Don Mann: Focusing on my Craft

Sunday, Feb. 06, 2005 - 4:26 a.m.

Tonight is the 6th of February, 2005

My attempts to fall asleep succeed at last, after three hours of tossing and turning, staring at the ceiling, listening to the hum and cadence of Jocelyn's steady breathing in the bed beside me. I am jarred back to consciousness by my own voice, saying something which I only heard the tail end of, something which sounded like a plea for forgiveness.

I can't escape my own mind, my past which boils up to the surface in the darkness, in the dreamtime. I don't recall exactly what I dreamt of, what part of me forbade my rest. All that remains now is a hollow feeling in my gut, the same familiar feeling which overwhelms me after hours of stewing in my misery.

My palms are still sticky with old sweat, my brow still cold and damp. I will curl up on the floor now, beside the bed, and ride out the psychological storm which is shaking the timbers of my sanity. I wish I could pinpoint it, figure out exactly what's eating at me.

I'm thinking back over the events of the day, I'm running through it all again in my head trying to find a link between the realm of my waking life and nocturnal inhibitions. I don't see it. I just can't fucking see it.

Jocelyn is such a wonderful creature; how she rose in my esteem from unbearable to unforgettable I'll never be able to pinpoint exactly, and I don't think it matters. She means worlds to me now, and I won't let my freakish midnight internal conflicts interfere with her rest. I've spent the whole weekend with her, romping across my town, chatting until the wee hours of the morning, and the time we intend to spend together hasn't yet ended. We have excellent plans for tomorrow, plans which involve watching people dunk themselves in ice water at the beach, and perhaps just taking in the brilliant scenery of this beautiful world. I hope she understand how much this all means to me, but I'm not going to try to rub it in. If any of this is in any way profound, I'm sure she'll interpret it in her own way. I can only hope she's enjoying herself this weekend as much as I am.

A pessimistic side of me is rising to the surface. I foresee this being the last time we spend such an extended period of time together for weeks to come, so I'm doing my best to make it all worthwhile and....unforgettable. I have about 5 hours now before I need to rise, and so I'll do my damndest to rest before yet another big day.

It's fantastic the way the world works; when the reclusive hermit decides to step out of his hole he runs into people he'd been stewing over all along. I encountered Andrea today, at her work in Portsmouth. Something deep down told me I'd find her there, and so I unconsciously rushed the first part of Jocelyn and I's shopping trip through downtown in order to get to Andrea's work as quickly as possible.

I won't even try to explain the lameness of a Don Mann under such circumstances. I had no idea what I'd say to Andrea, no idea how I'd explain myself to her.

"Yeah, I had the most amazing and fantastic time on our one little date, but for some reason never bothered to call you. Hi, it's been 3 months."

I think if I'd said that, the truth would have been just as plain as through the small talk which I bombarded her with while we stood in the showroom of the shoddy little Lovell Design office. I took her number a second time, and this time I fully intend to call it. Once again, just as the first time I met her, I went 9/10s of the way through with where I wanted to take it all, and then just gave up. Clint's words bit at my mind as I fawned over her.

Off I go, perhaps this time managing the rest I so deeply desire.

Delve Into The Past - Onward Into The Future