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.