developed a sense of normalcy.  I had my routines, i had my various activities I worked on in my downtime during the night--practicing guitar, working on my comic (or art school homework or archaeological illustration), watching movies and posting reviews on my third blog (which has gone horribly neglected), reading one of my books (I still have the bad habit of reading 3 books at a time, wreaks havoc on my memory).  I came up with some of my best comic ideas, my most eloquent songs, and some catchy melodies, while watching over a mostly-sleeping motel.

But it was normal for me.  I did that every night, Sunday-Thursday night, sleeping during the early day.  On Fridays, I would stay awake and hit the thrift stores for my weekly rummage.  Karissa and I would only go to a bar roughly once a month if that, and only when we went to Devils Lake to visit family.  It's weird to think how different things are now, and how ironic that I was very docile during most of my twenties. 

After I quit Travelodge, I found another motel job within a week (let's just say word got out that I'm awesome), but things were already set in motion to change.  Within that month I did my first Open Mic at Mike's Pizza and Pub, my first time in a decade performing in front of people, and this time alone.  After that I was at the bar every week, buying just one double-shot of Jack on the rocks, and playing 5 songs.  Then I got into a band, and now we have been busy getting gigs and practising.  I fell like we have less money than we did to play around with, yet I'm so much happier because I'm living out a dream.  Granted, I'm paid little for the band gigs, and nothing at all for the comic, but that doesn't seem relevant right now.  I just enjoy myself and like who I am when I'm doing it.  I do miss those days at Travelodge, but they had to come to an end at some point.  And what better end than a dramatic walk-out that left me feeling proud of the impact I had in my 6 years there?