1-21-94 Journal entry

1-21-94 So What! I can’t believe you’re hounding me for not spending more of my life keeping you up to date. I will not be accountable to you, so fuck off.

The Dark Clouds of November (Rienna is having doubts about me already, and I try to reassure her with this dumb letter, which I never sent))

Hey babe, howzitbegoin'? Don't know zackly why I's be writin'. Jess couln't stop my wheels from turning over and over our discussion the udder day. I was left wit me confidence a bit low about me ankles, not's to say dat's not where it belong. 'Guess I's been kinda inna daze lately these last 3 months. Uh, mmn. I shall recap:

August - Another sucky month in the life

September - Met a real cool girl, don't know if we're just gonna be friends or what, but I'm really diggin' her and like having her around. She's great!

October - Have been to heaven. God this chick is something else! I can't believe we've been spending all this time together, makin' luv and gettin' along real good. Too good to be true, overload, could this actually be my life?

November - Well, I guess I had to come down. Although, I'd rather have died in October and preserved the awesome feeling in its purity. But life goes on. Things change. Have I changed?

I know this is an inadequate, subjective review, but not altogether incorrect. I guess you've discovered my depth to be a bit shallower than expected. Oh yeah, I may be shallow, but at least I am dense -- uh, yeah. Wait, no...Sure I am. Thick as a brick. And fake as an artificial eggplant.

You are probably realizing right now just what a selfish, insensitive oaf I am. Or you figured it out long ago but feel sorry for me or I don't know what. I know that in regard to your feelings, I have been blinded by my own. 

Feeling as strongly for you as I have has made me hazy as to fact and fantasy. I mean, did we or did we not make love? And was I mistaken, or were you enjoying it just a little bit? 

I have been a neophyte my whole life, a tadpole, not even a frog waiting to be kissed. I am one generation removed from charcoal on my way to diamondhood. If I could be everything you wanted in a man in a day, I would take the class, do the ritual, whatever it took. But molding me into the fine human being you desire and deserve may take a long time -- more than a week. In fact, I don't even know if I can get the parts.

What I'm tryin' to say is that I really like you, have never met anyone like you and really want our relationship to continue and grow and not wither and die like a weed. 

I have been brought down from my heady high by your sobering words. I don't wish to take anything for granted. I'm grateful for all the time you've spent with me, your easy friendship -- you're a really great friend. You absolutely blow my mind as a lover. Makes me want to cry. Oh, well. 

I'd do anything, anything not to let those moments fade. So I have been pretty much dazed, first trying to get used to life being so great, now wondering if I can handle things as they were before we met. I don't know. There'd be a huge hole right in the center of me which, if I didn't cover it up before leaving the house, would be evident to all.

But I was smart. You broke my heart already when you let me close. I knew I'd never survive another thawing and refreezing of my heart, so I let it shatter in the privacy of my own home. The thing is: all those frozen pieces want to melt and run back together.

What kind of stupid methaphor shit am I talkin' anyway? What's my point? I don't know. What I really want to say, I guess, is this: I grew up like a puppy without much love. I don't really know what it is for sure, but I believe in it. And I've never been in a relationship where I've felt all the things I feel for you. It's hard to explain, I have nothing to compare it to. This is so new to me.

But I want to make it work. I'm not talking about changing myself into some someone else just so you'll like me. I'm talking about understanding where you're at and doing what I can to always be there for you and make your life pleasant. I don't want to crowd you or choke you out by smothering you. I want you to like me and I hope that you do, but I don't want to be manipulative, overtly or covertly. 

Be free to be yourself and do your thing. If I fit into your plans, I'll rejoice. If not, don't weep. I've already done that -- it's too dehydrating. Stop me if I'm being to melodramatic. 

"I'll miss you."

"I'm just going to the store."

"Oh."

What can I say that hasn't already been said by the Prophets? Work with me and I'll work with you. Be real with me, and I'll always be your friend. Love me, and I'll love you like an ever flowin' river. Not some dried up creek bed, some seasonal stream, but  a mighty flood, a torrent carving out new landscapes and taking you places that never existed.

Journal entry for 12-12-93

12-12 or so 93 It’s raining and the mud, I mean window caulking is getting soft and smeary on the window panes. I’ve been sick for a while and hadn’t had much to tell you.

Last night I dreamed about fire, or a fire up in the mountains of Lake Isabella. I was watching the smoke and flames come up over the tops of some nearby hills and I was wondering if I could get out or not.

I also dreamed I met one of my old bible study brothers and he said he was getting tired of it, too. He wanted to get out, he said. He asked if he could come have dinner at my house sometime. And I said, “You wish to dine at my house? Me, a sinner?” And we both laughed, although it was serious.

The night before I dreamed I saw my dad walking around this indoor/outdoor mall kind of people expressway. Like New York City—you, know kind of a crowd. He was wearing a white suit and had this rad Jesus hair. It glowed. I followed him for while about 10 feet behind him. I could sense that he knew I was behind him so I turned away for a second, pretending to be interested in some arcade game, but when I looked again for him he was gone. I ran in the direction he had been walking but he was nowhere.

 

Journal entry for 12-4-93

 12-4-93 Had all kinds of profound thoughts & deep feelings but I forgot to write it down.

Journal entry for 11-30-93

 

11-30-93 thru 12-3-93 I go to city Friday take unx to the airport, then he’ll be all gone bye bye.

Pot Proverb

 

11-30-93 The hand of the cultivator is full of weed, while the hand of the non-horticulturally inclined scratches after stems.

YER STEWPID

 

Pissed at Earl

11-29-93 Did I say I have to report in now? Did I? Well, fuck you, Sergeant or whatever the fuck. So, now I’ve done it. Can’t believe I was sooo naïve but now I’m sure as fuck gonna buy me a gun and kill all the niggers I see. That’s a joke, son. We don’t call 'em niggers. No, sir. No, we don’t even call 'em “'em,” on account of that’s differentiating or de-ussifying, yeah, yeah, yeah. Well, fuck Earl, then, how about that? No need to be a racist when there’s so many reasons to hate people on an individual basis. I don’t hate that wuss behind your back little sniper, I simply pity the fool, and I will hurt any man who tries to take what I got. C-I-L-L. Sing me a song, you’re a singer.

 

Road Rage

11-26-93 So. I hope I’m not too late. I’m getting irate, sitting behind this big diesel belching smoke fucker of a truck drivin’ son of a bitch. Get out of that cab you asshole, I swear to God I’ll fucken do you right here. Do you hear me?! Shitbag! I’ll…

Sloppy Jack

11-26-93 You hoo! Sloppy Jack, here. I got my gut bag all bundled up and I’m ready to hop in my Ferrari and hope, just hope I can make it to the Waste Treatment plant before it’s too late. You see, last night I flushed something that should never have been flushed down any toilet anywhere. I had no business drinking that plutonium solution the night before either, but now it was all water under the bridge so to speak.

 

Love vs. Zoloft: which is better for depression? (Another unsent Mom letter)

Surprise! Just thought I'd write'cha cuz I'm sittin' here @ work w/nuthin' to read and just had to do something (other than work). So, how's the good life? 

I can say w/out hesitation that things have never been better for me. I have never been happier or had such predominantly good feelings about being alive. I have been afraid to blink or go to sleep, for fear of waking up back in my old reality.

Did I mention that I was in love? Oh, yeah. Well, I still am. She's great, Mom, just absolutely the most amazingly wonderful girl I could ever hope to meet. You'd approve, I just know it. I've written her four or five love letters and -- get this -- she didn't recoil in horror! She likes 'em. She's even encouraging me to write more. I told her to buy a filing cabinet...We've gotten past all the awkward stuff and have the most perfect relationship. I never thought it could be so good, so hang-up free, so real. 

