sound sleep

I had a hard time falling asleep yesterday. It took effort. My mind, racing, was unable to slow down. I was excited, and I wanted to tell the world. Actually, the world already knew.

The day started quite uneventful. Wake up, work out, work. A cycle without end in the near future. I'm oddly at peace with it though for now. Courtney and I had another Skype video call yesterday which lasted damn near all afternoon, but I'm not complaining. Joyful minutes passed. Her friend force-fed us the question "If you were at a bar and someone asked if you had a boyfriend, would you say yes or no?". Hesitation followed. We hadn't had that talk yet. Well, we have, but didn't come to any conclusions.

So we decided we should have the talk, and actually reach the finish line this time.

And now we come to the reason I was having troubles falling asleep. We made it quite clear that we wanted to take this to the next level, despite land and sea for miles separating us for the time being.

Everything feels right.

The cherry on top was forgetting that paychecks were sent out this week. I logged in to see how much I got shafted by taxes, only to see a fairly large number under the column "quarterly bonus". Whoa.

Not a single problem with the day. I rocked out at work and was able to resolve 14 separate sessions, or computers, taking me above the expectations. I started a new chapter in life with someone important. I received a large quarterly bonus. I played video games with friends.

I slept soundly once I was able to fall asleep, though. It was a good sleep, waking up with a giant smile on my face. Two days off in a row. No responsibilities, no appointments, no schedule. The only worry is that she will travel safely to her vacation destination this weekend, and have a great time. But that's all I can do; worry.

A text message was sent to Bobby, checking in to see if he wanted to reconnect over a beer this evening. To my surprise he said yes, so that's on the agenda today. Maybe I was lying; I do have a relaxed schedule for these next two days. However I do plan on visiting with my bundle of love Bowie at my parents house. Teach my father how to use Google Wallet so we can forgo writing checks for the cellphone bill payment.

Touching on the subject I forgot about a few days ago, I'd like to take some time and talk about pixels. They're all that separate us in the world today. Sorry, I'm guilty though. I play video games with friends, but that doesn't involve sitting next to each other with controllers in hand. Instead, it involves communicating over Skype, with the only interaction being vocal, and representing each other through pixels. Want to communicate with a friend? Text message in the form of pixels and bits of data. Hang out with someone? No, just "like" their status on Facebook. Hell, even my job involves absolutely no form of in-person social interaction, instead, we communicate through chat. Pixels.

Is this how life is supposed to be? Has human nature rapidly evolved from in-person social interaction to pixels? Courtney and I were talking yesterday about how technology is inevitable. But it makes me wonder if it's for better or worse.

Tonight, in-person social interaction. I'm going against the norm.

Music: David Bowie - The Stars Are Out Tonight

telegraph ave

I sit on my couch, rum and cola in hand.

Bacardi and Pepsi Max, to be exact. Something I'm not particularly proud of, but I'm saving my money for other endeavors.

I awoke this morning in a panic thinking I worked at noon, only to look at my phone and see that I was actually scheduled at four o'clock. Bliss.

Sleeping in. Something I haven't done in a while. It ate away like acid on skin. I enjoyed most of it, but my day was gone. I slept until noon. Video games ensued, then an attempt to the gym. I gathered my belongings and set on the road. Traffic. At the 35th Street intersection, I saw heavy traffic on Interstate 35, which turned my mind the other way. Turning the wheel home, I decided the gym wasn't on today's schedule. The time was three o'clock and I was hungry. Burger King on Nicollet Avenue called my name.

Mistakes.

I ordered a bacon cheeseburger and a medium french fry. The old Ian would go all-out: Double cheeseburger, large french fry, and maybe a second sandwich. I've changed. Food isn't a pleasure anymore, it's a necessity. I eat to live, not live to eat. The french fries tasted like chemicals. I ate half out of hunger. The burger, mediocre at best, was forced down.

Long for the days of childhood, I reminisced on when I'd order a "King-sized french fry" to enjoy the potato-ey goodness. I fucking loved those french fries. I remember the days of wrestling when, after I weighed in for the State Championship tournament in Rochester, MN, I'd ask my mother to drive us to Burger King to order french fries. Innocence.

Work came and went.

I'm disappointed I didn't go to the gym today.

Courtney left her Skype logged in on her phone. An enthusiastic message was sent, just to be received by an empty phone. She responded after a few hours, which absolutely made my evening. The highlight of my day is speaking to her. Pixels separate us, yet pixels keep us together. I've never felt this strong about someone before.

