Byron // equivocality

in between

I haven’t had much to say, which is always a strange state to be in. Probably due to the fact that I’m making a conscious effort to listen more and speak less. You begin to wonder about the importance of your thoughts, and what really needs to be said.

It feels like I’m between…things. I’ve recently finished off a few projects, so I’m taking a break before I start another productivity binge. Me-time has mostly involved winning drafts and cashing in wagers. Lisa’s off to Hawaii for her honeymoon so it’ll be a month before I see her again, but that gives me a much-needed chance to spend time with the friends who aren’t part of my regular schedule.

The cats are into their spring cycles, shedding like mad, and sleeping by the door during the day. I’m tempted to cut my hair short again in anticipation of the heat, but I’m having too much fun growing it out right now. I’ve decided to embrace the length cause I know I’ll get sick of it eventually and cut of it off, like any other cycle of growth and loss, love and hate.

pulling weeds and planting flowers

Few people have been able to fill the void lately. The ones who do sing to me the unashamedly erotic songs of John Dowland and help me test new decks.

Through it all, I’ve been trying to take five breaths every now and then, inhaling and exhaling a little more fully than usual. Trying not to live like it’s a friday every day. Trying to figure out if I should apologize for using your song to score the moments I shared with someone else. Trying to reconcile my old Taoist beliefs with my new Buddhist views. Trying to be happy with the person I am, instead of letting discontent drive self-improvement.

Frigid winter days are teaching me patience and vulnerability. Some are easier than others. I’ve been working with the fickle swings instead of against them. Otherwise, it’s a constant struggle when trying to impose static order on inherently unstable processes. The hard part is making plans when you don’t know how you’ll feel from one day to the next.

Back in the day when we were doing covers of Frank Ocean songs. One of the most recognizable things about Jesse’s room are instruments strewn about.

The greatest test of my progress so far will be an acoustic show Jesse asked me to play with him on Sunday. Anxiety has been getting the better of me lately, and the prospect of having only two nights of rehearsal does nothing to assuage this.

I’ve been keeping in mind that we were able to pull off a decent performance last time when I didn’t know the show was going to happen until a few hours prior; one of those exercises to foster positive experiences and combat negativity bias. Fortunately, Jesse is a great frontman to be behind, cause he commands the attention of anyone watching, also taking the attention away from nervous fingers and live jitters.

The journey of self-discovery has been difficult. When there’s a history of trauma, it’s inevitable that an uncomfortable feelings get stirred up every now and then. I take care of myself by making sure I see the important people on a consistent basis and living in those moments. The little ways to heal are found in both the experiences themselves and the time one takes to internalize those experiences.

This is how I learn that self-compassion isn’t self-pity, and that most people bring less kindness to themselves than to others. To get on my own side, I’ve been visualizing myself as a child, just as worthy of care as any other. I would wish the best for that little person, and it helps me understand that I should wish the best for myself as well.

He Who Cannot Be Tamed

Byron’s over a year old now, which means he’s officially an adult in kitty years. I’ve given up on my dream of having another big cat to cuddle, as he’s retained stocky limbs and long tail, but grown into a small and slender body.

Dolly more than makes up for that though, even though she’s still a little sore at me for bringing him home. She’s nowhere near as tolerant to my teasing as before, but she’s still social and still nestles against my chest when she’s in the mood (usually during naps, never at night nowadays).

Disguised in this innocent yawn is a silent roar from the killer within.

My relationship with Byron is very different from the one I share with Dolly. She’s a cat who appreciates the love and attention I give her, and she shows me this with every nuzzle and purr.

Byron, on the other hand, is more of a pet; a cat who’s nice to have around, but who doesn’t interact with me on the same level. He has a few social habits — hanging out with me when he knows it’ll soon be meal time, or jumping on me for a nice rubdown when he hears me stirring in bed as I’m waking up — but that’s usually as far as it goes. I’ve tried to nourish a stronger bond with him by practicing controlled feeding and making sure I pick him up several times a day, but he’s always remained a kitty of his own.

a path you didn't choose

People are forgoing their heavy coats for light jackets, even a litte skin. But winter still lingers in the crisp air, a reminder that it hasn’t been long since those frigid nights, but that it’ll soon be warmer and brighter. On the right days, I can wake up with the warmth of the sun on my face, drive with the windows down, and eat dinner in the daylight.

