Tremble

The lava hardens into stone
Layers rise, mountains form, birds of paradise bloom

The ground trembles and shakes
Life continues, steadfast around the cracks

The rock sometimes crumbles
Lying in ruins, the dust of foundations catch the wind

friday the 18th (meant to be a play on friday the 13th, but not funny)

Part of my morning routine revolves waking up to a rather freezing house (I like to sleep when it is cold—with the fan going and everything), waking up, to said freezing house, is less pleasant. I stumble from bed to the bathroom, where I immediately turn on the heater. Typically, I put toothpaste on my toothbrush and sit on the toilet while brushing my teeth, dozing in and out while the heater warms my feet. Usually, I then go let the dogs in so that they can have some interaction in the morning. I return to the bathroom, start the hot water to fill up the tub (also to help me wake up and be warm). While the tub is filling, I turn off the bathroom lights, the dogs stretch out over the cold tile. I knell prostrate before the heater and pray. No, not to the heater, smart ass. Then it is time to get ready. (And yes, I tell you all this right now because I really want to go back to bed. It has been one of those weeks were I have felt completely sleep deprived, even though I am typically getting six or more hours of sleep every night.
This morning, I had barely forced myself out of bed, I was sitting there brushing my teeth and I heard huffing and snorting outside of my bathroom door that connects to the kitchen. Nothing quite wakes you up like something breathing in an aggressive manner outside your door in the dark. I was barely alert enough to recognize the bathroom, let alone try to recognize sounds. I sat there, toothbrush hanging limply from my mouth, eyes wide, ears straining to assess if I was hearing things or not.
The huffing came again. My back went ridged. Ok, not crazy. What to do? Do I go wake Chad? Do I stay perfectly still and not make noise? Do I re-enact scenes from a horror movie? I choose the later of course.
My hand reaches out in seeming slow motion and grasps the doorknob that will open my tiny heating world to the kitchen and the source of the huffing. What if there is something or someone on the other side with a knife? All I have is my toothbrush. I turn the knob. Why do people always go towards the glowing red light in the forest that emanates screams? I pull the door open. Breath held. Skin atingle.
Dunkyn and Dolan rush in, cavorting at my feet. Thrilled to see their daddy. Relief rushes through me. Shortly followed by fear again.
How did the dogs get in? I always put them out for the night and shut their doggy door. Someone or something vile has let them enter the house.
After a quick inspection, I discover that it was only my sleep deprivation that allowed to the dogs to stay inside all night.
Finally, the dogs and I re-enter our heated bathroom to continue our interrupted morning. I should have just went back to bed. Who knows what terror awaits this morning…