We conversed quite a bit. Sam and I had some good talk, as well. She hinted at I coming down there to visit quite strongly. The ticket has been sitting on my desk since May. Back in May, we didn't talk much. Previous blog entries may have hinted at this, though. I didn't believe we'd grow this close, and that I'd use the money on technology. Wrong. By ticket, I mean money. It's sitting there, accruing nothing by dust. Money is no qualm. I just need to know when the time is right. I want to visit, and I will. Money comes and goes. Feelings and...

I can't say it yet. The time isn't right. I haven't said it to her, but I will.

The ice has melted in my Rum and Cola. On reddit, someone was struggling with a break-up. I let them know that it does get better. Four years ago, I thought I found "the one". I was horribly mistaken. I went through the following months thinking I'd never find someone better. Thinking that I was trash, and a terrible person. Four years later, my thoughts have changed.

Four years later, I've found someone special. Met through pixels, and that's how we live now. I think this is the start of something special.

I hope it is.

Music: Childish Gambino - telegraph ave ("Oakland" by Lloyd)

six, not seven

I was asked the question: "What'd you do today?".

I had to think for a moment. The time was 9pm on Monday, September 8th. To a point, I didn't think the day actually existed. Work kept me until 1 in the morning, and sleep wasn't possible until around 3:30, when my body decided to call it quits. When I awoke around 10:30 in the morning, a mere 7 hours later work was next on my schedule, starting in only an hour and a half. I went for a jog around Lake Calhoun - a tough one at that. My body wasn't ready for exercise. In what only seemed like moments, work came and went like summer break in eighth grade - with haste.

My mind didn't fully comprehend that it was actually Monday. Not to sound repetitive, but it didn't actually feel like a full day. I slept in as late as possible, then woke up for work, exercised, conversed with someone, then went to bed. Exhaustion prevailed over my willingness to stay up late.

Sleep.

Or lack thereof. I have been tossing and turning every night in recent memory. Something doesn't feel right.

With work not arriving until 6 this evening, the day looks to be productive. A short trip to IKEA, where I was able to purchase some odds and ends for my kitchen. I installed a rack to hang my stirring spoons, spatulas, can opener, and other accessories from. It looks nice, adding character to an otherwise barren and ugly wall.

Target, deciding to assault my wallet once again, provided me with shelf liner. Eight dollars and forty-nine cents. However, I am extremely happy with the results. Storing kitchen utensils and china will no longer make excessive noise, and it makes the entire setup much more welcoming. Odd, I know.

Workers came to resurface parts of my ceiling, and like last time, left an absolute mess. Adhesive and caulk splattered through my bedroom and bathroom akin to a murder scene. Frustrated, I decided to do a half-cleaning of my entire apartment. All surfaces, rugs, carpets, and furniture cleaned.

Productivity.

I now sit at the same coffee shop in Northeast Minneapolis. I should open a credit card with this coffee shop to reap rewards or something, but I don't believe they offer one. They have a hard enough time keeping small bills in the register for change. My coffee is themed after the country El Salvador with hints of honey, rum, and something else. I forget. The caffeine hasn't taken effect yet.

Much has been accomplished already, and I would still like to get a good exercise session in, and hopefully a long bicycle ride if the skies don't break into rain. I am not hopeful. Gloom looks to take place for the next few days. A chill, with the possibility of frost on Saturday.

Winter is Coming. Or so the saying goes. I'll be stuck working inside my apartment, windows frosted, heat rising from the radiator, alone. Ones and zeroes. Bits of data are the sole form of communication between important people and myself.

Though, it makes me think. Is this how it should be?

I try to tell myself that everything happens for a reason, but I often ask myself if these things were supposed to happen in the first place.

blue and gold

Blue skies, gold rays. Pristine. It would be hard pressed to eclipse today's weather. A light breeze with few worries in the air.

Last night was an interesting one, to say the least. It began by meeting at Steve's apartment, and then nabbing a ride to Brit's Pub in downtown Minneapolis. After arriving, I observed their menu that stated they had sugar-free Redbull. Delighted, I ordered a vodka redbull. A mistake for my checking account.

$11.50.

We moved on to Barrio; a tequila bar with a welcoming atmosphere, yet still exhibiting class. A dark ambience lit by candles at each table. A sophisticated assortment of tequilas lining the bar, lit by a white light, almost as if they were holy. I ordered chips and salsa ahead of our tequila sampling; Steve a shredded beef taco. His never came. My chips were on the house.

Our tequila had hints of spice and chile pepper. A pineapple finish. Sweet, without the need for a chaser slice of orange. The waiter provided us with additional orange slices, dusted with cinnamon. They were reminiscent of apple pie filling, oddly enough.

