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Young Geoffrey

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[from my-diary.com] Confessions of a Quitter - Coda [Nov. 25th, 2002|08:26 am]
Young Geoffrey
The first break in the damn came a week ago Thursday - around 6PM, on break, I found myself compelled to head off to the corner store. Where there was a line-up of suckers buying lottery tickets (which take *time*, when they're buying a lot). I was tense and jittery and the clerk noticed me bouncing around and waved me in.

"Player's Light, large king," I smiled with practiced ease, and soon sauntered into the evening, tearing celephane like wrapping paper. The cigarette didn't, I admit, taste good, but there was a certain satisfaction to inhaling smoke again (and, yes, it got me a little high).

I can't blame the collapse on my inner voice or anything else. Nothing was telling me I could "just have one" or that I'd beaten the demon. I just - god damn it - wanted a smoke and decided I didn't care this meant I would likely as not end up back in the smokers' parade.

Bought and smoked most of another pack the next day. But Sunday - somehow - I didn't. I lost myself in a haze of that other weed and managed to control the cravings. All the way until Wednesday - the fourth week anniversary of my break with Siya.

I end up at a local watering hole after work with - yes - a fresh pack of smokes to join my beer.

The following flowed from my pen into the purple journal with which Siya herself gifted me shortly before telling me our Relationship was over.


A Broken Heart Is Slow to Heal

Wednesday, November 20, 2002 - Mezro's

What is there to sayabout a broken heart that hasn't been said a thousand times? How strange, that such a universal experience calls forth such singular expressions of it. (Is now the time, I wonder, to re-read Elizabeth Smart?)

Well. It's been 4 weeks (pondering this sentence, I only just realized tonight marks an anniversary of sorts - perhaps that goes some way towards explaining why I have felt especially sad today). And today, almost everything reminds me of Siya. Try to anesthetize myself as I might - with Star Trek: Enterprise; with Super Collapse; a bowl of weed; beer and scotch - I cannot escape the mournful keen that suffuses my spirit. [Transcriber's note: Please forgive that last line - I had finished my scotch and was into at least my second beer by that point.]

I miss her laughter, her jokes and the odds things Chinese grammar sometimes does to her English. I miss holding her through the night, miss waking her with my kisses; I miss cooking for her and cuddling her oh so close on my couch, afterwards.

Christ. I miss bringing her flowers, and hearing the magic words, "I love you." I miss saying those words, too.


Far from great art, I confess.

Some while later I wove my way home and found Siya online via ICQ. We chatted for a while and I confess I did not spare her a report on my feelings - she signed off rather abruptly, claiming she had to sleep, but I couldn't (and can't) help wonder if I drove her off.

Since then, I've been practically chain-smoking, but the gloom seems to be lifting. I awoke this morning - despite the fact it being Monday meant I had to come into the office (from whence comes this missive - it's a nicely slow day, thus far) - tired, but in better spirits than I have experienced probably since the day Siya told me it was over.

Yesterday was a productive day, involving a lot of organizing and filing, tossing of useless junk and even - brave boy - going through photos from the past few months. I separated out the duplicates which would interest Siya and found, quite to my surprise, that it didn't hurt too much to see them.

I took pleasure in the memories they brought back, as well as simply enjoying photos of a beautiful woman the way a man will (yes, especially the nudes), but I could feel the sadness receding and wondered, "Is this 'acceptance' coming over the horizon?"

And today's good spirits, despite awaking too tired to go out for hockey, suggest it is.

I still miss her, but I feel good.

I am ready to embrace the rest of my life.

From: patriarch420
2004-12-03 02:02 am (UTC)

Dear Younger Sorrowful Geoffrey....

2 years almost to the date of this post...

I tried *very* hard to refrain from commenting on your earlier journals... Infact I was even a little uneasy about prying around ninto the 37 year-old Youg Geoffrey's thoughts... but, geeze honey!! You were such a sorrowful young man!! And, yes. It's a side of you I feel like I couldn't see now and that this was almost the *only* way i could see it... because...you seem so damned happy :)

I'd just like to say I'm happy to be apart of your happy life...

and please don't go back to being sorrowful Geoffrey for a long time if ever....

xo, much love ((hope you enjoyed the art show and your encounter with your long-lost correspondence buddy ;) ))

(Reply) (Thread)
[User Picture]From: ed_rex
2004-12-05 05:08 pm (UTC)

Re: Dear Younger Sorrowful Geoffrey....

I don't remember whether or not I made it clear that I don't mind you poking around in my past, so I'll say it here. Anything I post publicly is definitely open to you my darling.

And I sure as hell hope I don't revert to being a sorrowful Geoffrey - I much prefer being happy.
(Reply) (Parent) (Thread)
From: patriarch420
2004-12-03 02:03 am (UTC)


Your writing is beautiful...

Hate to say it, but all the good writers were miserable.. no wonder... it's a fucking powerful emotion.
(Reply) (Thread)
[User Picture]From: ed_rex
2004-12-05 05:09 pm (UTC)

Re: P.S.

I refuse to believe it. Dissatisfied, maybe, but I don't buy the idea that depression breeds creativity; at least as often, it breeds nothing more than self-pitying screeds no one in their right mind would want to read. (Says happy Geoffrey, hoping he can still produce some readable fiction.)
(Reply) (Parent) (Thread)
From: patriarch420
2004-12-05 06:22 pm (UTC)

Re: P.S.

You make a point that it is essentially "self-pitying screeds" as you put it...

But the point I only sort of vaguely hinted towards was that some of the great writers of the 20th century were uber depressed people....and were able to get their emotions out on paper- in a fictional way.

Speaking of readable fiction, get on that!!!

Forget the novel even, write a short story or something to that effect...

On a completely seperate note: I had an absolutely wonderful time last night. I got way too stoned ((I haven't been enjoying the highs I get from pot lately...It seems I can't function half as well as I can when I'm sober... I'm quite jealous of the ability Irene has to be completely productive when she's stoned...))

Anyway, it was a shindig. Kass (crooked-back-girl) was there, The bday girl and kyle (who share the same birthday) were obviously there... Thomas, who I went to school with in grade 3 and 4 was there...we got re-acqainted..he used to be a royal asshole but now he's a very nice guy. And then the usual suspects were there of course...

We had a triple chocolate cheesecake and expensive cheese and nice wines and some champagne as well.

Now I'm just attempting to organize. Im intensely frustrated at myself.. I can't get organized!! EVER!! and I always flake out of things I mean to do..be it with people or for myself etc.


Hope you had a decent night- I liked your posts (long as they were) And I'll check out that website later on...

Xo , Much love

- your laura
(Reply) (Parent) (Thread)
[User Picture]From: ed_rex
2004-12-07 10:53 pm (UTC)

Re: P.S.

But the point I only sort of vaguely hinted towards was that some of the great writers of the 20th century were uber depressed people....and were able to get their emotions out on paper- in a fictional way.

Some, yes, but by no means all (well, if we were to get technical, I suppose we'd need to agree on a list of "great writers). I think the idea that great writers are mostly depressed is a myth that kind of paralells the one that says that genius is a very close cousin to madness.

As for your separate point, I'm glad you enjoyed yourself on Saturday after you *sob* left me to my own devices. (I'm kidding about the *sob*, as I'm sure you know.) My bad was at the gallery and, as you know, I got some writing done.

Finally, you may want to check this out the next time you would to kill some time with some chuckles.

I love you, darlin'.
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