Let the Fear Guide, and Not Decide.

So, what I find interesting is the difference between people who seem to have natural confidence and those that do not. Confidence often, albeit not always, seems to correlate with some history or strong anticipation of "success." Some people have this natural confidence that is not based necessarily in their actual capabilities or history. In fact their confidence likely has a large part in influencing their success--that is the success stems partially from the pure non empirical confidence, and their confidence is not necessarily a reaction from their success. If there's anything I've learned in my many (many) years in post secondary education it is pure effort that is a bigger predictor of success, than any necessarily suspected intelligence level or previous success in primary education.

Now, that isn't to say that individual capabilities don't play a role in success. In fact knowing what you naturally excel at and what you don't-- and being able to accept that-- is a big role in building confidence. If I measured success by my natural mathematical abilities or visual-spatial intelligence I would largely consider myself on the far left end of the bell curve overall. But I accept that I suck at those things--honestly I am far below average in those areas, and in a noticeable way--but in these areas I simply put in enough effort, studied twice as hard, asked for as much help as I could and I passed on average or slightly above. Pushed myself into smack into the middle of the bell of aforementioned bell curve, in other words.

But I made sure that I picked a field that played to my natural strengths--which are hard to specify but lend themselves more to qualitative fields than quantitative--calculating a t-score in statistics is my Kryptonite, but writing a 25 page persuasive paper, or being able to have natural skills at making people feel comfortable to speak about awful things from their lives, or validated in doing so are right up my alley. 

I think insecure people--speaking from experience--worry that if they feel confident then they will slip up, or be unprepared for the inevitable time when life pulls the rug out from under them. That just when they feel comfortable enough to take a deep breath and think "maybe I do have it together, or maybe it will be okay" chaos will walk into their life and they will be thinking about how foolish they were that they things would be okay. Or that they actually understood the assignment. 

I know anyhow this has been my thought process, as well as subsequently many of my clients. I've been of the mind, especially back in college and grad school, that I had to keep my wildly intense fear of failure intake, in order to push myself to success. Had to be so terrified I would fail that I'd try twice as hard. The problem is is that it kind of worked. My fear didn't stop me, it pushed me. Which is the good that can come from fear. If you know Michael Myers has escaped from Smith's Grove and you hear a noise downstairs as you're getting ready for bed that sense of fear can get you ready to run or to fight. You can pick up the fire poker (or uncoiled coat hanger--nice improv Laurie) to buy yourself some time to run from the Shape. Fear is a great thing to have. When it becomes terror and it freezes you instead of readying you for fight or flight that is the problem. 

But what is the line? My fear didn't freeze me, and I feel it helped me with my success. But perhaps I would have succeeded without the fear? Perhaps I am wrong. Looking back I certainly could have distinguished the difference of healthy fear from catastrophizing. 

Ultimately I think it's okay if you don't feel confident all the time. I think it's okay if that lack of confidence creates fear that pushes you a little more. I think it's not okay to confuse healthy fear from terror and catastrophizing. And it's imperative to note that your lack of confidence in your abilities is likely an unreliable predictor of your potential success. There's a difference between knowing you objectively struggle with something (such as math for me) and letting that guide you, and simply "feeling" like you can't do something when there is no evidence you can't. I'm not a great shining example, but I will say that nearly everything I've succeeded at I initially didn't think I would. Now I know when I simply feel overwhelmed or fear failure that that doesn't predict success. I try my best to let only objective fact and history guide me. Not to beat the example to death here, but for example I'd be terrified to go back and try to get a degree in engineering, and I'd likely actually fail. And I actually likely would because I struggle with math and visual-spatial intelligence. I'm also pretty scared at going back to school and getting my PhD in Psychology. And I might fail. No guarantees of success. But in this field I've succeeded at it all so far. That's the fact, and the difference between letting fear decide and letting fear guide. 

*hops off soap box*

Every Life is a Pile of Good Things & Bad Things

 Hello again. It has been four years since my last confession. Actually more. 

Sorry, Sarah and I have been binging 'Evil' the past few weeks and the premise involves a priest, so I've been hearing a lot of confessions recently. 

I've used this blog to exercise my metaphorical demons before--coincidentally--but that's not really why I'm here today. 

My daughter, NOW A TEENAGER (WTF), and I were having a conversation last night and my having a blog came up (this one, as well as an older one that goes back to 2011...or maybe earlier) and surprisingly this was interesting to her. She somewhat encouraged me to write a new post. She made a comment that she didn't think her life was interesting enough to have anything to say. I told her that often my life isn't particularly interesting but I still find a lot to say (not that people are necessarily listening, but I still find it helpful to word vomit--at least every two to four years apparently). Maybe that's a personal quality but perhaps in the written form lives sound more interesting. There are a lot of stories that are popular that involve very ordinary people with very ordinary problems (mostly the whole of "literature" or "straight fiction") and so clearly there is some appeal in the ordinary. Not that I'm comparing this blog--mostly barren, barring about five or six posts over the last decade or so--to a best selling novel. 

Do I find I have much to say today? Not really. Speaking of barren. 

I have been thinking a lot about death, leaving a legacy, finally getting around to those things I've always wanted to do. Finish a novel for one. That's really the only undone dream left that haunts me. 

I've accepted that that an album isn't going to happen. I do think with a little bit of effort I could at least self-publish an album of material, that I think would be worth sharing. But looking at pros and cons, it just doesn't seem worth it. 

Also apparently I'm not going to become the greatest center fielder and number three hitter for the Seattle Mariners since Griffey. Feeling increasingly unlikely at 37. 

But finishing a novel is realistic. Potentially getting it published is a whole other dream, one that involves a fair bit of luck. But finishing it would satisfy me greatly. So you'd think I would have made it happen by now. But motivation is a fickle thing and, at the end of the day, I find myself putting it off. I mean I've got a story I work on every week or so, but it'll take another two to fifty years at the snail's pace I'm going. I'm able to not care about such things a fair amount of the time. But at any old moment during the day the lack of finishing can strike and haunt me. 

Does it matter? Should it be good enough that I have a career, two kids and a wife that I all think are pretty cool? In the end of things our planet will overheat to the point of eliminating all life on earth, and our planet will be consumed into a white dwarf star or something along those lines. I heard that this is the most likely scenario. At some point we'll all be forgotten, even those that are most memorable right now, so I suppose one could say it doesn't matter. 

To me it really comes down to what you'd want people to say at your funeral. What kind of person do you want to be remembered as? What kind of legacy do I want to leave for my kids?

