The Flight of the Rocketman

I can fly
but I want his wings
I can sight (?)
but even in the darkness
I crave the light that he brings
revel in the songs that he sings
my angel Gabriel

I can love
but I need his heart
-- Gabriel, performed by Lamb (written by Andrew Barlow and Lou Rhodes)

I've been sick. I've been horribly sick. I'm about to tell you a little bit about my self; little details that you may not want to know -- personal hygiene details that is extremely private and sometimes, digusting. But I must make my point.

I love showers (or baths) and I try to shower at least twice a day. If I can manage a rational, three would help make an exceptional day. I am very conscious of this little part of my body care. I can't even go down to the laundromat without a quick little shower. It's a mania of mine. I must always be presentable and clean.

Unlike many fortunate people, I have irregular bowel movements and, so all my astrological signs dictate have poor digestive abilities. Many kinds of food (most of the time, food that I like) makes me gaseous. And often enough, I have loose bowel movement (told you this would be gross, but I have been praised for my candidness, and I assure you, I have a point to make). Lately, I have been fortunate to have firmer... well, bowel; but I've been adding a lot more fiber into my diet.

I eat and eat and eat. I love to eat. I always believed someone who does not like to experiment and taste new kinds of dishes, well, there's something wrong with that person. After all, eating is one of the (if not THE) greatest metaphors for life. The partaking of delicious food in order to survive. It is both necessary (to sustain our life) and pleasurable (honestly, eating is fun and great).

And because of my sickness, everything is topsy-turvy. Everytime I take a Paracetamol, I begin to sweat profusely. I've never been a pill-popper so I don't know if this is a standard thing. It is good for me because it means I am removing a lot of toxins from my body. But it also leaves me, well, sweaty, and smelly and downright disgusting. I wish to take a shower but I shouldn't because it might aggravate my fever more so (I sneak in an occasional hot shower when everyone is busy so they can't stop me). I've been reduced to one shower a day! Horrors!

Because of my swollen throat (not only have my wisdom teeth been removed, now I have toncillitis as well... it always pours, it never drizzles) I cannot eat solids. And here in Bacolod, all food is delicious. And I cannot eat a bite. I've been reduced to fruits and milk and a lot of water. So I'm losing mass... mass I've gained from two months of going to the gym everyday, gone because of a week of this damned condition. But my belly grows because of all the water I'm drinking. Sweet, huh?

Because I'm not eating... I barely eat; I haev not taken a shit in days! I think that's bad... I am malnourished (see Anonymous, I learn! *wink*) and this is very bad. When I get better, it will take a while to be able to nurse myself back to proper health.

How sad! Months of hard work, stripped away to nothingness... so quickly! A shame! A true shame...

But if anything, all this writing, all this working has been bliss. Hidden from the world, where no one knows where I am (or at least very few); I'm able to accomplish so much. Putting my best abilities, my talent to full use. Maybe I should've been a dancer, maybe that was my calling, but this is the path I chose and I forged it. I worked hard to become a writer and I'm a writer now. I've been writing since I was 14; professionally, making my own money with the words that I put together.

And I'm sick, my head burns and throbs, I am swimming through molasses, sometimes there is clarity (thank you Paracetamol) and I get to finish my work in due time. And the work is fine, sometimes it is excellent, and there is a little touch of genius in some parts (if I may say so). How wonderful to come to my own, here in Bacolod and sick and sweaty and dirty and under-bathed and hungry.

But I can do it. When push comes to shove, I can do it. I believe in myself. I can do it. I can do whatever I put my mind to. And if I can, so can anyone else. I must admit, I do not have great willpower... If I can, anyone can.

Bless the day he came to me
Angel's wings carried him to me
Heavenly

I can fly...
-- Gabriel, performed by Lamb (written by Andrew Barlow and Lou Rhodes)

I realized something. Sleeping, lying down a lot, resting. I cannot stop thinking, even in illness. I've made a grave and serious mistake. I've made a terrible, terrible error.

Friendster and connexion has been a big mistake. Making new friends in the net. What a concept! It works. It happens and I've made a few. But I am the kind of person who needs to be deeply set into a relationship to make it work. Very few people are privileged to not be so close to me but still have the same fondness we always had when we are together. But most of the time, before we reach that level of true friendship (when time and distance do not matter), there must be a lot of time shared. And chatting on-line does not create that bond. And how can I meet up with new friends, when air-head and scatter-brained as I am, I would rather secure a sure company with my old friends, tried and true than take a chance to see if I connect with this stranger?

Whether we've chatted forever, the truth is, we're still strangers. For me, anyway, nothing beats flesh and blood. And I've made so many mistakes, made assumptions, fooled by pictures and words and I can't afford to make more mistakes. I am too involved with certain people, too involved with my work, too involved with my self. There is very little time left for strangers. I guess, I should have to meet them the regular way, before internet and text messaging. Before we were left as designations in our cellular number or internet IDs.

It's time, I think, to get out of this virtual world I've trapped myself in. It's time to go back, full-tilt boogie to reality. And I believe in my wake, I've made expectations, I may have even led people on. I have assumed, judged, punished, bitched, bitch-slapped, praised and so many more... I have made a grievous error and there is no way I can think to apologize for it properly.

I am sorry. I am truly sorry. But I was mistaken. I fooled myself to think that it was true. And maybe it was, but I seem to neither have the time nor the capacity to carry it through. Instead of keeping any expectation, I drop them all now. Please forgive me for rash behaviour.

Consolation: just because I had no time nor capacity, does not mean I was not sincere. I truly wanted to connect. But I'm afraid... Afraid of disappointment and wasted time.

I fell out of her eyes
I fell out of her heart
I fell down on my face
I tripped and missed my star
I fell and fell alone
The moon's a harsh mistress
The sky's made of stone
The moon's harsh mistress
She's hard to call your own
-- The Moon is a Harsh Mistress, written by Jimmy Webb (performed by Joe Cocker, Judy Collins, Linda Rondstadt or Joan Baez [but I like Rondstadt's version the best])

I come from self-discovery back to sentimental mushy shit. Forgive me, once again, but this is me.

To a particular someone: You come and you go. Like the tides, tugged through many miles by the gravity of the moon. The moon is a harsh mistress. The moon can be so cold. Yet you return now and I don't know why. And you are so distant but close enough to touch. I once again yearn for your touch, and even just to see your face.

I fear I cannot love anyone else until I'm over you. And when your influence begins to wane and fade, you call. You know, somehow, you can tell. Or coincidence is unkind. I don't know if you will let me go. I don't know if you know how I feel. I don't know if you are afraid to reciprocate. I don't know if you know how far and how deep I am willing to go with you.

This is, as Bonnie Raitt would sing, a Circle Dance. If I had her CD with me now, I would, once again, put an epigraph of the lyrics here. But I don't. Instead, the moon is a harsh mistress and in your distance, you are cold and it is hard to love you well.

Let me in.