You're in my blood like holy wine

Another sleepless night, chain-smoking and living in the past.

I thought maybe if I wrote about my past, I could put it to rest, somehow. So, here goes:

Six months ago, on any given Thursday, my alarm would sound at 5:30 am. It was the one my parents bought me for Christmas last year. The sound was piercing, and a little helicopter-like propeller would fly up into the air. The only way the turn it off was to retrieve the propeller and place it back on the clock. Justin would wake up, slightly freaked out, every single time. I'd give him a kiss on the forehead and tell him to go back to sleep.

Then I'd reluctantly hop in the shower while Justin would pick out my outfit for the day. I'd always be unhappy with the one I chose the night before, and he was better at fashion than me, anyway. When I got out of the shower and came back into the bedroom, he'd be sound asleep. I'd watch him for a little while before I'd give him a kiss on the cheek, tell him I loved him, and rush out the door to work.

The guard at the gate knew me personally after a year and a half. He'd say, "Mr. Benjamin, have a good day." I would.

The day would consist of rushing around the clinic, fixing everyone's issues, whether they be computer or life-related. In between jobs you could usually find me out in the smoking gazebo, chatting with the ladies about life, interior decorating, the weather, love, families, politics. Rosemary, Karla, Pam, Cindy, Wendie, Janine, Julie. God, I miss that gazebo.

On my lunch break, I'd pick up Justin, take him to work, tell him to have a great day, and then pick up some Wendy's or Arby's on my way back.

Thursday was training day for the 78th Medical Group, which meant patients were not scheduled after noon. Sometimes we'd have food out back. Everyone knew me, and everyone loved me. I loved them. Before I got my job, I would've never imagined that some of my best friends would be doctors, nurses, and military officers.

After work, I'd go home and take a nap. Justin's call would wake me up, and after half an hour of stumbling around, half-asleep, I'd rush to pick him up. I was usually late. Then we'd go out to eat, and I'd spend entirely too much money on dinner, which I would inevitably regret a few days before my next paycheck. It was worth it, though.

What happened? Why did I start hating my life all of the sudden? Maybe I was bored, maybe the medication was the culprit. Who knows. All I know is that I replay those memories over and over in my mind when I'm sitting alone at night.

Lately I spend most of my time missing things--not just those years of my life. I miss my childhood, my grandmother, theorizing with Kate in Savannah, karaoke at Amagi's in Hollywood with Heather, and the front porch of Aglago in Silverlake.

It seems that I'm always running. The benefit of this is that I'm always creating new, wonderful memories with different people. The downside is that when I run again, I have more to miss. Maybe I need someone to run with me. Maybe I need to learn to settle down and build a home for myself. I don't know.

What I do know is that I wouldn't trade these memories for anything in the world--well, except for maybe being able to relive them. It hurts so much to lose people you care about.

While I'm not religious, if Heaven existed, I wouldn't care what it looked like. My only wish would be that everyone I'd ever loved would be there, with me, forever.