 In my extended family most never went to college. Which is fine, there is a blue collar legacy for most of them. But that wasn't me, and it was hard believing that I could do it, because there was no blueprint. Having one parent who went to college increases the chances they will. Again, not saying that this is the most important thing--having a career you are happy with is most important. But if at least one of them are the kinds of humans who want a job that requires such training (I suspect one is...) I think that's helpful. So leaving a legacy that involves career success, as well as creative...that could be helpful for the children that--hopefully--outlive me. Ideally they don't outlive me any time particularly soon, but who knows. Knock on wood. 

Is wanting a legacy simply vanity? Maybe. Maybe it's okay to be forgotten. Most of us will. Not immediately, but eventually. Most of the celebrities of the day 100 years ago no remembers at all. A select few, but even the most temporarily memorable are just that. Temporarily memorable. 

 Every life is a pile of good things and bad things, as Doctor Who reminds us. Not finishing those projects we wanted...never putting that debut album out, never writing that novel, whatever it is. We could qualify as a bad thing. But the good things are there, regardless. So if you only worry about  doing these--as of yet-- undone things because you want to sleep at night, maybe that's okay. But also maybe that's a sign you're only trying to feel better by arbitrarily finishing something. Out of obligation rather than love. 

I don't know.   

But that's enough for the day. Raised too many questions without answers. Maybe this all sounds like its coming from a place of depression, but it's not. Just doing the "reoccuring outpouring of everything" as I once phrased it. 

*The full Doctor Who quote, which sits to the right of my desk reads..."Every life is a pile of good things and bad things. The good things don't always soften the bad but, vice versa, the bad things don't necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant." 

I love this quote and its my guiding principle as a counselor. I try to add to the pile of good things. And help the bad things not make the good things seem unimportant. 

Also...watch 'Evil', on Paramount Plus. It rules. 

juli

I don’t remember the first time I met her. I rarely do when it comes to these things. I don’t remember the first time I met Sarah (either my wife or my sister…😉). Well, I recall the meeting, but not her (my wife, that is). I was hanging out with some of my friends and don’t quite recall her. Not the greatest story I suppose, but in my mind I met her at a party which she had snuck out to get to…which sounds a little cooler I think. But anyway, this isn’t about Sarah.

 It’s about Juli. It’s about three years since she died. Three years on May 25^th…although it all went down on May 24^th, so that’s really more the day in my mind. I remember that day well. Actually most of that month of May, which is also rare. But then it was a memorable month.

Asher was born on May 3^rd (almost May the 4^th…which would have pleased Chad, but I think Ash knew I was a bigger Doctor Who fan…). Juli died on May 25^th. Almost exactly three weeks where Ash and his grandmother existed in the same world. Actually she had the heart attack on the 24^th, so really the 25^th is more of a technicality. I’ve talked about this before, wrote a whole two or three paragraphs on it, so I’ll just briefly paraphrase myself. Essentially what I said was that the pain never really goes away. It fades, yes, and of course these things are different for everyone else. But what I wrote resonated with a lot of people, which I don’t say to brag or something, but just to note that what I feel is a common feeling. I think I thought there would be a time when the pain fades into just good memories, more or less. I didn’t think that I would think about Juli every single day. Literal. Not figural. Every single day. Sometimes its good memories…sometimes its bad memories. The worst are the memories from the day itself. May 24^th, 2017.

Juli was in the house, and Sarah wanted to go pick up a Craigslist thing she’d just bought. Sarah and I were just in a fight…something about parents, fittingly. I don’t recall exactly. I recall I didn’t want to go, but I knew she wanted me to go. Well, of course I like to be with her, but you don’t always want to jump in the car with someone you’re already fighting with. But I went along anyway and the fight quickly faded away. Ava was home…she was in school by then but this was mid to late afternoon. I recall Ava didn’t want to go with us. She wanted to stay behind with “Nina,” which is what Ava called Juli (Juli wanted to be called “Nana” but Ava always mispronounced it “Nina” when she was younger, so it stuck). We asked Juli and she said that that was fine. I remember Sarah and I were literally at the door to leave when Ava cried out that she had changed her mind and wanted to go. She really did seem upset, which was quite strange as she often stayed behind with Juli. I don’t believe in fate or anything like that…but that moment does seem somewhat fated to me. If Ava had stayed behind she would have seen Juli have that massive heart attack, and perhaps seen her die. Of course your mind always then thinks that maybe the EMTs had got there quicker, if Ava had remembered to call 911…we can’t know if Juli would have been able to remind her to do so. But, alternatively, perhaps the EMTs wouldn’t have got there at all. Or not until after we’d came home and seen her. Then there would have been no opportunity to say goodbye to her before we pulled life support…for whatever that moment was worth.

These are the things that your mind plays over and over. What if? It was a strong enough attack that it seems like it would have happened that way regardless. But, back to the moment we left to get the Craigslist thing.

Sarah and I quickly got over our fight and we were in fine spirits when we returned to the house. I remember laughing when we got out of the car to walk back in the house. There were no ambulances or EMTS there. Everything appeared normal. Except the neighbor was standing in our driveway. I remember thinking, for whatever reason, that he was there to make some kind of complaint. The only interaction I’d had with another neighbor was issues over parking placement. So I figured it might have been something about parking on the street or who knows. But he looked rather solemn and quickly we knew something had happened, although I can’t say I thought it was so grave or what it was exactly. I don’t remember his exact words, but it was something to the effect of she had a heart attack and collapsed and he had happened upon it. I still don’t know the exact sequence of events, or where exactly she was when it happened, but I didn’t think it was right to ask him about it. Sarah then asked if she seemed okay, which it still felt like she would be. Sarah’s dad had had heart issues before and gone to the hospital and everything had been fine. I’ll be honest, everyone thought that Juli would outlive him, so it was a great irony it happened the way it did. But the neighbor guy said that it had looked pretty bad. He didn’t say it quite that way, but he was having a problem putting it into words. He was the one that essentially told us there was a good chance she was going to die. We immediately got back into the car to drive to the Peacehealth on Mill Plain, which is about fifteen minutes away from the house. I remember Kevin—Sarah’s dad—calling and me answering (at least I think that’s how it happened, regardless, I remember this conversation). He asked if everything was okay and I said there was a chance…and then he sounded relieved. But I had to clarify that it didn’t look good…and that was the moment that our hope started to fall apart. I remember what Ava said on the way there…I remember the exact stretch of road we were on when she said it. When we pass by that way I often think about it. “I think I’m losing my buddy,” she said. Somehow she knew the gravity of the situation. It was the most heartbreaking thing I ever heard. She just knew.

I didn’t intend to write a recap of the events but it plays in my mind so often. I think about Juli every day, but luckily it isn’t always that day. Maybe only every other day.