I've been off Zoloft for about a month (I've taken maybe 100mg in the past 4 weeks to minimize the effects of withdrawal). I've been waiting for the malaise, the pessimism, "the grumps," the irrationality, but nothing uncontrollable has come up.

Yesterday a kitten of mine was killed. We found her in the alley, rain-soaked and run over. I was very sad, having become attached to this cute little animal. So I waited til Steve and I finished work, put on some sad music and bawled like a baby -- for a minute or two. I still get sad when I think about Scruffy, poor, unlucky little cat.

But I feel more human, like those wires that were disconnected by the Zoloft (negative emotions) were reconnected and configured correctly. I was definitely drugged those months that I lived my same old crappy life but without the normal crappy emotions associated with it. I would not recommend use of this drug without concomitant therapy or some program to actually change the circumstances of depression.

Perhaps we're different, you and I, in this regard. I am certain that my depression was a normal reaction to living out a boring, dreary script, concocted by distorted thinking. How I got to feeling so alienated in the first place is a mystery. All I know is that for years nothing was clicking for me, so I'd add this to my wall of isolation, and I developed few interpersonal skills.

Then I meet this girl and I'm on a high, and this feeds my sense of well-being, which provides me with all kinds of impetus to be a better person. It's a victorious cycle. I know the trick is not to hinge my total happiness on any one thing (or person). Rienna is absolutely the best thing to happen to me, but she has just made me realize that I'm alive. 

Not much has changed in my life but my attitude. Instead of feeling cheated, I feel blessed, and people can see that things are different with me. I'm more patient. I smile and joke more. I have time to talk to people. I don't avoid eye contact...How many times can one be born again?

I'm not sure how long this newness will last, but I am determined not to forget these beautiful days, should darker ones appear on the horizon. Life is cool.

Steve's gearing up to go, and business is picking up. I'm getting lots of practice and feel a bit more confident about the prospect of handling things alone. Tomorrow I will play "boss" while Steve plays "dumb employee." I'll be earning the profits and paying him the peanuts...actually, he just gave all us peons a raise (from 5 to 7 dollars an hour). This is it! Wish me luck.

Dear Mummy (Update on Zoloft, Big City Graphics training with Steve and -- I MEET RIENNA!)

 Dear Mummy,

I just thought I'd write you to see how yer doin' and let you know what's going on in my life. Nothing. Well, how about you? Did those Tony Robbins tapes provide you with any insights? What did you decide about the Zoloft? Are you still taking it? 

I heard mention of serotonin in a book I was reading about the occult, saying that it was thought to be linked to extrasensory powers. I hadn't noticed.

How's the gang? Kids back in school? I really enjoyed lounging around in your spacious accommodations--it was a nice change from lounging around in that dingy cavern that Steve calls a shop.

Speaking of which, the day is coming, getting nearer and nearer, and there has been little in the way of work. Perhaps one job will trickle in per week, some piddly little order, just enough to keep Steve bitching. 

Anyway, I've only progressed a little further in the business than I had been at the time of our visit. I've learned some of the quoting procedures. Sometimes Steve will give me a quote to work on, and we'll come up with the same exact figure, through completely different means. All in all, I'd say I need to shift into high gear if I'm ever going to be able to handle the myriad of problems that lie, unforeseen, in the murky future. 

I just can't seem to get motivated to work after my long, boring night shift is over. I start fading out just as Steve gets to work. Then, when I wake up in the afternoon, Steve's ready for his nap. Then there's the problem of my weekends falling on different days than his. We seem to be drifting in different directions, so I'll have to rely on you to interpret his silences.

What else is new: Let's see...I met a new girl at work. She is around 30 (much better than 45), and she seems to be interested in me. I have been pursuing her ruthlessly (under the careful guidance of Nancy, a very helpful co-worker who enjoys matchmaking). Anyway, we have exchanged phone #'s and have a date for later this week.

I find that emotions are sneaking back into my empty shell of a heart. After months of being blunted, I welcomed them, even if they aren't my favorite ones: sadness, melancholy, pathos, achey-breaky nervous butterfly stomach, churning anticipation, etc. It was easier to shut them all off, but I suppose I'll have to deal with them.

Just the other day, Steve practically insulted me to my face, and I felt nothing. I'm used to getting rattled and walking around in a funk for days. Now, it seems like every criticism just rolls off my back. 

With this girl, I intellectually recognized the opportunity and thought to act on it, although I really had no feelings, either of hope or fear of rejection. I simply didn't care. But I began to entertain the idea of asking her out, and this gnawing process began. Now, I'm all screwed up. Well, that's love for you. I think she likes me, but I'm afraid to hope it.

Anyway, you'd better send me some more medication, just in case. I'm getting near the end. Unless you think it's time to quit. But remember I told you about feeling side effects from discontinuing last time? 

If I miss more than 3 days, I get this odd, disoriented feeling, like someone keeps spinning me a quarter turn to the left. It can be quite jarring. I'm not sure if it's the Zoloft or the anti-histamines, since I usually miss them both at the same time. Oh, well. (That pretty much sums up how I feel about things in general "oh well"). 

Back to my girl. Her name is Rienna Young, and she seems to be my type, a real down to earth girl. So if you have any supernatural entities please offer supplication on my behalf. Well, I got's to go now. I'm at work, naturally, so I should get to it. Talk to you soon, I hope.

Yours,

Andrew 9/7 AM

 

Arvada

 

She sits behind the desk, a-pickin’ at her skin

Solitaire and country music and stories that take too long to finish

The spot behind the chair has worn away with years of

Accumulated friction of wall/chair, wall/chair, wall/chair

54 years old and lives alone, cause husband’s gone and kids are grown

She don’t know that I’m writin’ this song to say

Arvada, you’re the queen of cold, reluctant grandmother to the loons,

Washer of soiled laundry and occasional ashtray wiper

Step aside, you’ve had your day

You ruthlessly refuse a cigarette to shoeless Melinda, 

Night-shuffling, bloodstained beauty 

(who’s butt was once seen by Mark Ginter, 

a uni-hemispherical brain child).

Nonetheless, Melinda’s toes, blackened, stubs, 

Partially amputated and covered in 

Cigarette ash on the soles, will walk on 

Unadorned by podiatric protection

FOREVER AND EVER UNTIL ALL HER SLAVES ARE FREE,

Cigarettes or no. Amen.

So go on, 

Go on back to your ten acres in Princeton, 

Down the foggy 45,

Into the night turned morning of your after work hours

Take your Tahoe, your Reno, 

And your stories about your precious son

And your goddamned world’s only electric river ferry

And your purple polyester pants and green windbreaker 

And GO

Journal Entry for 4-16-93 (Bitter Betty, LSD Anniversary)

I can smoke today (although I would even if I couldn't). I changed my answering machine message and am very happy about that. I think I'll call Bitter Betty and let her in on my ever changing message machine dementia. She'd like it. Maybe she'd even fuck me. And I could cup her swollen tit in my hand.

Oh, and today is the 50th anniversary of the accidental creation and use of the drug lysergic acid diethalmide. Said the creator, Albert Hoffman, who now resides in picturesque Switzerland, "It can be dangerous in the hands of the ignorant."

59761 -- D

59572

59481 -- D

59532 --

60026

Journal Entry 4/93 (Date Approximate -- Colony Inn Era)

 Opening Sentence

1. I upchucked last night.

 

2. Perhaps that second Tsing-Tsao was a mistake. Or it could have been the red tag "reduced price" beef...nah...

 

3. Have you ever sweat poison out of every pore? And then that's not enough, so you empty your stomach contents. After that, the bowels and bladder let loose. If you live through this toxic purging, you will have some cleaning up to do. It is best to throw away the undergarments. 

Last night's episode took me to the stomach stage. It was grisly enough. I barfed on the floor and on my pillow. I did not even attempt to get up or to remove my face from the puddle for a full five minutes. 

