The new podcast, Notes On The Spectrum, begins here: Singing Enough discussion
I began my choir journey in fifth grade with Mr. Nelson and all the pretty girls in school. Singing was good for us. Good for my spirit. I’d tasted fame for the first time as a singer. The lead in the year-end finale. The bhurgermeister. I got the role because I was cute and a good singer. I leaned into the celebrity by asking three different girls to be my girlfriend. I learned early on, the words “I love you” had untold power. I learned later in life that “love” was not the glue that kept people together.
One of the three girlfriends found out about the others, the afternoon following my performance. All three promptly told me to go to hell. The nasty girl came back. She wasn’t really the one I wanted. I still know all three of the women, now in their early sixties like me. One is still gorgeous. I see them from time to time at the football events surrounding our old local high school. I haven’t been in several years. I think I was disinvited on Facebook due to my comments on Facebook. LOL.
I remember rehearsing for the show. Running around for recess and being called in to rehearse my German lines. I was singing in fucking German. Turns out, most of my friends in the coming years of high school had been in the musical. Not all of them were fans. Many of them were silent detractors. I was one of the popular kids. I think the guys hated me. I was also making straight As without much effort. I was a trad pudgy, and my dad was an alcoholic on his descent. It was heaven and hell. Then everything blew apart.
I think, in many ways, I am still striving for that level of “YES.” I want one girlfriend. I want a massive release from my day job. I want love love love. I have several missions, now clearly articulated.
- be loved by everyone
- the ongoing commitment and love of a single woman
- the fame to be able to write for my supper
So far, I’m oh for three.
The treasure map is still in my mind. I have chosen to focus on my internal resilience and energy for now. By releasing the idea of my partner, I am manifesting something greater than I have ever known. That’s the idea anyway. I can’t recreate my favorite sister. I can’t marry for love or sexual chemistry. I might not marry. What’s the point? Insurance? I think, as a man, I immediately give away half of everything I’ve accumulated so far in life. For what?
My first marriage and wedding ring seemed mystical in my late twenties. She was thin, austere, sexy, and completely mad. I didn’t see it. I experienced it in high definition on our honeymoon to Greece. I had married an unhappy camper. Someone who got feral when they didn’t feel well. Backed into the corner of our state room on the cruise ship in Mykonos. I knew in my gut I’d made the biggest mistake of my young life. It played out over the next five years. I tried two times to initiate the divorce, but was blindsided by her action while I was away on a business trip to New York City, launching some of the first interactive marketing programs for Dell Computer Corporation at Comdex.
The restraining order was delivered to my company’s office, I was served in the lobby. I left for the day and retrieved my two cats and favorite guitar. I retired to my mom’s house. She’d filed while I was on a trip. Classic. Her dad was a divorce attorney who provided the nudge for the preemptive strike. She locked down the bank accounts, secured the condo, and asked me to move out and stay 500 feet away from my own house.
No kids, thank god.
I’m wondering how choir in middle school kept me hopeful. Breathing and singing with so many pretty girls. Hopeful. Optimistic. And a strong tenor. The singing was part of my DNA. I grew up entertaining my sister’s girlfriends through my bedroom window. I developed a fetish for girls’ underwear drawers after that. I still have a fascination with girls’ underthings. I mean, what male doesn’t? It’s a mystery. All those straps, snaps, opportunities. Girls were a mystery and a spiritual salvation of sorts.
I guess I still think that, somewhat. Girl ≠ God, but it’s close. So, I wander alone in the desert for now. Like Jesus, I’m tempted by different lives available to me. Crime. Debauchery. Drugs. Manic moonshots and mood swings.
I am still singing. Muted a bit at this very moment, as I focus exclusively on my job hunt and this “work.” Words and a job. No woman. No extraneous expenses. No beach or snow trips. Just me, just here, just now. Just figuring out my next move. Pushing for something less volatile. Fantasies about how she will be looking for me, too. As excited and driven as I am, and mad about me. Hmm. Sounds like a fantasy. Sounds like my role in fifth grade. Girls everywhere. Smiles. Immortality.
I’m working on my “leave behind” now. What will remain when I’ve ascended for real? My kids. My music and books. My memory. I may be whispering to you now, while still alive, but I will be hanging around, inside Amazon.com, until the sun goes out. There’s pressure to get the publishing work done. Any books, poems, and songs on this laptop when I die will never be found. The laptop will be tossed into the bottom of the ocean.
That is all.
