Self-Censorship

For some reason, my fingers won't allow me to type what it is I really want to talk about today. I have an idea, a thought, a feeling--an assertion, even--that is making me crazy. I have officially gotten all up in my head today. And until I make it out, which will be after I listen to a couple meaningful songs on the iTunes and get drunk on That Feeling...I will write about two things that have been important to me this week.

First, I had a 30 minute conversation with the oh-so-fabu Mr. D.Soll on Wednesday (Note: D.Soll is an old co-worker of mine--see the January entry "Farewell my Friend" for deets). We had a chat, talked about the status of things, the relationships, the sex, the cities we live in (NY and LA), and pickup trucks. We talked about how Dave Matthews Band was shooting a video 20 feet away from me and how it made me think of senior year of high school (when "Crash" seemed like a good song to fuck to). Then, I walked into my office and he was standing right in front of me.

He had come to town for his cousin's wedding and surprised us all. That is why this man is one of my favs. Past the exterior of pretentious words and mumbling, he just really likes making people happy. What a guy. How wonderful it is to be sitting at my desk and have him walk in and start complaining about something straight out of the gate. He accuses me of stealing his headphones, dirtying his desk, and erasing his projects and I just laugh and laugh.

For Christmas, I made us "I Want You on Team Zissou" shirts. D.Soll's says Team Zisson, because I was drunk and turned the iron-on letter U upside down. Four Kir Royale's will do that to HellCat...the funny thing was that on Wednesday, I was wearing mine for the first time. It was fate.

So welcome back, guy. What a lovely few days it's been. Thank you for listening to my stories, understanding why I think the Hitch Theorem is the secret to dating success, and telling me that I'm right. You are a gem and I am glad that that girl is fucking your brains out. You deserve a hot little bi-curious dominatrix, you magnificent man.

The second thing that is important to me this week, is my pal EFil. For ages, everyone has made mumblings about how "Careful, he has a baboon heart and can't life over 40 pounds." I always just laughed and shoved the anvils in his hands anyway and told him to "Mush."

EFil has fallen ill. The doctors say "torn aortic branch," and I say "excessive pornography use and ginormous hands," but what does it matter? My boy ain't feeling so good. And the weight of the worry has really put my new lifestyle to the test. I don't feel much like taking my Taurine or regulating my Niacin in the midst of all this.

Have you ever just sat with close friends, looked at each other across the table, and shared the depth of their concern? No conversation can cover for the fact that something is wrong. No hand holding, hugs, reassurances, or text messages can really make it okay. If something is broken, it's broken. All of a sudden, life is put into perspective.

Around 3PM, my head was swimming with thoughts like, "I should really get back to work and quit drinking iced tea on the veranda," "Why is my cell phone so quiet?" "I sure hope she can sue their ass," "I love this satchel," "I'm hungry," I hope I can make that appointment."

Then at 5, those trivialities disappeared. I wanted to get to the hospital. I wanted to give EFil a hug. I wanted him to have that open-heart surgery and get him better PRONTO. I wanted him to live a long, healthy, and somewhat depraved life. I wanted to kill his ex-girlfriend, even. I wanted to kiss his forehead. I was desperate for him to be able to perform, make people happy, and say "Fingerbang this chick" one more time.

This thing we're living is precious, people. Take the lessons that films have tried to teach us for generations and LEARN SOMETHING, for fuck's sake. Don't wait until tomorrow to make things right. Call him. Apologize. Tell her how you feel. Admit it. Own this moment and don't let it go, my darlings, because some day you won't be able to. Hopefully you won't have to be scared into learning that.

EFil is going to be okay. I've been texting him, adressing him only as "Cripple," and telling him to bite the nurses if they try to put any more tubes in him. He always texts back.

D.Soll rubs my shoulder and says, "You're okay." He's right.

prayers. g