The cats sit intently by the back door for hours, listening for any birds come home for Spring. They haven’t heard any since last year, and for Byron, that’s pretty much a lifetime. Nowadays, I measure time by how much heavier feels every day. There’s a comfort to be found in knowing that your cats are growing and healthy.

It feels like so much of what I used to cherish has fallen to the wayside. Like I’m relentlessly trying to catch up on sleep, on time spent with friends, on guitar practice, on various projects, on getting to inbox 0. With time now such a valuable resource, I’ve been re-evaluating things to salvage as much as I can. Figuring out the difference between what I truly enjoy and what I enjoy because I think I should, between what I need and what I want.

It’s strange to think that I’ve ended up here, and yet it’s hardly different from where I was not so long ago. Life is always interesting, no matter what age you are, and regardless of how you think you’ve settled into it. If you’re doing it right, at least.

sine wave

It’s perpetually night in my little nest. A guitar is never more than an arms length away, and two cats are always willing to curl up against my body under the sheets (though never together); some days it feels like these are the only things I need in the world. Perhaps I’m little too comfortable here, where I can watch the snow fall out the window, and seldom have to venture out of my comfort zone.

I’m constantly starting over. Throwing away a page so I can have a blank canvas. Losing another friend to adulthood, then finding new ones in the most unexpected places. Riding the oscillations of a sine wave.

The only thing that’s constant is how much Byron is growing, his paws and tail having surpassed Dolly’s in girth many months ago, and I can’t wait to see how big he’s going to get once he’s fully into adulthood. I relate to my friends only when one of the cats is afflicted with acne or herpes or an upper respiratory infection, and I have to play mother to a kitty who can’t fight the sickness by themselves. Dolly has been especially sensitive lately, and needs a lot more attention and affection, still jealous of the new kitten in the house.

Butt to butt.

Lisa keeps me sane nowadays, a role she’s partially taken over from John ever since he became a dad. She’s the voice of female reason in my life, the only excuse I use to watch great movies now, and the one who talks me down from drunken e-mails to ex-girlfriends. But sometimes I need more than half a Lisa and half a John, cause not everything can be solved by a stolen conversation or burying your face in a cat’s belly.

I’m learning that life goes on, whether you’re ready or not. You can only control so much. This realization is the reason I don’t worry about the future anymore, even when it feels like I should be worried.

I’ve also discovered that my writer’s block hasn’t been due to a lack of things to talk about, but the fact that nothing I write is satisfying anymore. I’ve lost my reason. The only thing I’ve fallen in love with lately has been my set of extra-light chrome flatwound strings, cause they have such a crisp sound off the nail, but maintain a warm, austere overtone.

I used to go to bed and dream, but nowadays, my mind is empty. I don’t know what to make of it all anymore. Can’t figure out if I’m standing on a crest or trough.

some day i'm gonna find it out

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Over-stimulation is a slingshot moved by the force of company for the sake of self-distraction.

And yet I’ve never felt so alone. The nights are filled with absence, which I try to mollify with indulgence. It’s okay for now cause I know I’ll be okay some day, when it’ll be safe to be alone with my thoughts again.

Byron

Kitties are impossible to resist when you see them in every other viral video doing something hilarious or clever or just plain cute, and my plan to wait until life settled down a bit before adopting another one was as difficult as the intentions were noble.

I’ve had Byron for about a month now, and he’s already been a great companion. He hasn’t warmed up to sleeping with me at night, but he frequently sleeps in my lap, and follows me around the house, even going so far as to lie on the bathmat to watch me whenever I’m making a nice BM. He also rarely stops moving, which makes him especially difficult to photograph. Like Dolly, he can be quite a vocal cat, and will meow repeatedly when he knows he’s about to be fed or if I call his name.

I can tell he’s already grown in the short time I’ve had him. It’s always fun to see how all the parts of kitties develop at different rates; right now he has big ears and a full tail, though his big mitts are more likely due to his breed. His face is also quite mature, though it isn’t particularly striking or unique.

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