Matthew Stadler's Personal Weblog

What a week. The past nine days have been somewhat overwhelming. I’ve been thinking about mistakes. One thing I am admittedly terrible at is coming clean with my faults. In the past, I have run – even so far as to another continent – to escape the realities of my life and the what-ifs I’ve created for myself. I’m not going to mention my past indiscretions, for once again, that would mean dropping names you don’t wish to hear. After all, it’s still summer (for a few more weeks, anyway). Come autumn and I may just reinvent myself again and thus, create a new list of ideals. I can be good…as long as I have a new season and a new year and a new chance to change everything around. How can one stay in a single place for their entire life? I get restless in one spot for too long. I don’t see the point in remaining stagnant. It seems had I adopted this way of life, I might grow old twice as quickly. Whereas this once might have seemed a delicious thought to me, it scares me now that I am older and, let’s face it, wiser. Time will do that to a person. Now I am older and have more responsibilities, dare I say a family, people to please, etc. In short, I am forced to slow down and face the fears I tried for years to leave behind. Some people say, “The only way around is through.” Meaning in order to get over something – a hardship, a bad memory, a deadly sin – is by going straight through it. Confronting in directly. While this may seem terrifying, it must be done. In certain instances, there is absolutely no other way. I still maintain that in some cases, it is better to run, to forget the past and move ahead with your life without ever looking back. However diligently I pound this lopsided notion into my brain, I still find myself wondering: what did it all mean, anyway? Maybe I am a sadist and secretly, deep down, want to feel the pain I caused returned to me. Maybe I am just thinking too much because the summer is dragging on. There will be a certain peace when the seasons change. With the trees, I will turn over, change color, begin to die only to be regenerated and renewed. It is this metamorphosis I look forward to and count on to preserve my sanity. One thing I know for sure is that I am thinking way too much, locked in my own mind’s prison. It truly is the loneliest place to be, inside one’s head. I can’t seem to break through, no matter how many television programs I force myself to watch. Comedy usually does it. There is nothing better than laughter to pull you from the wrenches of your past. I never was a fan of clowns or tricks as a kid, but nowadays it seems those frivolous acts are a necessity to me. I need people to make me laugh, frolic around me with ridiculous costumes on and prance on my melancholy, beat it down to the ground. I may find my way to the airport soon, perhaps “find myself” (in more ways than one) somewhere other than here. Thinking of people of the past, I feel there is nothing better than to be straightforward. I must quit hiding from myself and others. I am only backtracking and wasting valuable time. Contrary to previous ways of thinking and outdated beliefs, I am neither invincible nor will I live forever. Yes, I am quite sure of it: it is time for a change. Change your mind, change your life. Where did I hear that? So many sayings and sound bytes. It all gets so repetitive and begins to make my life sound like one big cliché. I hate clichés! At least, I thought I did. The more I think about it, the more each and every cliché holds some sort of truth in my life. Every cheesy saying I ever read on the back of greeting cards or in the Sunday paper, every billboard and commercial with a schmaltzy message, every caption under photographs hanging in museums…they all make a sort of sense to me now. Am I just aging and giving into my sentimental side? Is the cynic in me dissolving and leading way to the pushover, the naïve schoolboy? Or am I just desperate to find meaning in an otherwise bleak past? I won’t solve this tonight. For now, I will just leave this open-ended question here for you all to wrap your heads around.

A few days after my last entry, I was awakened from probably the best sleep I'd had in months. The phone by my bed rang at a little after 2 o'clock in the morning. This reminds me: remove phone from bedside! I realize that the only reason I ever hooked up my phone there in the first place was because of all the movies I'd seen where an emergency call was received in the wee hours of the morning that the person sleeping in bed would have otherwise missed. People in movies are always answering the phone next to the bed. But this wasn't an emergency. It was just annoying. The call came on Friday night, the 10th. Or, I should say Saturday morning. I looked at the alarm clock to regrettably find that it read 2:17 am. Who in the hell could be calling me at 2:17? My heart skipped, thinking it may be that emergency I was forever afraid of. But a fraction of me thought that it could only be a wrong number, for no one had ever called me so late…or, early. When I answered, I could barely speak. I had just been awoken – interrupted – from a heavenly, deep sleep that I could only imagine was what researchers referred to as R.E.M. I was dreaming of Alaska, strange as that seems. I went on a trip with my father when I was very young. I may have not been older than five, though I can't exactly recall my definite age. All I know was that I was terrified of the ice. We cruised by bergs on a boat that was stocked with fishing equipment and life vests. I hung on to mine as a baby clings to his security blanket. In my dream, however, I was sailing alone. I was fishing and swimming. I may have even been flying. The cold was not cold at all. It was warm and inviting. Imagine having been torn from this dream where freedom and fantasy collide. When I discovered who was on the other line, I was even more dismayed. My ex-girlfriend, Elizabeth! Now, I realize you have not the foggiest notion of whom I speak. But trust in this: a call from Elizabeth is never a good call at all! Especially at 2 in the morning! All anger aside, she sounded sweet on the phone. I should know from past experiences that her sweetness is merely a disguise for bitterness and the need for constant attention. Still, it succeeded in calming my own irritation and after five or so minutes, I softened to her kind and charming voice. She asked how I was, told me she'd just gotten home after a long night at the club and that she was catching an early flight to PDX. She would be in Portland for a week before moving on to Seattle. Her motive? She said she needed to get away, that she wanted to see me to "catch up." I detected reluctance in her voice when she said "catch up," and knew right away there was something more, something she wasn't telling me. Still hopeful about catching a few more good hours of sleep, I agreed to meet her at the airport and hung up the phone. As you may have guessed, though, I couldn't get back to sleep. I thought about Elizabeth for four more hours before rising out of bed and hopping in the shower. Elizabeth was a party girl, constantly moving and looking for newer and better. This was undoubtedly why we never worked as a couple. She bored of me faster than I could say, "What happened?" and left me brokenhearted five years ago. Over the years apart, I'd occasionally hear from her but never called her myself. I learned a long time ago that you don't go chasing something that doesn't want to be caught. Even writing this, though, after what I've experienced the past couple of weeks, seems futile. I feel like everything might have changed dramatically and I am still waiting for it to settle in. After I picked Elizabeth up from the airport, we had lunch. Lunch led to dinner which led to helping her find a place to stay. As usual, she hadn’t made any firm plans, which of course left me feeling responsible for her. There were no vacant hotel rooms nearby and it was getting late in the evening. I told her she could sleep on my bed and I'd take the couch. She seemed thankful and also a little sad. I joked and told her that if she really wanted it, she could have the couch. She didn't laugh. The sky was getting dark and streetlights were beginning to cast strange shadows. That's when Elizabeth leaned in to kiss me. We spent the next week together, going to coffee shops and window shopping. I showed her my favorite restaurants and teased that I would take her if and when she decided this time it was for good. You see, I'm just too old to play games anymore. I like Elizabeth; hell, I loved Elizabeth. On Sunday, when her plane was set to take off for Seattle, she looked at me and promised she'd be back in a week. I spent the past six days thinking of what she'd promised me and if it could mean more. Could "I'll be back" mean she was coming back to stay? If not, I would curse myself for falling into her tricks again. One more day and all shall be revealed…