One thing led to another and we ended up at Club Jager in the North Loop. I bought the round of drinks for all, and we had a fairly good time. Inside, I was battling emotions of nostalgia, as the last time I visited, someone important to me accompanied my side. Dancing wasn't the same.

The Minnesota Vikings started their regular season today and won in a dominating fashion. It makes the weeks pass by faster. That's all I have to say about that, really.

I'm going to keep this post short. Nobody really reads it anyways, but I guess it's a nice place for me to release my mind onto a visual medium. I'll wrap it up by saying I had an amazing conversation with an amazing person today.

~

melancholy waves

Drowsy. The only word to describe how I felt this morning when I woke. Much to my surprise, I awoke around 11am and mustered 8 hours of sleep. Perhaps it was the knock-off Nyquil I took last night. It may have been the guitar music I was jamming around 3am as well. My brain trying to stay as far away from the self-created music as possible.

I don't blame it.

Last night, original plans consisted of hitting the gym (again), but was then presented the opportunity to meet with friends, both new and old. Much to my surprise, someone I know through another group of friends was there last night as well. Chris was surprised to hear the name "Ian" before he saw it was actually me, and came to the conclusion that I'm the only "Ian" in Minneapolis. Apparently, when someone hears my name, it's me. Not Ian Jones. Ian Hunter. Ian Smith. I am the Ian in Minneapolis. Funny.

"$2 mystery bottles" were the theme of the night at Liquor Lyles. Ryan's persistent efforts to corral blonde women to our booth proved fruitless at times, but drew good chuckles from the table. My hands often met my face, in attempt to convey the message of "it wasn't me, it was him. I'm just here for the beers." Which I was.

I only had two beers. Earlier in the evening I had a glass of Balvenie "Doublewood" 12 year single malt scotch. Tasty. Sweet, smooth, and savory. Fondue au Fromage de Chevre was shared amongst my table guests. Delicious. A subtle evening, but one I enjoyed as deep conversations were had; laughs as well.

Apparently, playing guitar sounds much better after a beer or two. Around 2:30am I placed headphones around my head, turned on my amplifier, and pressed play on my phone. In only a few moments, I felt like the music I was playing sounded good. I was able to close my eyes and play along with the song without missing a note. Euphoric. I suspect I play with less fault because I'm more relaxed and less worried about missing a note.

Progress.

I now sit writing this at a coffee shop in Northeast Minneapolis. I'm sitting at a rather large table meant for 6 people. Five, including myself, currently occupy it. There's room for one more next to me. I grow used to the chair next to me being empty. I often wonder if someone will come fill the chair next to me, or choose to sit next to someone else instead. If the latter, I am always curious as to why they chose to sit next to someone else instead of me.

Was it the way I dressed? I'm wearing white shorts with a purple and grey striped t-shirt. Hideous wouldn't be an accurate description. Some effort was put into my outfit. Did I smell? Do I have "resting bitch face syndrome"?

Perhaps it was just a random choice. Usually is.

A couple with a small child sits at the table across from me. Apple Macbooks everywhere. Oddly enough, most patrons here seem to be productive: iMovie projects, photo editing, or writing. It's Saturday. The "work week" has leaked onto and stained the weekend.

My coffee turns lukewarm, only halfway finished. An "El Salvador" coffee; honey, graham, and hints of rum, I think. I should wrap this up and continue with my day. Cold coffee, unless iced, is no bueno. Soon I'll be on my way below the coffee shop to get in my daily workout. I've already bicycled 12 miles around the lakes near my apartment this morning, but that's not enough. Luckily, I was able to nab a bench at Lake Calhoun to rest. My "Game of Thrones" book was in the backpack I brought along, so I was able to sit in the sun and read a few chapters on the lakeshore for an hour or so. Quite relaxing.

I look forward to the evening.

Music: Gorillaz - On Melancholy Hill

reflections from choppy water

"That's an interesting assortment of items, today" he said.

The cashier at Target. An aging man with grey hair, receding from his forehead as if it was trying to find safety. Scared. However, his face gentle, kind, and welcoming. I chuckled and agreed, noting that I only buy items as I need them instead of stocking my shelves in preparation for the void of activities planned.

Only buying the items I need. Chips. I ate half the bag today. The Rockstar drink remains chilled in my refrigerator. The picture frames remain empty.