As I said, I don’t remember the exact meeting with her. But I do remember her saying (at the time or in retrospect of this time, I can’t recall) essentially that I was different. Different, that is, when it came to other guy’s that had been interested in Sarah. Just like me Sarah hadn’t dated a whole lot, so it was really just guys who had wanted to date her. And I was different, according to Juli anyway. Now it was for real…I was marriage potential. But she wasn’t afraid of it. She was supportive right away. She thought I was the answer to their prayer’s for Sarah to meet a good man. I was never quite certain if I was fated to be that good man, but I’ve tried my best.

 It seems so bizarre, in retrospect, to think of someone being so supportive of a relationship between an 18 year old and a 16 year old. Somehow knowing that this was meant to be, as much as anyone ever can. That we would get married and have kids (I said I’d give her grandkids, because she badgered me about it, but that she had to wait until I was 25…Ava came a little earlier than the plan entailed). I mean I had just graduated high school and didn’t even have a job. I wouldn’t get one until Sarah and I had been dating for three months (WinCo cart clerk, baby!). She had confidence. I’m not sure Kevin had that same level of confidence but I think he trusted his wife about it. She said of course I was going to go to college and I would find a good job. I had no such confidence, and it wound up being six years before I started school…four years into Sarah and I’s marriage, and a year after Ava was born. She was one hundred percent sure. No one else in our lives was. My parents were not thrilled, which in retrospect I understand. Admittedly though, it made things difficult. Not having your parents share your excitement and plans was difficult, and I’ve never forgotten how that feels. Perhaps my mom will read this…probably…and its hard to type these words…but I have to be honest. It still hurts that they actively tried to sway us away from our decisions. They got married young and I think they were just trying to spare us those difficulties that they’d had. But that really didn’t come across with their actions and it just hurt me and drove us away. It also made Sarah having a good relationship with my family an impossibility, and it would be years before she grew close to them (which she did, eventually, and they have a good relationship…Mom considers her not just a daughter-in-law, but a friend). Regardless, Sarah and I weren’t to be stopped. I was fighting with my parents all the time after Sarah and I got together and Kevin and Juli let me move in. Which is crazy in retrospect but that’s just the kind of person she was (and Kevin still is). She knew we needed help. Kevin and her had also got together and knew the difficulty, but she wanted to be the person that they hadn’t had growing up. I don’t know if Sarah and I would have stayed together if she hadn’t been in our court.

Sarah I moved out eventually and got our own apartment. But a few years after we did I had two grand mal seizures and couldn’t work at my job because of the doctor’s orders. We really tried to get it together, and we could have possibly stayed if I had got my job back (I could work again after six months) but Sarah encouraged me to quit and to move in with her mom and Miles’s (Kevin and her had divorced in the meanwhile) house. I resisted at first and was absolutely against it. But I was miserable with my job, and going to college was at the same time was quite difficult. I eventually realized Sarah and Juli were right. So I quit my job and moved in. A few months later I transferred to WSU-Vancouver and got a part time work study job and I was more happy than I had been in years. During college Sarah and I had a few rough patches, because I went through I major bout of depression (even though life was better than ever) and I was mentally absent in my duties as a husband and a father during that time. I didn’t realize it at the time, but having her mom present and to help raise Ava potentially saved our relationship. Her mom and Miles were there to give us date nights, every week almost. We never had date nights for like three years after Ava was born and being able to go to the movies or hang out with friends made us feel young again, at least for those last few years she was alive. I remember we met our best friends Chad and Veronica right before the summer of ’14 and that summer we hung out with them almost every week it seemed like. We all got drunk and did stupid things and, at least for Sarah and I, we felt almost like teenagers again. We had one last summer as stupid kids.

Juli has been dead for nearly three years and things are not like that anymore. I feel firmly old and I understand things will never be that carefree again. But I am so grateful for those years where Juli was there to give us date nights whenever we needed one. Many times she was the one who ordered us to have one. She knew how hard it was being a young parent with not the greatest of means. She helped Sarah and I stay together more than once. I’m not sure I could have stayed in college if it wasn’t for her support. I don’t know if I would be two years into grad school without her help.

She knew I would get into grad school, she knew I would succeed. I did not, but when I did I could hear her words of celebration. I knew she would have, outside of Sarah, be my biggest cheerleader. She always was. I just had my first client as a counselor-in-training and I know she would have been over the moon thrilled for me. Knowing someone had your back like that…I took it for granted. Outside of Sarah I’ll never have that again. And that makes life seem a little grimmer, I’ll be honest. It’ll never have quite the same rosy, carefree glow.

To end on a slightly more positive note, I’ll quickly relay something that happened about two months ago. We were going through a bunch of Juli’s things and we stumbled upon a massive stash of Starbucks gift cards. She collected them, and there had to have been like 50-60 of them. In all practicality we decided to check if any of them had any money left. I wound up checking one by one, and sure enough a lot did have money on them. Some had like 12 bucks, some had 1.24. We uploaded them all to the Starbucks app, and it bought us several more trips to Starbucks. She was still paying our coffee, three years later. Even paid for one last date night trip there.

There isn’t much you can say that will help the pain. At some point things are more manageable of course. But it is always there. You carry it with you. And that hurts. It kills. But you carry it all with you. The pain, but also the memories. Even the good memories hurt sometimes, because you know there aren’t anymore. The finality of it all is something your brain can never quite grasp. In my mind it feels like we’re living in alternate timeline. Like we’re living in the alternate timeline from Back to the Future Part II, and somehow we can get back to the proper timeline where she lived. Where she is still there for us. But we go on. And we try to be good enough parents, friends, children, brothers or sisters that we will matter enough to hurt when we’re gone. We will wish that it won’t hurt, but the hurt just means that it was a damn good time while it was going.

                                                      

I’m writing to exercise my demons. I’m starting to think this is why I’ve had such problems writing novels. I’m just working on gutting out all the anxieties, unhappiness, et cetera inside of me. It’s not so much about as creating a story as it is getting rid of this excess. Cutting the fat. Stephen King once wrote in a foreword to one of his short story collections that we all have a mind-filter, and what doesn’t get filtered out, what’s too large to fall through, those are the things that shape our fears. And this is why interests and fear is so subjective. It’s a simple idea, but it’s a nice image. And I feel like this is getting rid of all the crud that doesn’t get automatically filtered out. I’ve got to try and exercise it on the page.

I feel better. Not sure what else to put down anymore, so I think this is the end.

Stuff That I’m Currently Pretty Into:

Music:

There isn’t an album or song I’m currently really feeling, I’ve been listening to a lot of classic pop-punk stuff, like ‘90s, early ‘00s. The perfect song I can think of to sum this up is probably ‘Stupid Kid’ by Alkaline Trio. Just fun, and from an era that makes more sense to me than this one. However ‘the Wonder Years’ just put out ‘Sister Cities’ a few weeks ago and I’m amping up to see them in May. It’s a solid album, if not as good as ‘No Closer to Heaven’, which is genuinely great.

