School has started again for a lot of people, it is often a fun and stressful time for those individuals. Either starting a new experience for the first time, or just trying to get back into the groove of it all, this time of year is always interesting. Normally, I too am preparing for school by this time, but not this year I have no classes, but it really has gotten me thinking about my education. About what I have learned in college.
From the fall of 2003 until March 12th of 2007, I studied at the University of Michigan, majoring in biochemistry. I spent hours studying, flash cards, posters, papers, you name it, I learned it. I did research and lab work, I pulled all-nighters and I procrastinated. I learned so many things that I will never forget, but just as they are forever in my brain, they are also useless. On March 12th, 2007 I dropped all my classes and left U of M behind me, at least academically. I still love the school and the city, but nowadays I have no reason to go back there. I credit a good portion of my knowledge in science and all things chemistry to my experiences there and for that I truly am grateful.
The rest of 2007 I just sort of took off, relearning some basics, working on easier things just to refresh and keep my mind sharp. By the fall of 2008 however, I found myself back in college, this time studying nursing at Hope college. There I participated in a lot of extra activities along with my studies, but mostly I learned new things. Between cadaver labs, clinicals and endless piles of flashcards, my mind was filled with so much knowledge about health and the human body. Some nights I spent the entire night scouring the internet for just one credible source, just one good article for my assignments. Sifting through years of research in an effort to find one small thing. I stressed and I stressed, the nursing program at Hope was a big deal and I was determined to do well. It was an amazing experience and again, I learned so very much that will stay with me, but again it is all useless.
March 5th, 2011 I dropped all of my classes at Hope college and for the second time, quit when the end was very much in sight. Maybe I fear success, maybe March is just a bad month for me, I don't know. I do know however, that I self-sabotage and when I do that, I let others, my classmates, down.
I am not enrolled in any classes this year, but I am determined not to let anyone down, not to fail. I intend to show what I can do, prove I am not worthless. Maybe I was nothing more than a distraction, or maybe I was the one holding my classmates back, honestly I have no idea. All I am certain of is that I will do everything in power to not let people down again and I will without a doubt prove to those who I have let down, those who have lost faith in me or refuse to speak to me at all. I will prove my worth, prove my breadth of knowledge and my strength of heart.
This year I have no classes, but this year I have a huge test and it will take a long time to finish. I don't know if I am ready, but school has begun for the rest of the world whether they wish it or not, so then I must begin, whether I wish it or not.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Having No Thumbs, Horses Shouldn't Attempt Puzzles
Nearly everyday for the last two weeks, I have seen the sunlight begin to peek through my window long before my eyes close for their much needed rest. The sunrise symbolizes, for most, the beginning of a new day, hopefully filled with wonder, joy and new opportunities. For me, the sunrise has begun to symbolize the end of a day, often times, a day I'd rather not see end.
I honestly don't know if I truly get tired anymore, but my body forces me to rest, makes me sleep. I know I have to, I know sleep is necessary, but waking up, there's the rub.
Now, I know plenty of people have a hard time waking up in the morning, whatever your morning may be. I too have a hard time with it, but probably not in the same way as most. Each time I wake, I feel as if I have to completely put myself back together again. Not unlike Humpty-Dumpty, except I have neither the king's horses, nor men to assist in my endeavors. It is as if the moment I drift to sleep, my essence, my being, my everything, begins to pull apart and slip away, melting from the center, outward across the expanse of my bed.
Each time I wake, I must pull myself back together, prepare for a new day and face it with as much vigor as I can muster. In some ways, we probably all do this and I don't know if it is normal or not. All I do know is that the better I feel before I fall asleep, the less I seem to melt and fall away. Sure, it seems simple and obvious, but it wasn't always that way and that is why I make note of it.
There was a time, in fact, most of my adult life, where it didn't matter my mood before sleep, I almost always awoke feeling the same. It was a steady medium amount of melting each night. Nothing too hard to recover from in morning and after a while I even got rather used to it. The medium level is nearly gone now and it has been replaced by either very little melting, or what I can only describe as violent shattering. It is obviously the violent shattering that often makes me delay sleep as long a possible.
I don't know if these changes mean anything, I have been doing my best not to dwell on such things, but I do know that right now, my mood is good, so I can probably sleep with little fear of the morning.
I honestly don't know if I truly get tired anymore, but my body forces me to rest, makes me sleep. I know I have to, I know sleep is necessary, but waking up, there's the rub.
Now, I know plenty of people have a hard time waking up in the morning, whatever your morning may be. I too have a hard time with it, but probably not in the same way as most. Each time I wake, I feel as if I have to completely put myself back together again. Not unlike Humpty-Dumpty, except I have neither the king's horses, nor men to assist in my endeavors. It is as if the moment I drift to sleep, my essence, my being, my everything, begins to pull apart and slip away, melting from the center, outward across the expanse of my bed.
Each time I wake, I must pull myself back together, prepare for a new day and face it with as much vigor as I can muster. In some ways, we probably all do this and I don't know if it is normal or not. All I do know is that the better I feel before I fall asleep, the less I seem to melt and fall away. Sure, it seems simple and obvious, but it wasn't always that way and that is why I make note of it.
There was a time, in fact, most of my adult life, where it didn't matter my mood before sleep, I almost always awoke feeling the same. It was a steady medium amount of melting each night. Nothing too hard to recover from in morning and after a while I even got rather used to it. The medium level is nearly gone now and it has been replaced by either very little melting, or what I can only describe as violent shattering. It is obviously the violent shattering that often makes me delay sleep as long a possible.