Then, I suddenly (or so I thought) stood up, washed my face and collapsed into bed. This was possible for me to do all at once with no intermediary actions because I live in such a small apartment that the floor, sink and bed are all in standing or collapsing distance. 

Somehow my pillowcase (now discarded) had been concealing a leaking feather pillow inside it, which has leaked its wretched innards all over the floor. Must be catching...

Unfiltered reasoning behind why I wrote the previous vile, disgusting evil letter to Genny (early 93)

1.  2 day old liver -- dogshit

2   Like a Toy --

3   2nd fiddle, or 3rd

4   How long has it been?

5   I feel castrated

6   I have no worth, self-esteem

7   Guys like Matt, who obviously could give a shit

8   So I'm fucking immature

10 Do you know how I feel? Do you have any idea? Do you even care?

11 I don't like being teased

12 I should have went home

13 I don't like this or need this

14 I have a Goddamn Ego!

15 My whole thing is that I have no romantic life, no sex life, no lover, and it has me depressed. And then you come along and give me just a little, just enough to make me remember that I have a soul and feelings like everybody else and then at the last moment withdraw, take away or stop the flow of love and I just feel like shit. I mean you give me a little of what everyone longs for and you take it a away and give it to a guy like Matt.

16 Contradictions -- "I love you" but yet you'll have sex w/Matt casually but not me cause you're not sure what you want fuck that.

**TRIGGER WARNING**One of the most hateful, vile things I have ever committed to paper: why would I post it then? **EXPLICIT**

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Preliminary note from 2021

 

What follows is a glimpse inside a very sick mind. I, Andrew Golding (or the person residing in the body belonging to him at the time) did sink to some pretty hateful levels, cognitively. I never acted on these thoughts, nor did I ever send this letter. I doubt that I ever intended to send it. It sat for decades with all of my other unsent correspondence, drafts and journals. I am including it, not because I am proud of it, but precisely because I am not proud of it, and so I feel obligated to own up to it. 

 

I eschew the re-writing or redacting of history (usually done to cleanse the narrative of the sordid details of misdeeds by the author). I recoil when I read this now. I was truly lost. I am glad to say that I didn't remain in that frame of mind for long. However, I did think those thoughts, apparently, and I did write them down. 

 

So, as ugly as it makes me look, here it is: uncensored, unedited and unmodified from its original format. I purposely left all grammar and syntax errors in place. There is simply no making this look good, so why even try?

 

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                                                                                                                    2/18/93

OK, Goddammit! (like my tone so far?) Get the fuck out of my (for lack of a better word) life! Bitch! How's that? But before you do, here's a little of the poison which has been brewing in my evil black cauldron of hate -- a poison I credit you with supplying key ingredients to. God how I hate you. Learn your fucking lesson, naive one: NEVER NEVER cuddle with a psychopath. Never involve yourself in the affairs of a maniac. You are already lucky that among other potential serial killers I am but a wannabe. But if I could ever kill another human being in a fit of unjustifiable passion it would be you. Go on with your stupid game playing indecisive life and to hell with you. Fuck Matt, Fuck David, Fuck Robert, FUCK OFF. Move back to Michigan, change your name. Just leave me to live out my lonely sentence in my own miserable solitude! Bitch! I don't need your goddamn pity or your monthly sympathy calls. Fuck you and your goddamn gender. You all are sows. Bitches. Cunts. Hell with you all. Remember laughter? Remember reasonableness? Intelligent conversation? Not me. Fuck everything and especially fuck you. Do you have to torment me by existing? Why do I have the misfortune to be plagued by thoughts of you daily? What good does it do me to be reminded of what I loser I am? Of what I will never attain? Fuck all your positive thinking crap. I worship Satan. He suits my needs. I am going to hell after a nice 27 years of mental purgatory. I would have done anything for you once. If there is love then I loved you. I can't love anymore. Why the fuck should I? I wish I never would have met you. Or that I could cause you the kind of inner grief you cause me to this day. Satan, give me the strength to never forget what fucking pain women cause. Don't ever EVER call me again, if you know what's good for you, and learn your lesson, bitch. I am your monstrous creation and I resent my existence. I am mad. I could kill you. You are fortunate that I am a procrastinator. I just never get around to some of the things on my list.

        Check TIRE PRESSURE

        BUY EGGS

        DO TAXES

        KILL GENNY

Thank you for making me aware of my true calling in life: To alienate as many people as possible. I've said all I care to. For now. I suggest you move. Then I won't be tempted to kill you while you sleep, perhaps cuddling with some other bozo. Anyway, FUCK OFF once again. See you in hell. Bye. Bitch!

        Andrew

Reduced to Ashes (2-17-93)

Reduced to Ashes

A jar of dust is all I am

All I have done, a memory

Nothing left of things unsaid

Now dust is all that’s left of me

Ashes, my friend

I took my chances when

I lived my life and then

Reduced to ashes in the end

I had a love back when

Hope was yet unspent

I opened up my heart 

Time and again

Can’t run away

And then came the day

Now it’s all turned grey

No more to say

Reduced to ashes

Reduced to ashes in the end

Dear Brain, would you please shut up now? (The Genny saga continues, overanalysis ad nauseam) Early 93 unsent

To analyze or not to analyze. Well, pro-wise, I believe that I need to discover what it is I'm feeling, if it's valid and what course of action I need to pursue. On the con side, sometimes it is best to leave well enough alone.

Problem: all is not well enough. Either I need to change my expectations, priorities and requirements, or I need to hold onto them (however foolish and unreasonable) and search for a person (perhaps mythical) that can fulfill my ideals. 

I will try not to overgeneralize. I am stuck between feelings of amorous affection for you and the desire to cut of any emotion at all so I won't be hurt when you finally tire of me. It is obvious that the feelings can never be mutual. Whatever stage of maturity you have or haven't reached, you are at least certain that you don't want a relationship. And am certain that I do.

I would be very willing to try to be the gallant sideline gentleman in your life, perhaps occasional intimate friend, who is always secretly hoping you'll come around one day and feel for me as I do for you. But I don't feel very mature. I am all fairy tales, hormones, daydreams and delusions. I can hardly handle a missed phone call; what would happen if you went away forever?

You have said that you are just not certain about anything. I find that I need a certain amount of certainty in my intimate friendships. I mean, I don't even like the idea of a non-committal relationship. You have been through a lot, and it has left you doubtful, pessimistic about relationships and even a bit paranoid to become involved.

You seem to have feelings for me at times, and then a sort of aversion at others. Whatever the cause, past relationships or whatever, you are at a place where you don't want to give your heart away. You are a very self-reliant individual. I don't think i is fair to either of us to deny our basic natures. 

I'd love to have a friend/lover who is as intelligent, beautiful, warm, honest and genuine as yourself. In fact, if you were not in the place in your relationship history that you are, you would be an ideal candidate. Thing is, I think you are like a field that needs a seven year rest. You have become emotionally drained by previous failed relationships and are burned out on the idea.

I do not take this personally. The fact that you've spent as much time with me as you have tells me that, in spite of your current state of mind, you at least see something interesting or attractive in me. Thank you for giving me some self-respect. I feel like less of a loser than before I met you. 

I still have a long way to go, and the problems I need to work on are not the kind of problems you have the time or emotional strength to deal with. You need to take some time and decide what you want and then find someone stable, who will provide you you with more than vast grief.

I can't help thinking that there must be someone out there that wants to commit to a long-term monogamous relationship. Which is a fancy way of saying I'd like the other person to love me. I have no delusion that this kind of thing is instant or magic. It takes work.

I am willing to do some waiting, but ultimately, my ideal is set. You may never be ready to commit to anyone again. It could take ten years. I don't have that kind of time to wait before I start working on my dream. I just can't handle too long in limbo.

We could commiserate together, but it would leave me more miserable at the end of the "co" part. I just have to let you go. It's not fair to place demands on someone emotionally. It can't be done. I'm finished. Bye.

