Wanting - The Saddest Kind of Pain

It was a nice sunny day today. I futzed around at home with the Internet and coffee. My mother called around 7:30 as she has done the past several days. And, like the past several days, I really have no solid news for her. Around 10 I hit the shower and was reminded how crappy disposable razors are as I again ripped apart my face in vain. They were smooth patches but still plenty of stubble akin to 100 grain sandpaper.

I made my way downtown to Chris' office. She presented me with some paperwork to sign and I did so. I also told her that I trusted her to fill out some of the forms as she gets the information if I am back home. I was happy to hear that she had scheduled a time for the accessor to come out to the house around 1 and that she should have the assessment tomorrow afternoon.

With that being done, I headed down the street to the bookstore. As I do whenever I enter a bookstore, I felt right at home walking through the door. As I was poking around a shelf devoted to local authors, I heard the meow of a cat and a large tan & white kitty ambled over to me.

"Hallo, Katze," I said.

Crouching down, I began to pet him and he loved it. As I scratched his chin and behind his ears, he began to pur and rub into my hand. In an odd way, it felt nice to have some kind of contact with another living creature other than a handshake - to be able to rub my hand along his smooth fur. After petting him for a short time, I grabbed a book and stood up to thumb through it. Katze sat down in front of me and would occasionally reach up to me with his paw. So I crouched down again and pet him some more. No matter where I went in the store, he would eventually wander over to me and I'd give in right away and run my hand over him and scratch him some more. I smiled as I've recently fallen in love with the song "Big Electric Cat" by Adrian Belew but a bit of jealously came over me. It would be so nice to have someone to scratch behind my ears and my chin - just for the simple consolation of touch.

Busting out of downtown, I went out towards the interstate to find the rumored purveyor of strawberries. Much to my delight, I found him. His pickup was sitting at the end of a road so I pulled over to the side of the highway and parked. I found that they were grown in Independence, Louisiana. Having no idea where that was, I asked him.

"Near Hammond," he replied.

"And where's that?"

He described it as being a bit north of Baton Rouge. $2 later, I held a pint of large, deep-red strawberries in my hand. As I began driving back to the house, I grabbed one and bit into it. It was very sweet, very tasty and the juice ran down and stained my fingers. For a moment, things were pretty good. The sun was shining brightly and I had some fresh strawberries. The only thing that could have made it any better that could have made it better was if I had had someone there to share the moment with.

I got home and began to fill out a couple forms for the realtor to take back with her after the she and the accessor came through. The phone rang and I found that it was a representative from the moving company that would actually be sending a truck here. The woman went over the details of the move and I was given the bad news that the truck might not be here until Sunday. While I essentially took it in stride as it was completely out of my hands, I did wonder why the hell these people can't get their shit together and give me a firm date. We do live in an age of computers, global positioning systems, and telephones - how fucking hard is it to give the customer a firm date? So I was told for about the 8 millionth time in the past 2 weeks that I would receive a call first thing tomorrow morning to confirm the pickup date. Back at my dining room table which has been transformed into a desk, I organized some paperwork and made sure that I had an up-to-date list of things I needed to get done before heading home.

While I was doing this, my download finished. I had snagged the audiobook of Richard Clarke's Enemies something-or-other. Clarke had been an aide to the past 2 or 3 presidents as well as to Dubya before he left office in disgust. And so I had it playing as I sorted out keys. Regardless of one's political views, the first chapter is breathtaking. In it, he describes what happened at the White House on 9/11. The confusion with people scurrying around like chickens with their heads cut off, the fear, the pain of ignorance, etc. At one point, Clarke ordered his underlings to evacuate and go home as the White House was the next logical target. They all refused and one guy, whose wife had just given birth a couple weeks previously, marched back into a conference room direcly disobeying an order. Shivers went down my spine as I put myself in their places - no idea how many planes were potentially hijacked, not knowing the fate of friends and co-workers, as well a strong sense of forboding doom. Having no control and little knowledge of what was really happening. I also put myself in the place of the people in the World Trade Center. Flames and confusion everywhere and those poor people trapped in the upper floors who were forced to choose among suffocating to death from smoke, being burned alive, or defenestration.

