The Intricacies of Building a Bonfire

To put it succinctly, October has been a Month. I've done things this month that I wouldn't have even thought myself capable of doing going into it. I've experienced new joys and highs for the very first time, and I've also cried more than enough tears to last me well into the next year. I've gone from being able to barely put a torch in my mouth, to being a bona fide Piehole-Fire Artiste. I have had the rocks in my life turn to sand and slip through my fingers, casting me into some kind of merciless unknown, and causing me to question every belief I've built my world around. And that's just BETWEEN all the things I have scheduled on my official calendar of events!

The other day I celebrated International Brown Smear Day. For those of you who don't know, it falls on October 27th, according to my Ghetto Calendar Mini* (though I suspect I may have merely made up this holiday some months back in order to correspond with the chocolate stain I accidentally made on the page whilst drawing all the wobbly lines that make up the "grid"). My coworkers tell me I should just break down and go buy myself a real calendar already, but I personally enjoy having incidental holidays that correspond with food stains and my inability to count or draw a straight line (I got a whole extra week last October according to my 2007 Ghetto Calendar. It was great!).

It seems that while creating said calendar in my previous happier state, I also wrote down a (now rather painful) reminder that today is Matthew's birthday. As I look at the little, nearly-rectangular box filled with my clumsy handwriting, it feels as though my calendar's laughing at me. Reminding me that this time last year I'd gleefully awaited his reaction to the package that I'd sent him containing what I thought was this awesome thoughtful gift (a recipe book for modern sushi catering to those who are landlocked or unable to easily get sashimi-grade fish as easily as us lucky coastal residents) - feeling really happy that I'd gotten him something that he liked so much and that was so useful and theme-appropriate since he was having a sushi party to celebrate... it was just nothing but good times, growing positive energy, and inner smiles. It felt a lot like starting a bonfire in the rain. You know that moment when you're cold and damp, the wind is blowing and the rain is coming down, and you're trying to start a fire out of wet wood, a splash of white gas, and a couple sticks of dry kindling; when the limp little piece of cardboard you put in the pile manages to start the kindling, despite all odds, you realize that there's something inherently good, amazing, and special about what you've done, what you have, and what it could eventually be, and you can't help but smile from the inside. That's what it felt like last year.

This year? Today? It feels like I'm standing in the rain again, tending that same fire, trying to readjust all the stuff that I've thrown into it (both good wood and bad - it's all that I had), because it's not getting any bigger, shit is collapsing, and it seems like all I'm doing is making it worse because I don't know which way the wind is blowing. It's a constant dance to sustain the fire as it is, and has become more exhausting than it is warm or comforting. It's only a matter of time before I can do no more, and the fire will die - the only reason it got as large as it did was partly luck and partly my moving the larger pieces of wood around and watching for the fire to respond. And while I can't say I've ever been taught the proper way to maintain a fire... I know this is not it.

It's amazing what kind of metaphors you can think of when you're absorbed in a task. Last weekend at Legends was a complete and utter clusterfuck. I won't get into the gritty details, but in order to cover for an enormous mistake on management's behalf, I took responsibility for building a bonfire in the pouring rain in order to make sure that major events that players were counting on could take place - it was a job that needed to be done, and everyone else seemed to be afflicted with a case of rectal-cranial press-fit. I was on my own.

I made a fire so big I could see Udo's tent from the center of the merc camp. It was part luck, part believing there was something good that could come from all the work that I put in, and whole lot of perseverance and determination to do what I thought was the right thing no matter how much the world was working against me. I went through the dance, I threw in the only wood I had - both good and bad - posts, plywood, a desk drawer. Everything I had, I gave to the flames, and in doing so, I came to realize how sad my life has become; that its major themes can be condensed into a single metaphor revolving around building a fire in trying conditions and daring to hope despite the odds and everything else that tells me I am doing a stupid, illogical thing.

It has been a long time since I felt the intense loneliness that I felt the night I made that bonfire. That loneliness continues to punctuate my everyday life - I pull away from those that tell me to leave the fire alone, and just let it disappear. They tell me it has no meaning, does no good, that it is trivial, insignificant, and I am foolish and destructive to keep it in my life. There is no one else who will help me, who will reassure or keep my hope and my faith in this fire alive. And as each day goes by, the more I tend this fire, the more unsure of myself I become. I have stopped even trying to explain to people why I continue to do what I do - it seems that the more I explain, the more I alienate myself from everyone else. Everyone watching me asks me the same things: "why are you doing this? Why is this even worth it to you? What is the point? What makes you even think that that what you're doing is helping the fire? You can't even reap the benefits of being around this fire right now. You didn't promise anyone you would keep this fire going - and there's no guarantee that this fire won't just go out - there's nothing that says the fire has to keep going for you. Why don't you just find something else to do that's easier and less exhausting than taking care of a fire in the rain and wind? I wouldn't ever want to try doing it - it's too much trouble."

I don't even know what to say anymore. The only thing I can say is: he is the ember that turned to a flame that brought a fire to my life when I only had the cold, the wind, and the rain. He is my fire in the rain. Most people will never know what that means. But perhaps those who do know might better understand why it is that I am doing what I am doing, no matter how terrifying and foolish it may be.

Further bulletins as events warrant.

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* For those of you who don't know the story, I had a brilliant idea last year when I thought to myself "man, I am busy this month. I have so many commitments and people keep asking me to make more. How the heck am I going to keep them all straight so I can plan? I know, I'll just take a piece of paper and draw out a grid here, and make a spreadsheet of all the days that I am busy this month! Genius! I wonder why no one's ever thought of this befo... oh my god, I just re-invented the calendar. Arrrrrgh." Yes folks, that's MIT engineering for you.
To commemorate my brilliant re-invention of the calendar, I make a new page every month, and tack it to my cubicle wall. It's a reminder to me that before I try to invent a solution for a problem from scratch, I should always check to make sure there isn't already a good existing solution first. Thus, the Ghetto Calendar. What I do to make them is take an 11 x 17 sheet of paper with an outdated but classified schematic printed on it (which means I can't recycle it), and I hand-draw a crappy-looking grid out on the back. I then write down the right hand side in a fat blue sharpie "GHETTO CALENDAR [Month, Year]" and then I write down all my plans. When I only have an 8.5 x 11 sheet, it's called a Ghetto Calendar Mini.