Genny, Part Two (Love, depression, obsession ) Early 93

Dearest Genny,

Why I choose moments like this to write to you is a mystery to me. I write because I must; I am compelled to write or die. If I do not find a release for my emotions, I will implode and fall to pieces on the floor. I wish I knew God. I hear He's the one to talk to when you feel like you're going to die of heart sickness. 

Where do these feelings of utter despair come from? Why can't I let go, disengage the wheels of depression, which ceaselessly circulate painful thoughts through my head, like some horrific merry-go-round of madness?

OK, get a grip. Breathe. Count. It's OK.

No, it's not. Not OK. Nothing's OK. Everything hurts. It hurts to sit here. It hurts to think. It hurts to try to plan alleviation of my suffering because all it involves is the same old worn out remedies that don't work. 

Who the fuck am I? Where will I be in ten years? Will I always be this godforsaken depressed?

My rational mind, usually present to offer reason and good hope, has seemingly gone to sleep or left the room. Anyway, I'm in here with a big tangled ball of confused emotions and no one to tell me, "It will pass." God, I feel like I'm on an all night acid trip. No control. Well, some, but I'm just hanging on. 

So, why do I want to bum you out with all this? Cause you're my friend, and I need you. I hope I don't alienate you with what I'm about to lay on you. Please don't run and hide in the nearest bushes.

I am suffering from a scriptural malady: "Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but desire fulfilled is a tree of life." I keep hoping for the elusive "happy relationship" and fooling myself. 

In the past few days, since sleeping over at your house and your telling me that you love me, confiding in me that you think you are pregnant with Matt's child and, in general, spending more time with you than usual, I have come to a very painful conclusion: I am in damn-fool, head over heels, muddle headed, puppy dog love with you. 

I never got over you. I can see more things to like about you than I did before. Spending a few months getting to know you as a friend only made me feel even more deeply for you. And for a while I thought I was maturely accepting my status. I had to balance my supreme love of having you around with my fear of succumbing to my obsessional nature.

I never want to lose your friendship. It means too much to me. But, oh, Genny, the struggle!

When I saw your ad in the personals, I wanted to cry. How can you? How can you be looking for friends? It sounds so deceptive. I guess I just feel rejected because you told me, "I'm not the one" and "I can't date you." Oh, Genny, why not? Am I really that smothering?

All I want is a little of what I've been without all my life. A little affection, warmth, compassion. I swear I'd never put you through any trips. I just want someone to be in love with. Someone I like, feel comfortable with, who excites me, makes me feel wonderful -- to be specific: you. 

How does someone wind up with a girl like you? What are you looking for? Is there no possibility for a relationship between us?

I remember a night, not too long ago, when you told me some very naughty things, and I did not take you up on it at the time. Biggest mistake of my life. When the moment is there, it is like magic. But like most magic, the spell wears, off and I am left with a pumpkin. 

Cinderella spent too long dancing. She should have left the ball early and rode off into the night with her prince while they still had the carriage.  Would have saved the prince a lot of door knocking. And trying to fit a lot of smelly women's feet into a slipper that could only be filled by one beautiful Princess.

Oh, well. What this has to do with my life or yours is suspect. My analogies always have loose ends. 

But Genny, you mythical Goddess, I've never stopped regretting that we never made love. I reckon I'd probably die contented if we ever did. I do love you so much, in so many ways, it's hard to conceive. 

I was not kidding when I said I'd marry you in an instant and raise your child as if it were mine. God, Genny, if you are the prize, I don't care what Herculean feats I would have to perform, it would be worth it. 

If, on the other hand, I had to sit back and watch you find happiness with another, I'd still not want to lose you. But I'd have to be pretty stoic about it. I'm not a hard person to be friends with, just freaking impossible is all. 

I mean, I don't ask much, just that you spend the rest of your life with me. Be my love, we'll be partners. We'll live for today, plan for tomorrow and love every minute. That's about it.

Tell me please that I'm wrong or that I'm right, but please, put me out of my misery. I'll wait for you. Think it over. I'm always here for you. I'll always be a friend, maybe not a great one (I'm kind of moody). 

Well, I feel a little bit better, but only because writing takes up energy I'd have been spending freaking out, and now I'm tired. You must be, too. My letters are draining. If I don't send you this, it's cause I've gone past the crisis stage and am dealing with it on my own. If I do, then I really am crazy. 

I love you

Andrew (Drew) "Hoody" Golding

Another unsent, unfinished puppy love letter to Genny (exact date unknown)

Dear Genny,
 
If this ever finds its way into your hands then I am stupider than I even give myself credit for. You see, when I start writing letters to a woman, it is the beginning of the end. It means I have fallen head over heels in big-dumb-puppy love. 

I find that after a couple of days in your wonderful company, I am a pleasant mix of confused, elated, excited, afraid, hopeful, pessimistic, amazed and going on crazy. But I feel good. 

I guess you know me to be an emotional person. One who falls in love very easily. A fool. But I know my heart. I watch over it. I observe it as it goes through its changes, makes its mistakes and pays the price. My mind is rationally taking notes on life as my heart experiences upheaval and renewal.

I know how I feel about you as a person. As someone with whom I have shared friendship, ideas, beliefs, trust, heartaches, good times, music, food, and a warm blanket by the fire, I can say that I really do love you. I will always care about you, desire your friendship, be concerned for your well-being and be there for you if you ever need me. 

I could not honestly say that about Joy. Even during the best moments, I held a piece of my heart back. I had my own doubts. I was not truthful to her or to myself. She was saying "I love you," "Your all I want in a man," "Let's move in together," etc. etc. while we had only known each other for a week. It was too much for my little brain to handle. 

When she later came to her senses and said,"Let's cool it," I must confess, it didn't bother me nearly as much as I had expected. In fact, it was a relief. She was not what I was looking for, but I just couldn't reject her when it seemed like she liked me. I have since learned to be honest with myself about my feelings (ha) or to try to be.
 
I never stopped liking/lusting after you. I just kept on finding different things to like about you as we'd spend time together. You seemed sympathetic, aware, understanding, pretty, funny, "wacky", in general a real joy to be around. I can't help feeling very strongly about you. 

We have shared some intimate times, which I will never be able to forget. I hope they don't have to just be memories. I don't know if you could ever see yourself with a guy like me, and I could only dream of a girl as wonderful as you, but I just know that I love being with you. 

You turn me on. You make me feel all squishy and weird. Lying next to you, I felt a combination of blessed contentment and tortured restraint. I want to make love to you so much. God, you are so beautiful, and so near, yet I don't want to make you feel smothered, or like the object of unwanted affections. I can't help wishing and hoping, lusting and longing. 

You see, its not just dumb-puppy-love My feelings for you are based on what I know about you as a person, your convictions, your taste, your likes and dislikes. I like who you are. Messy room and all. You are cool. I dig you. 

I find you so pleasing to be around. I couldn't hope to meet someone who has been a better friend or anyone who is more attractive to me. I am in love with you and that's that. Oh, please please, say that there could be a chance.
 
I would give anything, do anything to make it work. I guess I really sound pathetic. Oh, well.
 

Letter to my mom (Dysfunctional Thanksgiving, Zoloft, Genny)

 Dear Mom,

I s'pose I'll actually try to send this letter and get to the points at hand, rather than beginning yet another rambling, never to be sent journal of my anxiety ridden love life. 

So, how ya doin'?

Steve, Carol, Tim & I had our Thanksgiving dinner together. We had corned beef & cabbage and continued the tradition of not fully cooking the meat. Tim seems about the same as usual, as does Super Nintendo Carol. We enjoyed a wonderfully anti-social, dysfunctional family get together. Steve, Tim & I played pool in the garage, while Carol interfaced with the Game Station. 