a yearning

I have this desire. It’s nothing new, but it is continuously getting stronger. The more I see of the world, the more places I visit, the more things I do, the more it grows. I don’t think it’s wrong or a bad omen, but it actually can make me a little sad, or maybe a little claustrophobic in my own skin.
I want to live several lifetimes. Not just so I don’t die, I am not afraid of the next life—not like I used to be. I am still nervous about the next life, simply because my imagination fails me. The concept of eternity being forever has always made me a little nervous. Not in the whole ‘forever damned to fire’ kind of nervous, simply in ‘wow, forever? That might last awhile.’
The yearning to have more than my share of life is merely a result of how much I truly enjoy the world in which we live—even though parts are so fucked up and drive me crazy at times. So here are some of the reasons I want or things I would do with multiple lifetimes.
1. I want several different bodies. Well, not other people’s bodies (although I wouldn’t cry if I turned into Ricky Martin), just my own, over and over again, hopefully a little more in-shape than this first time around. Why do I want so many Brandon bodies? Because it is a tattoo canvas, of course. There are so many I would like to do, so many designs and themes that I have come up with. Really, they are very cool. The trouble is you can’t wipe your canvas clean just to bleed and ink it again. Maybe if we were built like the Barbie doll make-up and hair station where you could do her make-up and stuff and constantly put in a new batch of store bought hair to replace the old one you cut at differing angle degrees (Not that I had one, I must of heard of it somewhere…), we could just slip into a new batch of skin… Of course, tattooing would need to be cheaper, that could get expensive.
2. I want to live in so many different places, and not just for a few months or years, I want to spend lifetimes at each one. New York City alone could be explored for four or fiver generations worth. Then, move on to Hawaii, San Diego, Seattle, Little Rock. Ok, got a little carried away there. But really, I could spend a lifetime in Central Park alone, investigating every stone carving on every bridge, fountain, and staircase. You can’t really do it sufficiently in a solitary lifetime. I don’t want to see it and move on to the next one, I want to be immersed in it, become a New Yorker, a Hawaiian, an Irishman, a Swede.
3. I want to do so many different things, and again, not for a moment, but for real. I want to be a novelist (maybe this lifetime, we will see). I want to spend at least one lifetime, maybe more, at Disney World in one of their shows. One season be the Beast, the next, Eric and marry the mermaid (or, even better, be the mermaid, or just fuck it and be the merman!), the next be Aladdin. What a life! I also want to be a detective (specifically one of the Hardy boys [probably Joe] and/or Nancy Drew. I want a lifetime as an artist, maybe fantasy painter, maybe cartoonist or comic book creator. To simply be a beach bum with Matthew McConaughey’s body and a library worth of books. (Oh, yeah. One lifetime will be entirely devoted to reading.)
4. I also simply want more than a lifetime with people. My parents, my brother, my lover, my friends, my kids. To only know them for a lifetime on earth is not enough. Most, we won’t even know for a lifetime, as they tend to die. Rude much? Ideally, they would travel through each lifetime with me, adapting to whatever the specific lifetime holds and entails.
This was not a comprehensive list, nor a list that is really valuable or thought provoking to anyone else. But these are a few of the things that are on my mind more often than is healthy. Maybe this is what Heaven will be like. God’s supposed to make Earth into a new Heaven after awhile, isn’t He? Then I really can spend a lifetime in each of these places. I don’t know if we will have authors in Heaven, which is why I should try to do it now. I know we will have Disney World. Sex slave is definitely questionable. At least the people part will be there, although I know the aspect of it will be greatly different. That too I can’t quite comprehend, so it makes me nervous as well.
It’s silly how sad I feel at times that I don’t get the option to fulfill these lives and how frantic it can make me when I feel like I need to squeeze so much more in. I guess my sense of mortality is intact. I must say, though, even though I can’t spend lifetimes at life’s smorgasbord, I have to be humbled at the world we have been given in which to reside. What a gift.

Addictions of the AM

I have found myself in a seeming struggle for betterment. One that I not winning. It’s the little things that are adding up and taking me over. It is more of a battle since they are small—each time, I am like, “Oh, it’s just this one” or “I deserve this today.” If they were big things, you know, breaking into Amazon headquarters and swiping all their books and DVDs, stealing a lottery winner’s identity, calling in sick to work everyday, then I am sure I would not take much effort to overcome. As it is, though, I am swiftly sinking into the sand trap of over-indulgence and am paying the consequences. My Id is out of control.
The first is (as always) food. Just thinking about Sonic gets me excited. If I am not struggling with money, then its food. (Well, I am struggling with money too, but that is too convicting, I am passing that one over for the time.) I miss the day when I used to look in the mirror and sigh with disappointment—still need to work on getting the biceps a few centimeters bigger, losing another three pounds, hating skin folds when I would bend over. Now, I simply look in the mirror and try to focus on controlling the impulse to vomit. Of course, nearing thirty, I am learning what all the original old people said was true. The older you get the harder it is. I can work out the same amount and not much changes. Of course the all-you-can-eat buffet that my life has become does not necessarily assist in my goal of being able to fit into my nice jean again—or at least not having my belly hang over the seatbelt when I am driving. Whoever coined the phrase ‘fat&happy’ was a skinny little bitch who had a Santa fetish.
The other battle is similar, but for different reasons, and manages to encompass food and money. I have never liked coffee. Hated it actually. Then, one day, I had an hour to spare until I picked up my boyfriend from work. He suggested that I read my “Eclipse” novel (You must read this series—fantastic) at the Caribou Coffee by his work. Sixty minutes later, I walked out with a monkey on my back. Have I told you that I detest monkeys? Some of the vilest creatures on God’s creation list. Except for those cute ones that are no bigger than your thumb—those are ok. I still hate ‘coffee.’ Caribou doesn’t serve coffee—like Starbucks. They serve sex in a warm paper container. Sure it has coffee in it, but the only hint that its there is hidden in the addiction that ensues. On the top of their turtle mocha, they put caramel and pieces of Snickers. That’s right folks, CANDY. Therefore the first several sips have bits of chewable Heaven, then, as you reach the bottom, the pieces that sank have melted. Your last several gulps are pure, undiluted chocolate. OMG!!! As the days got colder, it became my morning routine to drop off Chad around 6:40 and dash into Caribou. Now, I am distraught if I can not start my morning with liquid rapture, the car’s heater blowing full in my face, the cup warming my hands, and listening to my books on tape. Trust me, the kids don’t love their mornings either when their Mr. Witt has not be sufficiently satisfied. So, now I am spending roughly $30 a week, getting stained teeth, and ingesting two meal’s worth of calories before the rest of the world is even on their way to work.
I am a man, a very fallible man. I had been taught the dangers and sins of gay sex, tattoos, going to movie theaters, wearing jewelry, and reading books about magic. I’m addicted to all those (well, wearing rings actually comes and goes). You would think since I was never taught to avoid early morning coffee shops and cheeseburgers that I would not feel the need to over-indulge. My poor students and boyfriend. In a few years, all they will have to look at is a three hundred pound blob with yellowy-brown teeth with an assortment of monkey friends screeching while playing hide and seek in the rolls of fat.