TV:

Not much exciting going on now. Been re-discovering how much I love ‘Boy Meets World’ on Hulu mostly. Have just decided I’d like to finish season 1 of ‘Westworld’ since the second season is dropped like next week. Basically anything new has been barren since I finished ‘Mindhunter’ a couple months ago.

Movies:

Saw some great ones awhile ago, especially ‘Three Billboards Outside of Ebbing, Missouri’. ‘Thor: Ragnarok’ is a total great time...Jeff Golblum as ‘the Grandmaster’. An easy pick. Re-invigorated not just my interest in the ‘Thor’ franchise but the MCU in general. Now I’m motivated to see ‘Black Panther’ so I’m ready to see ‘Infinity War’ at the end of the month.

Friends. What to say about friends that I haven’t already said somewhere else? I’ve written a lot of songs about troubles with friends (all based on real things). And of course there’s the ever popular Facebook vent post. Which I’ve done a time or two (perhaps more but I don’t care to recall). There was a lot of friend drama in 2017 for me. A lot of drama period. Although drama isn’t the word I want. It undermines the true emotion. There was a lot of broken promises, broken hearts. There’s a lot of scars. That isn’t over dramatization. There is such a thing as emotional scars, as anyone with PTSD will tell you. Or anyone who has a reasonable amount of emotional intelligence will tell you. These things I keep vague because I have to, and because I want to. I’m still friends with all those friends. I don’t regret doing so. That doesn’t mean that they are all friends with each other anymore, which they were before. Which is unfortunate, but entirely understandable. Of course this complicates things, and it also destroys a core friendship that we all shared that I deeply enjoyed, and that comes so rarely in our lives; especially as high school grows further and further in the rear view. I guess there’s just a lot to mourn this year. It’s that awful feeling that comes when you arrive at a fork in the road; where there is no correct answer, there is just one choice over another. And you’re at that point in your life when there’s no one to help you decide, or at the point when you realize there never really was. People can say “this worked for me, or that worked for me,” but you have to satisfy that inner voice inside of you, and the only that can hear that is you. You can try to describe to people what you hear, but in the end everyone has their own agendas, and you have to follow that voice until the end. We all do. To borrow a tired phrase; it’s a lonely road. And we walk alone. 

Friends. What to say about friends that I haven’t already said somewhere else? I’ve written a lot of songs about troubles with friends (all based on real things). And of course there’s the ever popular Facebook vent post. Which I’ve done a time or two (perhaps more but I don’t care to recall). There was a lot of friend drama in 2017 for me. A lot of drama period. Although drama isn’t the word I want. It undermines the true emotion. There was a lot of broken promises, broken hearts. There’s a lot of scars. That isn’t over dramatization. There is such a thing as emotional scars, as anyone with PTSD will tell you. Or anyone who has a reasonable amount of emotional intelligence will tell you. These things I keep vague because I have to, and because I want to. I’m still friends with all those friends. I don’t regret doing so. That doesn’t mean that they are all friends with each other anymore, which they were before. Which is unfortunate, but entirely understandable. Of course this complicates things, and it also destroys a core friendship that we all shared that I deeply enjoyed, and that comes so rarely in our lives, especially as high school grows further and further in the rear view. I guess there’s just a lot to mourn this year. It’s that awful feeling that comes when you arrive at a fork in the road, where there is no correct answer, there’s just one choice over another. And you’re at that point in your life when there’s no one to help you decide, or at the point when you realize there never really was. People can say “this worked for me, or that worked for me,” but you have to satisfy that inner voice inside of you, and the only that can hear that is you. You can try to describe to people what you hear, but in the end everyone has their own agendas, and you have to follow that voice until the end.

I Don’t Know

I don’t know. What I want to say, or what I want out of this. I suppose I want to feel better, because writing has always been an outlet for me. To let off steam. A release valve of the conscious...and the unconscious. Because, while I start off generally knowing the directions things will go, the narrative always veers more than I expect.  I think I’m trying to hold things together too much. Because I’m trying to make sure I keep myself together. Since I lost 50 lbs two years ago, and since I got on depression medication one year ago, I kept feeling like I had to keep myself in check. And, for about a year I feel like I did that. Julie’s death in May was certainly a blow, but afterwards I felt like I had escaped with my sanity intact. Asher’s birth in earlier May was such a blessing. I had the whole month of May off from work because we were expecting Asher in the first week. And then he came, albeit via a far more stressful C-section. The stress of his birth certaintly ensured he would be the last born. And I enjoyed my time off. And then came a Tuesday towards the end of the month. I was to return to work the very next day. Julie had came home from work early, since she had been sick the last couple weeks, since before Asher’s birth actually. She didn’t volunteer to go but her boss took one look at her and sent her home. Of course she would never recognize how sick she was; or she might have, but felt she had to work through it. She lived her whole life she had something to prove, and she had never slowed down. And she never did. It was nearly summer, and the sun was going down, so it was probably late evening: 7 or 8. Sarah had to pick something up on one of those Craigslist’s deals, it was a neighborhood about 15 minutes away. Right before we were supposed to leave we got into an argument about my mother. I don’t actually recall what it was about, just something involving my mother. I was so angry that I initially refused to leave with her. But she’s a stubborn woman and I relented. Ava asked to stay behind with “Nina.” Sarah asked her mom and she said it was fine. Right as we were about to leave, Ava began getting crying and ran out to the door to join us. So then we left Julie alone in bed (Miles was on a work trip in Louisiana) and went to pick up her item. We returned to the house probably about half an hour later, and things looked normal. I began to get out of the car when the neighbor from across the street, who rarely spoke to us, told Sarah that Julie had fell down in the yard. The look on his face immediately made concern run through you. He then began saying “it didnt look good” and said the paramedics hadn’t been able to get a pulse. He knew right then. I guess he didn’t want us to have false hope. I can remember the rest, but that doesn’t matter. That’s not for here I don’t think. The important thing is that I never saw her alive again. I saw her right after she died, at around one in the morning. Her face was grey. There was no life in it. I wanted to kiss her on the cheek, but I couldn’t get myself to do it. I was afraid. Seeing her that way was more frightening than I expected. She was covered with a sheet when I walked in, and as soon as they pulled it off I wished they would put it back again. I felt guilty for this. I allowed myself to touch her hair, and I told her “At your best, you were Nina.” I think I might have said goodbye. And that was it. I think maybe that’s what I came here to write. As soon as I started writing about it I felt relieved. I felt focused. I think that’s all for today. Goodbye. 