I took Tim fishing in my canoe, which was ok, though he is a bit hard to keep entertained. I think he needs Zoloft. Ha. The answer to everything. Oh, yeah, keep them coming; I guess they are working ok. I don't feel much different, except perhaps that things do not seem to be so much of a chore.

I still don't have a clue as to what to do with my life. I have no girlfriend, no plans, no strategies. But any day now, I guess the sky is going to pop open and beam down a column of light and lead me to her. Hope abounds in the face of disappointment.

Genny has turned out to be a mirage. The closer I get to her, the farther off our relationship becomes. Oh, well. I tried. Now I am tired of being the fool with his heart on his sleeve. "Not me," I say, but if she'd call, I'd run to her. Oh, well, at least I admit it.

Music is very therapeutic for me. Soon, I'm sure, I will get into a band, as soon as someone answers my ad...

I am also getting into better shape. My 3X a week weightlifting is keeping me from getting the Golding Gut. Speaking of which, I wonder about Grandma. I called her # and got a young lady's answering machine...I guess I should call old Dad and find out.

Well, I got to be going. I'm off to work. Talk to you soon. Take care.

 Love, 

Andrew

Thoughts (while) On Pot (Chico 11-7-92)

Pot

Lets you forget

The majority of

Things which tend

To stress people out

And makes you focus

(by limiting the number of thoughts

one has) on the one

Thing you are currently

Doing. You tend only

To do things you enjoy

When stoned, so you

Um. Ah, what’s that again?

---

I had a sudden bad thought, like as if my face

cracked open from the jaw to the temple and out

poured nothing but pot ashes.

A kind of melancholy bliss -- Zoloft, Raving about Genny and a short update on life (another unsent draft of a letter to my mom)

Dear Mom,

Howdy. Thought Id' take time out of my busy schedule of loafing around the apartment, listening to Led Zeppelin and watching mindless, muted Music Television and going out of my head. 

Oh, the Zoloft? Not bad. At half strength, it's about like looking forward to a cup of coffee or a Twinkie. But the agitation I am feeling today, I believe we have spoken of before at great length.

I have my heart hung out on my sleeve for a certain young lady (Genny) who is entertaining, for the moment at least, consideration of dating me. Oh, boy. 

I am at once happy and excited, nervous, fearful, stupid and overly emotionally charged. Music becomes painful to listen to, but I enjoy the pain. A kind of melancholy bliss. I am plainly in hormonal overproduction over this girl. If I could just keep from blowing it and scaring her off. Like all the others...

Other things have been going on in my life, mainly, the daily work routine, Uncle Steve's semi-weekly dinner/TV evenings, Brian, Mona and Gene -- fishing and yapping buddies -- my music and vehicle recreation (I now have a car, a van and a motorcycle -- Steve's old 550) all take up time not spent brooding over my search tor the ideal woman.

Oh, and I spend a fair amount of time worrying about the future, or my lack of one. I could be a more positive person, I guess. 

Sometimes, when the moon is right, and I feel in love and don't have a care in the world, I'll feel like dancing, or singing up a storm, to my neighbor's alarm. I live in the now. When "now" is happening or cool in the pleasurable sense, I am perfectly capable of sitting back and grasping the moment, not dwelling on fears or insecurities.

It's just that most moments are not like that. They are a ceaseless grind of boring sameness. Lameness! I need a challenge, something to live for. A new cause or religion to fight for. You know, an existential experience to cement who I am. Like right now, I'm still liquid concrete being tumbled about in a cement mixer. 

Will I be the oldest living person to be confused about what I want to do in life? Will frustration over failures cause depression to get the better of me? Find out in our next exciting episode...

Well, Mom, gotta go for now. C-Ya.

Well, I'm back from dropping Genny off at work. As if that were not a rewarding enough experience, she made me a big sack lunch consisting of 2 cheeseburgers, chips, cookies, banana, apple slices, a muffin and a soda. I am blessed.

I bought her a tiny vase with flowers and constructed a magazine font ransom note type letter that said, "Dear Genny, I love you. Hoody." She thought it was ever so cute and kissed me. I am so glad she had this reaction instead of a whole range of uncomfortable responses I had been sort of bracing myself for.

I really do love this girl, though, Mom. She's just young and confused, and I'm older and less mature, but she's everything I could dream about. We share the same taste in music and popular culture and have similarly repressed religious backgrounds and liberal politics. She loves to cook, and I love to eat. She's beautiful, naturally, and the fact that she desires to spend time with me really just blows my mind.

We've been good friends and almost lovers, then in limbo while she was deciding what she wanted. I just kind of hung around and kept the door open anytime she'd need a friend or someone to give her a hand with something. Anyway, I would be extremely happy to land such a "catch" as this one, and you would just have to meet her.

Well, enough raving. I'll be seeing her again shortly, and I must prepare to suck the marrow out of these moments, I can tell you. S'long!

Love,

A~~~ G~~~~g

 

Pretty bad, huh?

This is what my signature has eroded into. But it's quick, though.  

'90s Era Survey (to be included with all love letters sent by me)

E X A M I N A T I O N

Questionnaire Related to Letter

Check all appropriate answers

SECTION A  “ I liked your letter, but…”

__ It confused me, especially the part that said ___________.

__ It made me feel uncomfortable, like an itchy blanket.

__ I thoroughly, unqualifiedly enjoyed every bit of it.

__ I felt it was too forward.

__ I felt it was not forward enough.

__ I would rather read a mathematics textbook.

__ It caught me off guard, I don’t know what to think.

SECTION B  “You’re a nice guy, but…”

__ Forget it.

__ I don’t like you in that way.

__ I think you are mentally ill.

__ I am not attracted to you, you’re not my type.

__ I suppose I could like you, but I just have to think about it.

__ My heart is very tender right now, I don’t know what I feel.

__ I am lonely and need a friend (platonic).

__ I am lonely and need affection.

__ I am a married woman, how dare you, you jerk.

__ Please do not pursue me any further, I am more attracted to Joe.

__ Go ahead and pursue me, I’ll slap you if you get out of line.

__ Oh, Andrew, you GOD, light me up.

__ Oh, Andrew, you poor, pitiful fool, get a life.

__ I am mildly amused.

__ I am slightly annoyed.

__ I am mentally ill myself, how should I know anything?

__ Give me 5 mins. to slip into some edible undies.

__ You, being a male, are a pig.

__ I thought you were nice until _____________.

__ I would like to be left alone.

__ I am in mourning, call me in _______ days/weeks.

__ Hold me, just hold me.

__ Just what the hell is wrong with you, anyway?

__ I have plans to become a nun.

__ I will never get involved with another man.

__ I plan to commit suicide next week, so this is all irrelevant.

__ You are opening a can of worms, for God’s sake put down that can opener.

__ Let’s run away together.

__ Let’s forget this whole thing and turn back the clock to before you wrote these ridiculous letters.

__ I am emotionally distressed, please just be my friend and don’t expect anything.

__ This survey is biased and unfair.

__ Questions that should have been included are:

      _______________________________________________________

      _______________________________________________________

      _______________________________________________________

Since there is no way to score this, as it is not really a test, please return to the Survey 

Taker when completed.

Song for Ramona Reid

Song to Ramona
 

Girl its gonna take a lotta bowls,

To get over the fact of you leavin'.

Cause when I come home, go to sleep, get up, go to work,

I got nothin' to look forward to this evenin'.

Never gonna see your face in any office window or doorway,

With a pitcher and the pills in your hand.

Gonna have to remember all those,

Good times we had.

So many times to see your smiling angry face busting up

laughing,

I'd come early to see you.

Then they took away the time from us,

Where did it go? No more:

Stayin' late, comin' early, hangin' around.

It's no good, can't they see, to try to separate you and me.

Cause like Obi-wan-fucking-Kanobi,

If they strike us down our friendship will only become more 

Powerful than they could ever imagine.