right now, right here

The first of my official vacations as a teacher comes to an end this morning. I am once again in my khakis, “dress shoes,” and my shirt is tucked in. There will be no morning workout today, no walk with the dogs while the sun is up, no writing on the book. However, there also will not be kids today (not till tomorrow), so I get to ease back into it. Chad and I did so, so, so much over Christmas break, that it actually seemed much longer than two weeks. We for sure spent more than should be possible in two weeks. It was really nice though. Chad’s birthday, Christmas, New Year’s. Two weeks of firsts for us as a couple. Tons of movies. (Go see ‘Juno’, twice—we did. Skip ‘One Missed Call’—we should have.)
Christmas break was exactly what I hoped it would be. My goal was to get reintroduced to my book that I am writing. I rewrote nearly half of what I had previously written, and started on a new section of it. It is hard to see clearly, as I am so close to it and invested in it. You would think with as many books as I read that I would be able to look over what I have done so far and be able to see the true ‘book’ quality of my pages. I can’t. It may be the best thing ever written. (A literary critic somewhere just died from explosive laughter.) It also could be the biggest pile of crap seen anywhere. Every time I sit down, terror fills me. It is hard to shake. Sometimes, after a bit, the writing just flows and it is a blast, feeling like the story is just there, aching to come out. Most of the time though, the terror stays firmly intact. It really is one of the scariest things I have ever done, and I haven’t lived the most timid life…
At the end of the month, Chad and I will be celebrating our ten year anniversary. In gay years, at any rate. It is hard to believe it has been a year. In some ways, it seems like a few months, in others (most), it seems like years. Not in a bad way. We hung out with one of my very best girlfriends yesterday. She kept commenting on how we are like an old married couple already. It is a strange place to be in, but a good place. I look forward to our second year together. Now that most of our ‘firsts’ are past, it will be telling to see how our next year goes and what traditions of our relationship begin to form and cement. It is such a secure experience, to just assume that the other person is there and will always be there. To begin to take each other for granted. Isn’t that the whole point of being in a relationship? Pretty wonderful. Similar to writing, though, it is one of the scariest things I have done. I have more to loose than ever before. And, I would imagine that is when it would hurt the most, when you are in the place where you take for granted that you will simply always be together. You know, right when you relax and feel that you can lean back and enjoy getting a tan, that’s when your inflatable life raft pops and you sink down into shark-infested waters. Of course that is also when you can feel your raft come to an abrupt stop. You look down and realized you have come to rest on a deserted island in paradise. Here’s to living in the tropics.
Last year’s New Years Eve was the best I had ever had and I said I thought it boded well, that 2007 would be my best year yet. Well, I was right. Well, this year’s was fairly simple and easy. I hope that remains true for the rest of the year. In our security, I pray that Chad and I can use our groundedness to spread our wings and fly—both as a couple and in regards to our individual dreams and goals. May 2008 be a year of renewal and fulfillment in our house and in yours.

no news

Just as an update. I haven't been blogging due to the busy Christmas holidays. Oh, and because I have started writing on my book again. Every time I sit down to write, I am terrified, however, I think it is going well. Keep me in your thoughts, I really hope that this dream can come to fruition.

Side note: I got a Victoria Secret catalog in the mail today. Why? How do they even have my address? I mean really... Might as well be hate mail (shudder).