It Goes On

I've been avoiding posting for a long time. So I feel like it's overdue but I don't know. To be honest, things aren't super great. I try to be mostly positive when I'm on Facebook, because I know how it is when you're seeing a bunch of negative shit on social media. But...this is a blog, and if you're reading this then you had to actually click on the link to read it (which I appreciate by the way...). I'm still writing the story and am finding the experience enjoyable. The only way I can overlook the self doubt (which is very much present as we speak and its telling me that I am KIDDING MYSELF COMPLETELY TRYING TO BE AN AUTHOR. I won't listen because its fun to write fiction. Its cathartic. And I feel like its the one thing that I've wanted to do since childhood that I feel I am most naturally talented at. Which isn't to say the writing talent is a unique thing, I don't think it is. I just think that most people don't heed the call. I've been afraid to for a long time, because I was afraid I suck. And maybe I do. But its fun...and I know sometimes there's at least a few bits that I know are good.

     But it's hard. PSU already rejected me for grad school way back in February...didn't even get an interview. Haven't heard from Lewis and Clark...final decision is in April. But I haven't got an email about an interview so its pretty much a no. Just waiting for official word. There's one more grad school I wrote off but I can still apply to so I'll probably do that. Other than that its just a matter of waiting and applying to different grad schools this year for fall 2017. I'm gonna be persistent...I'm not quitting till somebody lets me in. I mean I'm decent on paper. Got like a 3.7 GPA cumulative, and graduating with some honors, and I've got intern experience. It's likely eventually I'll get in somewhere. And that's all I need. A foot in the door. To get the degree and get my hours and get my license. But it's hard man. And it hurts. Especially when you've already got self doubt issues.

But...we keep going. In the words of that other Robert Frost line that we all know:

"In three words I can sum up everything I know about life: it goes on."

revision

I just watched 'I Am Chris Farley' (very recommended), and putting aside my feelings for that specific topic for another avenue I was just kind of struck by this feeling. Because you watch the show, and all of Chris Farley's brothers are in it, although Kevin Farley the most (and he's a producer of the doc) and I kind of got this vibe of his brother being a moocher of his brother's fame. He's a comedian, but not as funny (but who could be), he's an actor (likely in a few things you've probably seen but you wouldn't recognize him), and you could tell from his interviewers that he recognized that Chris Farley was in another universe...and really most of those interviewed stated that feeling. Adam Sandler, David Spade. So at first I was thinking his brother was likely jealous of his fame and fortune but by the end of the film I was thinking..."Yeah, but who got to be 50? Who is still doing what they love in the 2015? Who probably got to settle down, have a family?" By the end of the movie I can't stop thinking of this. I've got my own dreams...all sorts of dreams. Of recording an album, writing a novel. I don't know if any of these things will happen. I have an issue with focus, but eventually I keep trying. But...I'm going to college. I want to be a counselor, I want to help people. I've got to live in the academic world a little bit to do that...which I'm uncomfortable with a little bit. But I was born uncomfortable. I just came into the world that way. Who doesn't want that high water rock star moment? You want to be somebody that will influence somebody else. You want to be somebody that somebody wants to be like. Sometimes you can admit that. We want to be successful, to be paid to do what we love. We could live with that, but also...to be recognized for something that you pull out of the inside of you would be something. I will not lie. But having a career helping the mentally ill, raising Ava, going on date nights with Sarah for the next fifty years (hopefully at least), those are things I dream of and think of. And they make me happier. They make me more content. They make me happier. Being away from Sarah is great because it reminds me that I feel emptier when she's gone. She makes me want to be better. I dream of a healthy life. A happy life. A good life. And the rest doesn't matter; if it comes or if it doesn't. A day at the park with Sarah and Ava, and a date night to the movies with Sarah is a perfect day. It's enough.

The Recurring Outpouring of Everything

Well, time for a new blog. I have to be honest, the lack of feedback on these things always bug me. I like to put stuff out there...just for the sake of getting it off my chest...but also potentially to help somebody, or entertain them, help them out in some way at all. I don't know if a single blog post has ever done that but if I write enough, you'd think the odds would kick me at least one. I don't know if helping somebody is supposed to make me feel important...or better than people who aren't helping. I can't claim to be above such petty reasons. But when you hear about somebody helping someone else and it touches you in some way...does it really matter why ? If altruism truly exists, or if we just help people to make ourselves feel better...what does it matter? Maybe we're hardwired that way for survival. I ask "why does it matter?" but, like so often, I am the one wondering struggling to answer these seemingly obvious questions. Its odd how so much of our lives (or mine anyhow) is driven by raw desires. Why am I attracted to writing? Why, every so often, I get a sudden compulsion to pour something out of me and share it with the world? Or at least, the people on my Facebook page...which is my "world" I suppose. Or, a great deal of it.

I'm gonna switch gears here (there IS a reason why I called this thing "off the top," after all). I've been in north Idaho for a week Friday (its technically Friday already but its still Thursday night till I go to bed and wake up again later today). Visiting family and such. I'm sure this isn't news to most of my FB friends...I've been posting pictures and stuff about it all week long. Both Sarah and I are hitting that point where we're not exactly homesick (maybe she is but I don't quite get that way) but where we're missing our specific routines, and definitely our AC and WiFi connection. I've been in the routine of basically watching my eating for months now (which has caused me to lose roughly thirty pounds, I don't talk about it often because I'm terrified I'm going to gain it back) and for the last month or six weeks or so I've been in the routine of working out at Planet Fitness with Sarah...like everyday three days or so...and stretches of everyday for five day streaks or so. That hasn't happened since we got here last Friday (as there is, sadly, no Planet Fitness in any close vicinity). I'm starting to feel like I've gained weight, although it doesn't appear to be the case. But it's getting in my head, and I weighed myself on the scale where I was staying last night and it was like 3-5 pounds heavier. However weight naturally fluctuates about that much, and its a different scale that I only weighed myself on that one time. But, damn it's getting in my head. Eating hasn't been so great...but not really THAT far off track. It's still basically okay, and if I was getting my workouts in, I wouldn't worry so much. But we get back to Washington on the 17th, and we're only gonna be back a week before Sarah leaves for Arizona (long story) on the 24th...which is also the day I start school again. And I don't actually have a membership, I'm only a guest on Sarah's membership...which she has to be present for. Which will be changed...but I'm not sure when.

So that's my stress, my worry, my first world problems. Of course first world problems will be the only I'll ever face...so it's all about relativity. That's the best I can do to defend myself on that front. My recurring outpouring of everything. That's all for now.

P.S.-This blog post was written with Michael J. Sheehey's 'Twisted Little Man' playing on repeat in my headphones...in case that matters. Or even if it doesn't.

P.P.S.-I'm also pretty fuckin worried about upcoming application deadlines for masters programs, and graduate school in general but that'll have to be relegated to general FB complaints or another blog post.

Some thoughts...

Not sure what to write; only know that I have the desire to.

 Trying to learn to listen to it.

 A great deal of the time, when I'm in a rut, I seem to ignore the urges that could help you get out of it.