All that has happened, like a busted picket fence,

Like a worn out sledge hammer, beats at my poor heart ceaselessly.

Their callous disregard, their privilege to LOSE OUT.

For you I'd go hungry, without any dope for weeks at a time,

I'd sacrifice all that is mine, to capture a minute or two and

set it aside, so that later, when the evil shit comes, 

I will have one perfect gilded gem to console me, amidst the lameness 

that will surely be my life. 

If one swims hard enough, the currents that engulf and submerge us 

will propel and uplift us to perfect harmony, freedom, innocence and bliss. 

Bless you Ramona, for you are the closest thing to it,

this is it...now is it. It is. So rejoice and be glad!

 
(Oh, Andrew, Stop Ramona-cizing everything!)

 
 

Ramona

Ramona,

I am sitting here in a quandary. No, actually it is a chair in the SNC. But my mind is as baffled as Pat Rupp. The source of my anguish is probably evident. But let's go back in time just for fun...

I don't know the exact moment when the thought came into my mind: "Hey, this person Mona, who I work with and occasionally chat with is really cool. I mean, I feel comfortable around her. I want her to be my friend. I want her to like me.

“I want her to like me, share her secrets and troubles and confide in me. I wish she wasn’t married. But that’s ok, ‘cause I really respect her. It’s better this way. We can be really good friends and never be tainted by problems that plague most male-female relationships. Maybe by getting close to Mona and getting to know how she thinks and feels I can begin to understand women in general (a very bold ambition).

“But she’s so accessible and open. Surely she is an exception. She’s very different from anyone I have met. So warm and human and unpretentious. God, and she’s pretty, too. What a lucky guy she must be married to. He probably loves her to death. (seriously, no pun intended). He should, anyway.

“What’s a guy gotta do to wind up with a girl like this, anyway? Be Gandhi or Mother Theresa in their past life? The good ones are all taken and usually taken for granted. Well, I’d never do this,” I say.

Then, the trouble in Paradise. Her man beats her and she kicks him out or he leaves. She says it’s over, but she doesn’t want it to be. But she does not want to suffer any more. No more tension or anxiety in her own house.

She calls her friends for support. I have longed for the chance to show her that I care, that I am there for her. I feel needed. I also feel guilty deriving pleasure from the closeness she has allowed me to have with her in sharing her problems. She seems so vulnerable.

God, I think she is so attractive. Maybe she…thoughts and daydreams run amok…no, this is wrong. Although we are really good friends now, I have no right to indulge in this kind of thinking. Or have I? What if she’s lonely? What would it hurt if I told her how I feel: I know she’s a kind enough person to forgive me if I am acting inappropriately.

I’ll send her a letter (how original). This approach has never worked before but, hey, I don’t think she’d really mind a nice letter to inform her that she is (A) Loved (B) Beautiful. So, I did it. Gave her the letter. And waited and watched. No response. “I liked your letter,” was all. What did that mean?

The subject seemed shelved. And our friendship was intact. I wasn’t embarrassed. I figured I had just been so off base that it had been laughable. She’d never been attracted to me. I am demented, delusional.

So, off I go on my Quest for Woman, sniffing elsewhere, in the personals, in the supermarket. I can’t stand being alone.

I get involved in an “instant relationship” with someone named Joy. She says she loves me. What can I do? She gives me wonderful hugs and tells me I am all that she wants in a man. We’ve known each other less than a week. I have reservations. I don’t want to hurt this nice girl who is so in love with me (an indeed makes me feel loved).

But if I ever had a chance with Mona…no, forget it.

Then, a phone call, “I wrote you a letter.” Hmm. What could this mean? Hold everything. Let’s just see what it says.

P.S. She hugged me—a dream fulfilled.

Another One Bites The Dust

 Dear Joy,

I probably shouldn't be writing you or even thinking of you right now. I feel like I'm violating some law of psychologically correct dating. Well, so f---in' what? 

It's Wednesday, Oct 14. One week plus since I've seen you, and the circumstances of the interval have me wondering and confused. A week can go by fast or slow depending on whether I'm busy or not, etc. It's not a long time in the scheme of things, but this one has been very tough.

The thing that is hard to deal with is the uncertain feeling I have that you must be thinking I'm a big jerk or something -- only you don't want to tell me. So you are hoping I'll just go away. I could be a big jerk. Sometimes I don't always see how my behavior affects others or even notice how I am acting until someone tells me: "You look sad" or "How come you are so quiet?"

But in this case, I really am baffled. What did I do to offend you? It was only a week ago you were saying "I love you" and "You're all I want in a man." 

Now, I know I never deserved for you to say those things to me in the first place, however, like a overpayment on a tax refund, I hate to have you take those wonderful words back. They meant so much to me, a habitually unloved person. I thought you were serious, and I allowed myself to feel a moment of comfort in my lonely life. 

I thought I was going to be one of those lucky people who love has smiled upon. I don't have an overly idealized view of what a relationship is. I know there are plenty of things to work through, and some relationships may never be worth the work necessary to maintain them. Maybe I'm not worth the trouble to get to know and help to grow, etc.

It is your loss, and I'm not being pouty or saying sour grapes. I really believe that. If you are so cold as to close the door on me after inviting me into your life, then I really feel that you are the one who should feel cheated.

You must have seen something in me that you didn't like, but it doesn't have to mean the end of it all. People all have faults. People can change. I'm willing to work with you if you are willing to work with me. But I just can't deal with the insecurity of not knowing what is going on. 

The need for space I understand. The need for time with your kid, time to work, time alone. I understand these things.

But what I feel like is a piece of frozen meat that you took out of the bargain bin and put in your cart, only to return it to the refrigerator after partially thawing it out while walking around the store. I feel like a puppy returned to the pound after a week in a loving home.

I want to cry, and I want to not give a shit, but I can't do either. 

I didn't want to get too attached too soon, but you, after repeatedly telling me you loved me, made me feel confident enough to let myself open my heart to you. At this point, I don't know if I can trust you with my heart anymore.

I can't keep going through these aches and pains of romance. Frankly, it sucks. First, they tell you everything you want to hear, then you believe it -- and then they say goodbye. Then you never want to believe it again.  

Fuck it. I've got better things to do with my energy than waste it hurting over someone who is more confused than I am. I really hope you find happiness and peace in your life. 

Sure, we can be friends. Whatever you want. I just don't know what you are thinking or feeling right now, and I am a bit bitter about being hung up on during our last conversation. 

I have been occupying myself nicely this week, determined not to let this area of my life cause the others to all suck as well. And I may be jumping to conclusions. I do that sometimes, though I'm always ready to give my friends the benefit of the doubt. 

You are just a mystery right now. What did I do wrong? What did she ever see in me to begin with? What can I do to make things better? To make them more like they were during that first week...Was I dreaming or what?

I'm sorry I'm not a more mature person. My judgement is not always clear where my emotions are involved. Oh, well. I guess that makes me human. Is it a crime to get carried away and emotionally involved with another person these days? 

I assure you that whatever psychological problems I may have, I am not an unfit person. I am not violent or abusive. I am not mentally deranged or psychotic (any more than average) or dangerous. 

I hope I haven't given you the wrong impression by joking about schizophrenia. It's just the environment that I work in that causes me to banter about words having to do with mental illness, kind of  a "gallows humor." Whatever, I'm just shooting in the dark.

I wish you would call me and tell me that everything is alright, that it was just a passing cloud, that you really do love me...

Oh, well. Sitting here writing about it is good to pass the time and get things out that hurt to keep inside, but it doesn't change anything. I feel like a candidate waiting for the election results, or a prisoner waiting for his verdict. I'll probably get the chair...

Well, eventually we'll talk and this letter will be redundant and obsolete. Until then, here's wishing you were here.