I also puzzled my way through the numerous rings of keys that I found so as to give her a set for the house. Soon enough, Chris and the accessor were here. They wandered around a bit and I gave Chris the keys. After they left, I poked around Usenet for some more music to download. At one newsgroup, a guy had posted a bunch of ZZ Top including "Pearl Necklace". This made me laugh out loud as I recalled a drunken incident which occured after a bowling tournament. One of Mel's friends, a hot blonde whose name escape me now, was talking about jewelry gifts from her boyfriend when she commented that she wanted a pearl necklace. This sent us guys into fits of laughter which caused her to look at us with a funny look on her face. She had no idea of the naughty deed which "pearl necklace" refers to. So Old Man Standiford and I started singing "All Apologies" by Nirvana but, instead of singing "buried, married", we sang "necklace, necklace - yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah".

Anyway, after they left, I finished up what I was doing, set up some more mp3s to be downloaded, and laid on the floor to listen to Clarke's book. Unsurprisingly, I fell asleep and took a brief nap - maybe an hour and fifteen. I think I had a very intense dream as, when I awoke, I had no idea who or where I was. A deep, profound feeling of loneliness settled upon me as I looked around to see that I was in a large, empty house. I'm not sure which is worse: to be surrounded by my father's things or to be surrounded by virtually nothing. On the one hand, items can trigger off loaded memories. On the other, a vast empty room only serves to make feel empty by osmosis.

Once my brief identity crisis was over, I was still left feeling like there was an immense void inside of me. I checked my email and found that my friend Dave had sent something. In it, he talked about various things including his own predicament. I felt bad for him and wished that I could be with him to talk. Whatever problems I may have of my own, I have this tendency to make going to the aid of friends in need my top priority. I don't even know that I've gone beyond just beginning to mourn my father's death and I find myself desperate to help out a friend. I haven't really thought very much about my dad. Of course I do, but not in a very serious or reflective kind of way. Right now, my mind is preoccupied with sorting out things relating to his estate and with getting on the road. I'll get around to some serious contemplation and navel-gazing eventually - I just would rather not do it here in this big empty house alone. I need to talk to people, to have things out in the open so I can get some feedback and perhaps see things a bit differently than I can by just being trapped in my own thoughts.

After checking email, I checked my downloads. I had snagged some tunes by a band called Little Atlas, among other songs. I'd heard a song of theirs on an Internet radio station and someone had posted that entire album. While I've not yet given them a proper listen, I have to say that I really like what I've heard so far. They reminds me of Phish in many ways. But they have a woman doing backing vocals which adds a really nice dimension to their music, in my opinion.

But what I really wanted to hear was a concept album. Yeah, I know most of them are pretentious and whatnot, but I just felt like listening to music that told a story, that took me on an aural journey. Something meaty, something to abscond with my mind and take it somewhere else. So I queued up a buncha songs in WinAmp. A couple rockers to start things off and then Brave. The album is based on a true story of a girl in England who was found wandering on a bridge. From what I recall of the story, she didn't know here name nor anything of her past. So Marillion took the idea and ran with it. The album starts with the girl being found on the bridge. Over the course of an hour or so, the lyrics speak about loss, alienation, loneliness and how these things are imposed upon us by society as well as ourselves. The music has dark, moody sections as well as more uptempo parts - heavy guitars and swirling synthesizers. Great stuff.

Then I put a few songs sung by women next. Just want to hear a female voice. Need to. All part of the multifaceted loneliness that I'm feeling. Misplaced Childhood is next. Another concept album by Marillion. It's about lost love and loneliness. Most of it is pretty dark. But, like Brave, there's a happy ending - redemption. Inner strength wins out.

And so here I sit with a little Natalie Merchant playing. Miss Rosie called earlier. She has tomorrow off from work so she can drive her mother to the doctor. Things are going alright in Janesville. My plan for tomorrow starts with getting up and drinking some coffee. I'm hoping the moving company rep will keep her word and call first thing with a definite pickup time. Then, at 10, I'm off to see the lawyer. After that, I'm planning on raking the yard and, if I don't hear from the funeral home, to call them so as to arrange for the ashes and death certificates to be mailed to me. And, either tomorrow or on Saturday, I'm going to beg neighbor to let me use a lawnmower.

You know, Natalie Merchant has an absolutely fabulous voice! Heather Nova has a great one as well - so sensual, so full of longing - but I just don't like this song. Seems like such a waste.

I'm hopeful that tomorrow will be productive. That others will do what they need to do and I shall do the same. But there's this sinking feeling beside it that I will only have more "don't call us, we'll call you" phone conversations, be told once again that things are not done and that I'll just have to wait some more.