Sometimes it's really clear when I'm ignoring them, and I know I'm just avoiding. Other times I barely catch myself. Like, on a recent hot summer-y day Ava wanted me to run through the sprinklers with her and I said no...because I don't like water that much, and I didn't happen to be that hot so it seemed fair. But then I thought: what am I doing?! I'm throwing away chances for great memories.

And it's frightening because I know there's been many other times: Ava wanting me to sing with her, or play dolls or whatever. I mean, I do those things...don't get me wrong. But sometimes it's morning and I'm tired...or evening and I'm tired, and sometimes I'm just reading something on my phone, an article, a bit of news, Facebook, Twitter...and I just don't want to. And writing that down is the hardest thing. Sometimes I'd rather stare at a screen than spend a few minutes with my beautiful daughter.

Wow. It's hard to write that and not feel like the worst parent alive.

But...I know I'm not alone in this behavior. Others might alter the semantics of the statement...but there's a lot of you who know what I mean. I guess that's a little comforting. I'm human...it's nice to know I'm not the only one fucking up...and of course there's always someone fucking up worse than you. But, of course there's the other hand; somebody fucking up less,

And, if I have any life goal or motto, (other than "simple is good") it's fucking up less. Swearing isn't required but I say what I mean and say what I mean. Or, at least I want to.

Summer Sunday Afternoon Afterlife

Some thoughts I've had recently: if heaven was like lying in a hammock on a 70 degree blue sky day...I still couldn't do it for eternity...but for a hundred years or so wouldn't be bad.

Also I've been struck yet again by how...unsavory the human race can be.

But...there is some silver lining in this (not a play books worth...HA).

 We've been learning about the Milgram studies in a few of my Psych classes and it's something I knew about before but it's always interesting...oh and the Zimbardo Prison Experiment too (If you're unfamiliar with either of those Google em...interesting/disturbing stuff).

 Essentially both of studies conclude with the same idea...under the right conditions (those conditions basically being someone else is taking responsibility for your actions and you also view that someone else as a legitimate authority) the MAJORITY of regular, average, perfectly mentally healthy folks can and will do horrible atrocities.

 Later they won't understand why and usually almost always the answer is "I was just following orders."

 Now this isn't to make some anti-military point (Abu Ghraib is one of many instances that makes these implications clear so I don't have to drone on myself) but just to be aware...most evil isn't "outside evil."

 Outside evil is inside of us.

 So what's the silver lining? If we live with that awareness we CAN be better people. If we understand that about 65-70 percent of people will hesitantly but willingly shock a person to death for the purposes of a science experiment (Milgram) then we also understand that there is some 30-35 that could potentially be heroes.

  If we keep in mind that any one of us have the capacity for evil inside of us then maybe we can fight it when we're tempted to go with the flow.

 So it's depressing thought initially but in the end it feels like a silver lining. There's still room for heroes. Here's to that summer Sunday afternoon afterlife. One can hope.

P.S.-Has anyone else been seeing the night sky recently? Last night was pretty amazing...hoping for another good one tonight. G'night folks.

Start

Does this inspire you? Does it make you think of something you want to do, but keeps not happening because of "priorities"? Start. This is a reminder to myself, as much as it is to you. I'll end this bloggette with another quote, a personal favorite of mine:

"Simple is good." -Jim Henson

Keep those two things in mind. 

And have a good evening everybody. 

This song feels appropriate, 

Interrupted shower

So here I stand, with only a towel draped around me in the bathroom. My hair is full of soap. The shower head made this noise, like a dying squeaky toy, and suddenly the water was completely gone, and I stood there suddenly confused. Sarah is going to the well/pump/whatever to check it out. And I wait...with no concrete plan to rinse the soap out of my hair. I decided to write about it. Normally I'd just write a quick sentence about it on Facebook but now you're getting a whole blog post about it! Also I could be editor of Sodo Mojo and make money. Writing about Mariners and MAKING MONEY. I guess the key is that the money isn't nearly enough to live on. And I'm writing for the Mariners now and making money...just separately, haha. College is the better thing to focus on...its got better payback. That's what I keep telling myself. I just heard a door open...I think Sarah might be back in from outside. Maybe there is water! I must investigate! Have a good night folks. And...hey! Its almost spring.

all the small things

I'm writing because I feel distressed, I feel angry, I feel like I do when I need an outlet. I only seem to create when it feels like I need to get rid of some feeling inside of me, more often than not its a negative feeling, but occasionally I get a nice surprise and it's something positive. Either way I usually feel better when it's over.

Usually I aim for a happy go lucky sort of blog, but I'm just not feeling that. There's nothing wrong in particular with anything, for the most part I'm happy and satisfied with my life. I just saw 'Kingsman: The Secret Service' the other day with Sarah as a belated Valentine's Day thing and it was wonderful. We had dinner beforehand and went to the late show, on the big giant RPX screen. Its wonderful to know that, as I near thirty (twenty eighty as of this moment in February), lots of the same things excite me as they did when I was ten.

When I was ten even a simple video rental from the local Blockbuster (or Movie Gallery or mom and pop's occasionally) would excite me, let alone a night out at the theater. And honestly, going to the movies still holds that child-like excitement for me. Which is nice, cause for a couple years I thought I had lost it.

I think the video store would still excite me, but those are already gone. The only ones left are the exceptions, or the high end independents. Its sad but inevitable. I feel I want to avoid feeling sad about them because that automatically dates me, and makes me question my ability to adapt to the even more extreme changes that are bound to happen.  

But, on the other hand...I'm fucking sad. I should just let it happen. And I do, but I make myself look at the positives that change has brought us.

I realize these are fairly mundane thoughts to have, and that many people have them. I don't doubt this, I could have mentioned any of these thoughts in passing to someone about my age or older and I would have, more than likely, received a sympathetic response. But it's not the same. It's about getting it down. A lot of times I don't know exactly what I'm going to write until it starts to come out. Like, this isn't what I thought I was going to write about, I thought I was going to write about what I was angry about.

But that's the thing. The anger is directed towards odd things, like softly cruel jokes friends make, or...things like of that nature. Its hard to pin down what it is exactly. First of all, I'm tired. I'm tired of being a cook, I'm tired of waking up at 5:30, I'm tired of being "too young" to be "tired" of things like this. Everyone keeps saying you're too young for this, or too young for that, even long after you stopped feeling young. And then everyone starts to claim you're too old for this, or too old for that.

At twenty-four I felt FAR too old to go back to college. Which is fucking ridiculous, which is something I realized better when I went to class with fifty year olds...and sixty year olds. I've got friends who feel the same way in their mid twenties. Its a hard feeling to get out of.