AG

More Joy (another unsent letter)

 Dear Sweet Lovable Joy,

Hi there! Much 💗 and ☮️ be upon thee, O woman. May the gods of hemp and interplanetary happiness bless your baggie to the overflowing and may your weary soul kick back, smoke one, and find repose.

Ah, yes. Well, I'm guilty of thinking of you again in my off hours. Please forgive this infraction of the Laws of Psychologically Correct Behavior. I am not obsessing or brooding, just pleasantly reminiscing and contemplating our times together. I've really enjoyed your opening up your life and letting me in.

I realize that I have been taking you away from your responsibilities by altering your routine. I do not wish to upset your life, only enrich it. You seem to be needing a bit of space, so I s'pose we ought to cool down and be more adult about our relationship. 

Please forgive me if I make all the classic mistakes. I don't want to play games or use manipulative tricks or be dishonest with you. I am an emotionally insecure person. I need lots of love and attention. When I am sure and certain that I am loved (I am not sure I have ever been) and am secure in the peace of that knowledge, I will require less reassurance and relinquish my fears of being hurt and abandoned.

I know it is not fair to bring the problems of my 27 years into a new and unspoiled relationship, especially when the person is as kind and sweet as you. If I am too sensitive, it is not your fault. I should be more mature.

When I heard you tell your friend about the guy who turned you off by writing you multi-page letters and sending flowers and calling too much, I began to get the feeling that I should be taking a hint from this: Don't overdo it.

I certainly would love to shower you with affection and treat you to the best things in life because of how wonderful you make me feel. I have been lonely and alone my whole life and suddenly there's someone who makes me feel warm and loved. It's only natural to want to get as close as possible and to not want to let go. 

I have been starving, and now I am pigging out. I suppose what I should do is to savor you slowly, enjoying each delicious bite, rather than try to devour you all at once. I have grown up with the refugee mentality: Grab what you can today, tomorrow it may be gone.

I suppose that trust can only come with consistency and the passage of time. If the sun has behaved in the same manner (rising and setting, giving light and heat) for as long as it has, I guess I can be secure knowing that it will continue to do so. People are different. They change, die, betray, go away. Not always. There are exceptions. But it is a naive thing to give one's heart away to a stranger.

I have always been the "jump right in" type of person. And I've always been hurt. Hmm. But is indifference the answer? No, life is vulnerable. If you are perfectly protected, you are not human. Humans have hearts and can be hurt. 

I want to experience the range of emotions that humans are capable of, in their proper proportions. OK, so maybe I prefer joy to, say, sadness or pain. But if we were meant to never suffer, we'd all be mannequins with smiles painted on, or Brady kids or TV evangelists.

What I'm getting at is, OK, I really like you a lot. Like ice cream or cheesecake. And I'm like a kid from Ethiopia, tasting it for the first time. You, being the more mature of us (because women are smarter) are responsible to keep me in line, set the pace and make sure I don't get bulimic. I will respect your judgement.

I only hope that when you get to know me, you will still love me. I am not harboring a secret life or hidden personality disorder. I wear all my problems, joys and defects on the outside. What you see is what you get. What needs improving, I hope to improve, and my life's philosophy is still under construction. 

Take it slow. Ok. Let's do that. But let's not play any games.

Love ya,

Andrew

Ode to Joy, or another random love letter from 1992

Dearest Honey Blossom Cakes O' Sweetness,

To begin with, Hi there! I hope the gods of green bud bless your brain lobes with the ever expanding euphoria associated with smoking a joint, meditating or kicking back near a body of water. Peace be to you soul, mind, household appliances and body (including a special blessing upon those marvelously molded anterior parts, of which I am extremely fond). Peace to your buttocks. Peace be upon them mightily!

OK, OK...I am getting a bit carried away in my benediction. Please forgive. The purpose of my letter, besides trying to make you feel special, is to convince you that I am not crazy (ie. psychotic, obsessive/compulsive, addictive personality, manic/depressive, axe murderer, abuser of small penguins...) but simply suffering from an old affliction, often misdiagnosed in modern times: LOVE.

OK, I know that in the early stages, the symptoms of love are very similar to gout, or the onset of mental illness. But dammit (just thought I'd say "dammit") what's wrong with being in love, feeling it, expressing it, shouting it, singing about it, writing voluminous letters of adoration--etc? It seems the world has been doing it for a very long time now, and I must say, of all the attainments in life, love seems the most worthy to be put on a pedestal. Love, in all its forms and expressions, seems to me what it is all about.

Sure, there are some sick and twisted individuals who, "in the name of love," do horrendous acts, but this should not sully the reputation of TRUE LOVE. I don't think one should be afraid to love or to let oneself be loved. The possibility of hurt is inherent in anything we do as humans unless we have had our central nervous system removed or re-wired. So, if we are human and we are going to be hurt anyway in life, why not let ourselves be loved?

"Love yourself," I hear someone in the back say. Sure. But there's a limit to how much love you can heap on yourself before it gets disgusting. And it really is more spiritually satisfying to love others and let them love you back. Self-love is a lonely world. You can be happy alone, and indeed all of us are alone inside our own individual consciousnesses. No one, no matter how much acid they do, can truly share another's consciousness.

But--it is pleasant to share experiences and ideas with another person who is similarly tuned to the universe. Having a partner or soul mate or lover to share burdens, talk, share the bounty of life (good food, music, etc) and have a warm secure intimate relationship with--what's wrong with that? If two people have the desire to be together, to be in love and agree that they will work with and not try to hurt one another, why fight it?

I know that you have responsible considerations to make, as you have a child who depends on you not to make poor choices. But oh, honey, don't you see I have honorable intentions? I will do anything to prove this to you. I am willing to work on my life.

I don't believe that anyone should try to change anyone else. I don't want you to change what you are--what you are is what I'm attracted to. We all have things we want to improve in ourselves, but that is up to us to change or not. I can make adjustments and be content in varied circumstances. I think I am ready to do what it takes to make a relationship work.

I'm not saying I'll always do everything right. Like right now. I should probably be more aloof. Give you more space to breathe and think. And I will. But dammit (love that word for emphasis) I am in love, and I'm not ashamed of acting the idiot. I just don't want to drive you away.

So, darling, don't be afraid of getting attached to me. I will never do anything to hurt or betray you. You are very special to me, I've never met anyone who makes me feel all the ways you do. I feel comfortable with you, like we're already old friends, and yet quite excited by you and attracted to you physically. You are, on the whole, a very wonderful person and I hope you will give me the chance to become a part of your life.

If I do anything that you feel uncomfortable with, I want you to tell me. I feel that people should above all be honest about their feelings.

You know, this has been a pretty mushy letter, all this about "love" and "feelings." Hell, I reckon I got it pretty bad. Please don't freak out because of the fact of my many-worded writing illness. It is genetic. All writers go overboard in wooing the women of their fancy. Plus, I have a lot of time on my hands here at work. Next week I plan to solve our country's political problems. But this week my love life takes priority.

Well, honey love flower petal dew drop baby, I got to go to work. Ta Ta.

Love,
Andrew

Another Cuckoo personal ad response (Colony Inn Era circa 1992)

Hello. Hi there. 

 

May our eggs share the same nest, or whatever the local customary thing to say is, this is it.

I hope to be starting off on the right foot with you (left one's always gettin' me in trouble, yah!), so I'll tell you right where I'll begin. Why be answerin' a personal ad any-way? What's wrong with me? 

OK. Fair enough. I started out nice, with a little salutation, and now you want an accounting of all my faults. Well, hmmn. Not going to give it to you.
 
I don't have gangrene or leprosy (HIV+ or -). I have been celibate for over a year, through circumstance not choice, but all things considered, through choice, by not choosing to do anything about it. Well, anyway, I never have been "promiscuous," to say the least. 

Who fricken cares? I'd love to have a wonderful relationship (sex included), but I don't really want to hope for anything at this point. To hope for something is to be disappointed. To be disappointed, I know a lot. I do believe I am sounding negative again, and I swore I'd be presentin' myself nice today. 

