All That Jazz

8:35am The birds wake me up. Something about the sun rising gets them squawking like gays gossiping on the outside patio of a party. It's way too early for me to be awake after being up until about 4am. I think my body knew I needed water. While I was up getting that I remembered that I hadn't cleaned and decided to get that out of the way before coming back upstairs. Clean what? Hmm... it occurs to me that I have a weekend to recap and I'm not sure what exactly I want to remember about it. This raises a bigger question in my head right now, "What is this journal for?"

I've always written. I've played with words. I remember being in 1st, 2nd, 3rd grade and writing little rhyming poems. Writing would grow in junior high school to become a source of recognition. Not only was I different from other kids in terms of what I knew but also in how I expressed it. Writing would become a source of sanity to cope in the form of a handwritten journal all through high school. So in thinking about what writing is for now, I think that it's part recognition, part sanity but also part posterity. When I'm 80, the ole brain wont fire up the same way it does now and what will be left of my life and why is that important? A legacy. Some people have children to carry that on for them. Others build dreams in businesses. We all play a part in interacting with others and that interaction shapes a memory that in turn is part of our legacy.

So what of this weekend? I've become increasingly aware of people reading this. ((No shit Jeremy the link is posted in your AOL profile)) I remember this happening a few years back and that knowledge creates a certain bias in how I relate information. Even if I say to myself, "Just type whatever." The reality is that my brain will concoct some way of filtering. Also... somewhat more moral questions come up. My life is mine to broadcast or not as I see fit, however, my life crosses the paths of others that I mention in my thoughts here in this journal. If I choose to write about any specific people and in turn relate aspects of their life, is it acceptable to do so without their permission? Do I need it? If these are just my personal thoughts on the matter does it matter? Does it boil down to what I'm saying about their life? What the subject matter is? How personal it is to them?

Hypothetical Scenario: I write about someone. They read it and then contact me and ask me to not write about their life so that others can read it. On the one hand I want to comply. On the other hand I now want to write about them contacting me and asking me not to write about them.

I've thought about changing names, but that's just cheesy and ultimately I am not writing fiction here. I am writing about my life and the people in it. Changing names or not mentioning them at all is just stupid. "Friend #1" and "Friend #2." Ahhh.. dumb I say.

There was an impromptu BBQ yesterday. Burgers, cards, friends, drinking and laughter. Oh...can't forget the Coldstone. I have some amazing people in my life. Sebastian continues to grow and become someone that I trust and look forward to seeing. He has a good soul. Smile. Chuck and Arturo always make me laugh. Individually, but even more so when they're together. They play off each other. It feels good to have them close to me because they were lessons in love that helped in who I am today. You never see that when you're going through a current relationship, but years down the road you can absolutely identify items of growth. If those people are still in your life, you also then have a reference of change. It's always sad to me when I lose that connection with an ex.

Enter Randy. We've been talking more lately. Sharing the daily things of life. Talking like friends. I've been wanting his input on situations because I know he knows me on a level that few do or ever can. He visited Saturday night. My arms are sore from supporting my body weight in the thrusting simulation of sex. I just realized right now as I'm typing this paragraph why I'm sore. Laughter. I paused just now for a few minutes.... I don't think I'm ready to write about this yet. I know my head was trying to process all day yesterday. I brought it up to friends. Quick flashes: okay, comforting, manipulation, want, drink, fun, smiles, memory, love, loss, eyes--seeing in. I'm glad that I don't feel sad about anything. No regrets. No longing. Maybe this stuff is really working.

I STAND CORRECTED. A few entries ago I typed about rules in relationships. Turns out Rey made the rule. My bad. Funny thing about rules. I'm a stickler about following them and at the same time I'll find any way to bend them. Any loophole to point out how flawed they may be. I'll even break them. Hahaha... sometimes. I suppose all things are a measure of the parts that make up the whole. There's always an affinity toward those who have jammed more experience into their years than is natural. Who is to say what natural is? I know. Experience teaches, but ultimately it's we who decide which lessons we learn. Reading this Danger Boy? hahahaha... There's this song that I was talking to Randy about and trying to recall for Rey. It's "All Hooked Up" by All Saints. The catch line for me in the song is, "I know you want a piece of my ass. Don't you know that a guy like you wouldn't last?" It's just a cool song to me. And so new connections begin to form.

I've been writing for almost an hour. That hardly ever happens. I do want to get some more sleep in now. The very thought produces a yawn. Damn birds are still chirping.