I think the anger might come from this tiredness. Tired of these classes, with their identical syllabi, and the same quiet threats...made to ensure academic success. I'm always reminding myself of this amazing opportunity to better myself, and because of my marriage, and my child, the state has paid for my education thus far. Which is something many, many people don't get. And I'm so grateful.

But being grateful doesn't make you not tired. You can be amazingly grateful for your job, but if you're getting up before the sun you can still feel tired as fuck. So I still feel tired.

And so does EVERYONE ELSE. So..,don't get that idea. I get it. But still...I feel this way.

But I can see the light, I'm getting closer to that job I want, that career. I've made strides in my creative outlets which I'm please with, and I feel motivated to start, new uncharted areas of creativity.

And the small things still excite me. DAILY. A forthcoming novel from Stephen King, or a new collection of short stories? Great. Angels and Airwaves making a solid album again? Great news. Especially since blink is dead. A new Steven Page album...Kingsman getting a sequel and so on.

That's great. These things are small but if it keeps you going, while you're going to the grind? Great.

All The Small Things, baby.

Sometimes It Takes a Grand Mal Seizure: Recollections of Getting Free

Man in a couple days it'll be two years since a unfortunate and scary health issue dramatically changed my life. After the doctor told me I needed to have a six month leave of absence to see if the seizures would be a recurring problem it immediately relieved me of a job I was grateful for, but was awful for me personally, especially for a full time college student and dad. It was one of those jobs, like a lot of people out there, I'm sure, where I was good at it, but was one that was killing me emotionally. Emotions never seemed a good enough reason to quit my (mostly) full time job, especially since it paid for my nice and spacious downtown apartment. And having a full time job, and full time school, I never really got around to looking for a new job...even though I constantly told myself I would.

I felt very trapped, and was, in fact, planning on transferring to the Vancouver Red Lion when I transferred to WSU-V. Providing a home for my family and for the nice things I could occasionally buy felt like enough to slog on through the misery. Forgive the dramatics but...it feels accurate. It's a pretty common story I figured, and eventually I also figured (HOPEFULLY) college and grad school would solve the issue.

Thank god that didn't happen. Before the end of that January I had pretty much unofficially decided I could not go back to Red Lion. I had been laid off from the Lion back in '09 and I thought that was the sign to leave THEN, before I wound up back at their door six months later after I ran out of unemployment. Here I was, getting a second out, and I figured it was a sign to move on. So I officially stayed on at Red Lion, burning out my sick time, until it finally ran dry in March. And then I quit. It took pretty much from January until late March to finally decide to take up a standing offer from Sarah's mom to move into the spare rooms she had at her house.

It's difficult to swallow pride. It took Sarah far less time to accept the idea of leaving our wonderful apartment (that I hardly miss as much as I would have thought), and taking up a residence that would allow for a part time job, than it did me. Eventually, I realized, even though pride was a powerful emotion, my pride at the time was just forcing me to stay in a miserable position. Even though I do miss having our own uninterrupted space occasionally, honestly it hardly happens. My life is busy but so, so much more flexible. I have time for friendships, for date nights, for family nights, for special trips with Ava, for reading, for near daily creative time. My actual job allows me breaks for holidays, for classes, for my internship, for my brand spanking new second position of writing articles for Sodo Mojo (at least...I'm pretty sure it will...haha). There is now hardly any 3 a.m. studying. Usually I could get it done on mornings when I'm off or before bedtime on days I've had work/school. Sometimes it takes something awful and scary (i,e. seizure), to realize the misery you are in is in fact, not worth it. Hopefully it doesn't take that for you. Sometimes people don't get a wake up call at all. I'm so grateful I did, Thanks, universe.

It's wonderful. If pride is keeping you somewhere you don't REALLY wanna be... LET GO. Sounds easy, will in fact be super hard, but will feel WONDERFUL.

Updates on Life in General, From a Bathroom Stall

So I'm at school, typing this on my phone whilst going to the bathroom. Ah...modern conveniences! So what's happening? Sarah's got this traveling numbness in face and hands that's kind of freaking her out. So we've been to the hospital and they ruled out some things, now its just wait and see if things persist. If they do...more tests. So that's kind of hanging over our heads but meanwhile regular life trolls on. Tomorrow is Halloween. Ava's going as a bat, Sarah as a cat and I am going as a werewolf (killed the rhyme...I know). Lots of the great seasonal films have been watched...but the true classics have been saved. Hocus Pocus, Psycho, Halloween, Ernest Scared Stupid. The greats. And Sarah only refuses to watch about half of those so...winning. In two days the whole thing will be over and it will be off to the Yuletide races. We just have to make a pitstop at that whole "Thanksgiving" business. The classes are coming into that last quarter lap so November will a bit crazy...preparing final papers and studying for finals. And then...for better or worse things will be over--just like that. It still feels weird, but I'm really looking forward for general education to be over and to move on to graduate school. So hopefully everything goes well on that front. Think good thoughts...pray if you do that sort of thing...wish for the best about Sarah's health. Also squeeze in a good thought for the Mariners...the playoffs are coming one of these DECADES. And...way to blow it Royals. Oh well...that's my friend Richie's tears to cry. I'm a Mariners fan...so my tear ducts have run dry many moons ago. Alright...class is starting soon and I gotta vacate this stall...fresh air's running slim in this room if you know what I mean...*gasps*...

Stuff about the last week and...shit.

Its been like two weeks since my last post. As I've noted succinctly on Facebook...things are strange. Sarah's off for two weeks to AZ to be by her bestie's side. I've had good times, but there's a lot of emptiness on your own. I just don't feel good when I'm living life just for me. That might sound strange...with all that "you've got just one life," business. But the fact of the matter is, living a life only for me, self indulgently, makes me feel sick to my stomach. That isn't to suggest being a married and having a kid makes such a person better. Each of us contributes in our way, and enriches their lives in different ways. But knowing Sarah and being challenged by her view of the world, and how it should work (and vice versa) has helped bring out that part of me that knew school was really the only way for me to approach a meaningful career. I think there's people out there that, when it comes to jobs/careers, only truly care about the paycheck. That isn't to say they only love money...but their careers enriching their lives/world just don't matter as much. That may sound like I'm being condescending but I'm really not.  I'm just kind of laying things out...the way that I see them. I'm about halfway through my own little journey (well in terms of actual schooling anyway) and the fact that I'm consistently making progress, however small it may be, is what helps keep me sane. I always realize that fact when I'm on an extended break from school. As much fun as loafing around and doing jack shit is, I start to go a little nuts. I think working full time can distract us from the search for a meaningful career. It definitely derailed my search for about half a decade. Although, on the other hand, working soul sucking hours may have actually helped the search. The empty feeling I got when I thought about the actual worth of my efforts definitely helped lead me to my end goal. And I feel like I (as well as others in a similar situation) have an advantage of those- straight to college out of high school going for a general degree-types. Those kind of people probably succeed a good amount of the time. But the people who've worked long hours at a demeaning job, away from the families and the people that really matter have a special kind of focus and motivation when they finally get around to working on their passion. The Spanish teacher I had LCC was a great example. She was in her late sixties, early seventies I think. One day a few months into the quarter she brought a box up to the front of the class. It had a boxed pasta product in it, and a few filled notebooks. She said she raised a child and worked in a pasta factory for many years. Consequently she didn't get around to college until age 46. The notebooks she brought in were filled with her notes. She had a special kind of focus, because her notes were detailed and organized to a degree I've never seen since. But she busted through and received her Master's in English. However she wound in a class teaching English as a second language. But she thought she wasn't qualified so she went back to college AGAIN. She received a second Master's in Spanish. So she had the box of things to remind her of how far she had came.  It was a lesson us to not to be content to be in a place we don't really want to be. No matter how long we've been there or how improbable escaping that particular situation might be. I'm thankful that that day came in my first quarter of going back to school. I will not forget where I came from.