 

Hello. Forgive me, entirely. I am a bit down on myself, and The Personal Ads, and The Dating Scene in General, oh, but not life. 

 

I would be oh so happy if I could just meet a nice female person I could relate to and be a part of their lives, not in the way that catfood might be, but in a real, milk sort of way. I mean we could nurture the relationship, you know, like a cactus. 

 

We could bike ride together and eat picnic lunches on islands remote and dangerous, or sit around and drink coffee, or talk about The Future, or just shut up and look in each others eyes (but not like psychos or anything).

 I don't know that people do that any more. Do they hold hands? Is there kissing? I know there's sex, I mean, I suppose there is. Sex is just too dangerous to be talked about mildly. It's like talking about a gun. It's negative. Too negative. Let's not talk of it at all right now. 

 I'd rather fantasize and speculate as to what your eyebrows might look like. Your nose. Your chin. Your shin. Your grin. 'S that a sin?

 What am I some rhyming kind of idiot? OK. We're OK. Got it all out of my system. Now. Let's get introductions straight, since you think I'm on drugs. And I'm not, by the way. They're on me. They're all over me! Get ' em off! Get ' em off! 

My name is Andrew. I have many other personalities, but you need only know of this one 'cause the others all go out and report to demons and commit grave crimes and bury people by the side of the road. Ahem. But besides all the killin', I is a real nice man, whom you should think about dating.

 

F'rinstance, though I am an axe murderer and a junkie, I have a big heart and can be a good loyal friend. And although I belong to the gay Rasta Nazi biker Vietnam vets for Jesus, my politics don't get in the way of my religion (ZEN/Krishna/Satanastrianism).

Sufficient background? Now can we be intimate? Oh, come on! Hell, please? 

Oh, awright. But right now I gotta go. No,really. You want to talk any further than this, you goin' to have ta put another dime in the meter. No hangin' around this Seven-Eleven. Keep movin', gotta keep movin'. 

 

Um, give me a call. If you're bored and want to be more so, only with company.

Nawww.
 
343-2372 Andrew (Hoody) Paul Golding
 

Dearest Whomever (From the Adventuress Wanted era circa 1992)

 09
 
Dearest Whomever;
 

Hi there, my name's Andrew, and I likes me some camping. Yessir. I am 27 years old and am in search of a female travelling companion who may or may not become the woman of my dreams as we roll down the road in my '63 Dodge paramilitary parcel van. 

 

The woman should be rugged, or at least not prissy. She need not be a beauty queen, although I wouldn't object. A real down to earth, sandle wearin', tie dyed, woman of the '90s is what I'm looking for. 

 

See, my plan is to get to know this woman through a letter correspondence, then a couple of visits, then a few preliminary weekend camping trips. Gradually, as I save money and outfit the rig for the long haul, I'd like to live with the girl, sharing expenses and saving together. Then, when we are ready to light out, having consolidated our possessions into a mass of currency and utilitarian luxuries for the journey, we will go. 

 

And go. I'd like to tour the whole U.S. because this is to be the trek of a lifetime. Traveling as cheaply as possible without eating roadkill, I would like to make this last as long as possible. Lakes, rivers, streams and mountains, everywhere will be our home. Until the money goes. Then we will hopefully be either in the locale of our dreams, or in a suburb of a town we don't hate too much, where we can work toward the next six months of travel. 

 

I am very handy and can ply myself to most trades, when given the opportunity. I have worked in an office and machine shop and as a laborer in many fields. Right now I work with the mentally ill. 

 

Anyway, if I have to relocate to meet the girl of my dreams, no problem. I live in Chico at the moment. Been here 10 months, living with grandpa, until he died. Then Uncle Steve took over. I'll be in Chico until something comes along, but when it does I'm ready to jump. 

 

What this means is, I am in a transition phase of my life. I am getting rootbound. Chico is not where I plan to plant myself forever. I want to see the world now, not when I am fifty. 

 

I have some college education, although I believe it is mostly obsolete. Computer programming is different now than 5 years ago. Anyway, it was never really my love.

 

I like music, writing and the arts. I like film (video), guitar, and drawing. I believe I could be the next Madonna, if given the right breaks (and lingerie). 

 

So what's on the list of activities? Camping, stopping at gas stations, canoeing, fishing, hiking, smelling the roses, feeling the earth under our feet, conversing, making love, swimming nude in mountain streams. Getting way out there. 

 

I don't do chemicals or drink excessively. I may partake in a beer or a small green handrolled cigarette from time to time, but I am no abuser. 

 

Let's see. Bear with me. 

 

I am openminded but have a few strong convictions. One is honesty. No thieving, lying or sneaking. I like to be out in the open and hate deception. I respect other peoples lifestyles, hairstyles and religions (where they do not infringe on my rights as a human being).  I get along with all races and speak Spanish confluently. I can also speak jive, when necessary. 

 

OK, lets see. No major diseases, like AIDS, herpes, hippopatamus--whatsoever. I am not promiscuous. I've only had 2 or three real relationships, mostly I have been by myself. I am an uncharted  sea. 

 

I hope to meet someone who is not molded in concrete but  who is adaptable, content and creative. She should also have a nice, firm, round head with a brain inside. She should like  classic and underground rock. This is not critical. She could like mariachi music, as long as she is tolerant of what I listen to. I will be likewise. 

 

So, what's more to say except - "Come on, babe, let's fly!" I'm Andrew, come fly me.
 
Andrew Golding
 PO BOX 5650 

Chico, CA 95927-5650
 

 

A few attempts at personal ads from the early '90s

Andrew Golding
1225 Nord Ave. #167
Chico, CA  95926

Date: 9/02/92                    Box# 58270
Account: 916-3432372        Password: 7229
Date Entered:9/01/92        Ad Taker: 0005
Start Date: 9/03/92
Talking Personal

Men-Women
ECLECTIC, 27, SWM eccentric hippie, artist type, seeking happy relationship with one kind-hearted, down to earth female. Age/race unimportant, warmth and honest a must. Call voice mailbox 53270.


SWM 24, 5'7", 160, Blond, Green Eyes. With undefinable qualities of a good heart, Love of Life and good and aversion to Evil and bad.

and some generic, pre-written responses to ads I may have run across:

Hi. My Name is Andrew.

I'm new in town and I'd like to meet a down to earth girl. I'm looking for a friend or companion who will help bring out my wild and zany side. I'm 5'9", 160 with blond wavy hair and John Lennon spectacles. I'm a moderated drinker and partier and a non cigarette smoker. I like motorcycles, camping, fishing, rock and roll and alternative music. I like a good time. How about you?  Give me a call. Leave me your #.


and this one:

Hello Pretty Woman!

I AM ANDREW.

Child at heart, really. I want to meet somebody who will be a really close friend, like a sister who will always be there. Someone who I will always treasure and respect and love. Yes, I said "Love." I don't believe love is a cheap word. And so your friendship means a great deal. But I am an untamed bachelor and am still a little wild at heart.

I am 5'9", 155, Blond hair and green eyes. For a mental picture here are some actors or personalities I resemble:

John Lennon
Mary Tyler Moore
Richard Harris
Peter Fonda
Charlton Heston
Grace Slick (just kidding) Grace Jones
Kurt Rambis
Robert Oppenheimer

Well, I've been no help. I guess you'll have to meet me and find out. I hope we can meet and be friends. I like all the things you like:

1.  Rain, Sun, Moon and Stars
2.  Parades Flowers
3. Travel and the search for paradise
4. Hiking, biking, fishing and camping
5. Music, Guitar
6. Movies, Art, Musical Entertainment
7. Partying and getting crazy
8. Outdoor stuff, going for long walks
9. And, of course, Romance and bein' with someone you care about

Well, here's lookin' at you, kid.