I was hesitant to buy the frames. They are for two pictures, but I question why I was hesitant. Was the $1.99 frame out of my budget? No. Am I scared to provide a permanent home for something that always holds the possibility of being temporary? Do I adorn the casualness of moving the photographs freely? There has to be a reason I was so hesitant to purchase silly picture frames, but I'm not sure why.

Last night was terrible. I tossed and turned, having nightmares throughout the evening. Waking up in a sweat. Heartbreak. Horror. I saw loved ones, new and old, vanishing before me. The dream is a bit obscure now as I write this hours later, but it was still an unpleasant one. I woke up at 6am, unable to fall back asleep. The day has dragged on.

During work, I decided to occupy myself with a hobby and attempted to play a new song on my guitar. "I won't see you tonight, Part 1". I've got most of it down, but the more I try to perfect it, the more I realize my time is wasted towards being something I can't. I won't be well-versed with a guitar. I can't. My hands are small. At best, I'll be able to play some power chords and settle with that. Sometimes I question why I try.

I wanted to spent another $2 for a cup of Honduran or El Salvadorian coffee at the coffee shop, but I was pressed for time. A mediocre workout took place below the coffee shop instead, and I spent 10 minutes at home to help with the garage sale. I didn't have time to reflect on the choppy waters; perhaps tomorrow.

The night grows on. Work is done, my phone and any forms of social outreach lay quiet throughout the day. I may explore a bar with my cousin to talk about things; life, love, liberty, leisure.

No home runs, no strikeouts. A measly base hit. Perhaps I'll try to steal second, and make up for lost ground.

Music: Dream Koala - We Can't Be Friends

Chamomile Tea with Honey

Chamomile tea with honey. I sit on my 1980's couch with hot tea on the coffee table. A fruit fly is buzzing around my ear, but why? I have no fruit sitting on my kitchen counter; a can of pineapple cut into chunks resides in the refrigerator, unopened.

The past nights have been cool. Does the warmth draw them in?

I've been looking for a time-sink. Maybe I'll start writing on this more often than once every five years. Something to jot down thoughts, inspirational ideas, or methods of saving the world.

Anyways, enough with the regular blog crap. Does anyone even write on blogs anymore? I thought vlogs on YouTube were the new thing. Oh well. The past week has been an interesting one. A week ago, I woke up vomiting uncontrollably, wondering whether or not I should visit the hospital since I was extremely dehydrated and couldn't walk straight, let alone think straight. Stubbornness prevailed and I lived to see another day. The weekend one was one in which I, surprisingly, remained sober. A short car trip brought me to Turtle Lake, Wisconsin, where I spent the weekend with friends, both old and new ones I had just met.

Being able to observe drunk human nature while sober is an interesting one. Men and woman alike are less hesitant to talk to each other. Unlike the real world, where men rarely speak to women, and you have better chances at getting struck by lightning than a woman speaking to a man first. It was fun people-watching, in all honesty. Human nature does a complete 180 turn when under the influence. Someone said they admired my beard, and my friends gave me shit for having a beard in the middle of Summer. They didn't get admired, though.

The trip had its drawbacks. Josh got me sick with a sharp cold, much like a severe storm compared to a hurricane. It was short, but extremely strong and vicious. Not a "hurricane" cold that lasted several days and slowly tore away at my sanity.

I cough. Take a sip of my tea which is still too hot to drink. Big mistake.

My phone is much quieter these days. Unlimited texting is not worth the cost anymore.

Today though, I went to a coffee shop and enjoyed a Honduran coffee in memory of someone important. It tasted sweet with hints of rum and berries. I did sit alone, listening to others chatter with their friends, colleagues, loved ones, significant others. Reading articles on how to become a better version of "me". Me 2.0, I guess you could say. It was relaxing in a way, taking in the sonder.

My father asked me to come help him move things out of my parents house for a garage sale. A bit of a nostalgic hit, seeing all my childhood items go to others for pennies. I hope they find a good home and make someone else happy the way they did for me.

Then work came, where I work the IT version of a graveyard shift: 4pm-12 midnight. It has its ups and downs. Outside of the usual work responsibilities, the time allows me certain privileges. I get to chat with people that mean the world to me, yet I do not get to see them. I get to relate with them, yet I do not get to be with them. I get to understand them, yet I cannot understand them.

But I try. It's all I can do. I can try to relate, listen, understand, help, and be there, without being there. It's a difficult task, but that's the curveball that life throws. It's the bottom of the 9th and there are 2 outs in the inning. One wrong swing and it's all over. One right swing, and I've hit it out of the park.

Don't strike out.

Music: Japanese Wallpaper - Breathe In (ft. Wafia)