In Which I Attempt to Make a Point about Abrupt Endings But Really Wind Up Reminiscing a Whole Lot. Which Kind of Leads Back to the Point.

I was thinking about how abrupt things change. I think of my life in terms of eras. Young childhood...up to about eleven or twelve is kind of one big era. Then comes the teens, the end of high school really felt like the end of the teens for me. And it just goes to show how we define time really doesn't make much of a difference. I know people who are well into their twenties and their lives aren't that much different than they were at seventeen. My life is quite a bit different that it was at seventeen. And I don't say that with a sense of pride. Its just a fact. (Although the people that have made my life quite a bit different are pretty cool... so maybe a little pride)

After the "teens", which really felt like they ended after high school, the eras become more niche. At some point after I'm a twenty something (if I make it out of the roaring twenties alive) I suppose I might be able to condense my life into "my twenties." I kind of hope not, though. I hope I can remember it more the way it was.

First I met Sarah. I started dating her in mid-July of 2005 and we had a magical summer. I mean that sounds cheesy as shit, but it was. We had absolutely no commitments (except for Sarah's curfew), and I had two thousand dollars. I didn't get a job until nearly November of that year. I had no desire for, and no way to pay for college, so I elected to "enter the workforce." That summer really lasted until about October...that's when things started to feel less magical and more like a loser-y teen with marriage ideals and no job. So from July-October was "the summer." We got engaged in January of 2006, so things really jump to "the engagement." Then we in '07 we became newlyweds. The honeymoon had to be creative but we had a lot of help and it was a great time. A little house on the beach, just Sarah and I with a couple grand in wedding money, and having a good time watching 'Disturbia' and 'A Goofy Movie' in the little house. Sleeping in the living room because the bedroom creeped the shit out of us.

Then there was the era of our first apartment, which was as beautiful and awesome as it was cheap. We got that in the fall of '09. We stayed there till shortly after Ava was born. We moved into the second apartment in the early months of 2011. The second apartment was really "Ava's first home." That's where a lot of memories were made (and posted on Facebook). Ava's first steps. First time Ava rolled over was when we were watching 'Aloha, Scooby Doo' on my brand-spanking new blu-ray in our living room. Lots of movie and Little Caesar's pizza nights with Sarah after Ava was in bed. The simple joys of eating awesomely bad food and binge watching 'How I Met Your Mother' after a highly stressful day of cooking at the 'Lion' and homework.

Then came my two Grand Mal seizures in January of 2013. And that brings me to my original point. The seizure came out of nowhere, I had NEVER had one before, or had any issues before. And suddenly my doctor told me I couldn't work at my job for six months. It was the time period to test and see if I would likely have more seizures or if it was an anomaly kind of thing. And so suddenly my job--which I'd held and loathed but was still appreciative to have at all--was gone. And...it was great. I had been missing SO much with my swing shift hours, in combination with college that it felt just like a season to mend, and to get well. To get in tune with the people in my life. I never went back to the job and wound up getting a new one (with much more flexible and generally life friendly hours) in about August of '13...same time as I started at WSU-V, newly armed with my AA from LCC. And that starts the era I'm currently in...the WSU era I guess. An era of humility (giving up our hard earned apartment in exchange for more time for living life and focusing on school and bettering our lives).

The original point was abrupt endings. Didn't really get there. But, the point was, our lives aren't really measured in years or decades or whatever. Things are really in eras. And you never know how quickly the era will end. I woke one day and my head went screwy and that gave me a way out of my dead-end job. It really just showed me the way that was already there but that I was too proud to see. This era will end at some point (hopefully with a decent paying job that my college degree got me) but who knows when. But its a really good one, with second chances and everything. So I'm not in a hurry.

Blogging vs Facebook

Well first off all let me tell you blogging isn't nearly as much fun as Facebooking. Throwing out an idea and getting potentially instant feedback is more satisfying than throwing out lots of ideas and getting like zip feedback. Not that I thought blogging WOULD replace Facebook, but I'm realizing I do like connecting with people on social media, I've had some great conversations with people on FB that I wouldn't normally get to see because they are old friends who have moved away or friends they have NEVER lived around me and likely never will. So in that sense it's made me appreciate FB for what it is. But, at the same time with being absent from Facebook (with the exception of these blog links of course) it's made it easier to walk away. As much I enjoy my Facebook time, if I thought it was taking up too much of my family's time I'd walk away entirely. But that's a little severe. However I did kinda feel like that way. So thus the break. Not the only reason. Part of the catalyst for taking a break was on a Sunday afternoon early this month and I was talking to a friend on FB. We were joking around and somewhere along the way one of us got the wrong idea and we wound up arguing. I knew that if we had been having the same discussion in person we would have just had a good laugh, and been enjoying our time. My friend called me afterwards and in less than thirty seconds we were laughing it off. But, after that I just felt I had better things than to get into non arguements with good friends. I could have been reading a good book (which hasn't been happening nearly enough lately), hanging out with my ladies, writing a song...or a BLOG. Getting into a petty bitch-fest online didn't seem good enough. So when I make my galant return I hope to still use FB but to a lesser extent. Definitely will be aiming to use it less on mobile. Also trying to put my smartphone on my nightstand whenever I'm home. So...yeah. That's that. In the last few weeks I have also realized that it's not that I'm spending too much online and not reading. It's that I'd RATHER be online and NOT reading. Which is a new and troubling development. Around the same time as that realization I read an article which said that research shows that our brains are essential being re-wired to the quick scan and skim nature of online reading. Which means people that have never had much experience with reading books, where more attention to detail is necessary, are losing that ability. Or never acquiring it, essentially. So yeah...nothing fun in this one. Have a good one...my children of FB, my princes of Twitter.