I don't know if these changes mean anything, I have been doing my best not to dwell on such things, but I do know that right now, my mood is good, so I can probably sleep with little fear of the morning.
Friday, August 26, 2011
On The Seventh Day He Rested
I was totally going to talk about God in this post, in particular a conversation I have had recently, but I have decided to save that for a different night. The subject of God is too daunting a task for someone who has recently gained the habit of not sleeping.
The world looks very different through groggles. By the way, groggles is a word I have coined to express the feeling of being perpetually groggy. Wearing groggles seems to slow down the world around you, often time minutes can feel excruciatingly long. That isn't always a bad thing, sometimes you'd love nothing more than to slow time down, but as far as everyday life is concerned, it is not fun, or fashionable to wear groggles.
The very worst part about groggles however, is the part I am experiencing right now. When you reach a point where your exhaustion becomes so extreme, that you truly no longer feel tired, or capable of sleep. Any of you who have experienced this, know exactly the feeling I am describing, anyone who has not, well, consider yourselves fortunate.
It is so surreal, knowing that all you really want to do is sleep, but being unable to relax, unable to stop your mind or your body from staying awake. In some ways it is almost painful, at least for me. That is why I can't relax, when I try, I realize how worn out I am and it is very akin to pain.
Tonight, this particular week in fact, has been relatively severe. It is not like before, not like a few months ago when I simply could not sleep due to emotional pains. No, not being able to sleep at all I can deal with and to be honest I was such a wreck I barely noticed. This week, however, I CAN sleep, I just haven't, or haven't very much. Now it has finally gotten past the point of no return and I honestly am not sure what to do.
The only other times it has ever gotten this bad, I always had a "significant other" and I would turn to them to help and make sure I found my way to a good nights rest. Someone who would slow my brain, ease my mind, not let me get up and indulge the insomnia. I have learned how to do many things alone that I never used to have to over the last 6 months, but this, this I fear is too difficult.
Nothing quells my restless mind, not even these words tonight. I will try and sleep very soon and with any luck I will succeed. If not, it is only a few hours until I have to be awake anyway. Focus is leaving me now and I my brain is on to other things. I hope to soon write another good blog, rather than my hopeless ramblings at trying to find peace, but I suppose we will see.
It is now day five. . . Maybe on the seventh day I will rest?
The world looks very different through groggles. By the way, groggles is a word I have coined to express the feeling of being perpetually groggy. Wearing groggles seems to slow down the world around you, often time minutes can feel excruciatingly long. That isn't always a bad thing, sometimes you'd love nothing more than to slow time down, but as far as everyday life is concerned, it is not fun, or fashionable to wear groggles.
The very worst part about groggles however, is the part I am experiencing right now. When you reach a point where your exhaustion becomes so extreme, that you truly no longer feel tired, or capable of sleep. Any of you who have experienced this, know exactly the feeling I am describing, anyone who has not, well, consider yourselves fortunate.
It is so surreal, knowing that all you really want to do is sleep, but being unable to relax, unable to stop your mind or your body from staying awake. In some ways it is almost painful, at least for me. That is why I can't relax, when I try, I realize how worn out I am and it is very akin to pain.
Tonight, this particular week in fact, has been relatively severe. It is not like before, not like a few months ago when I simply could not sleep due to emotional pains. No, not being able to sleep at all I can deal with and to be honest I was such a wreck I barely noticed. This week, however, I CAN sleep, I just haven't, or haven't very much. Now it has finally gotten past the point of no return and I honestly am not sure what to do.
The only other times it has ever gotten this bad, I always had a "significant other" and I would turn to them to help and make sure I found my way to a good nights rest. Someone who would slow my brain, ease my mind, not let me get up and indulge the insomnia. I have learned how to do many things alone that I never used to have to over the last 6 months, but this, this I fear is too difficult.
Nothing quells my restless mind, not even these words tonight. I will try and sleep very soon and with any luck I will succeed. If not, it is only a few hours until I have to be awake anyway. Focus is leaving me now and I my brain is on to other things. I hope to soon write another good blog, rather than my hopeless ramblings at trying to find peace, but I suppose we will see.
It is now day five. . . Maybe on the seventh day I will rest?
Monday, August 22, 2011
Lesser Forms Of Batman
I have a lot on my mind, a lot to write about and I hope I can maintain focus to write a single entry, though every ounce of me wants to write several.
Thursday night, before I left on my weekend trip, (which will absolutely be written about, but as I said, I must stay on track.) I went for a late night walk. Getting out at 12:30 a.m. every day usually makes late night walks a relatively common event for me, but over the last few months, I have been taking them alone. It is mostly due to opposing schedules of friends and what not, you know, the price of growing up and becoming responsible. It has also partially been my own doing, I seldom even try to invite others on my night excursions. I have become fond of the darkness, scouring the night, feeling akin to Batman, looking for purpose and something bigger than myself.
Some nights, I even find myself having to be a hero, I have helped people in need while walking through the night. My little suburban area is no Gotham City, but it is still my home and my world, if I can help, I will.
The night is peaceful and lonely, profound and brave, things I feel I can relate to, things I hold dear. That Thursday night however, I did not wander alone, nor did I wander in search of meaning or purpose. I traveled through the night with a youthful heart, seeking fun and adventure, the things I used to find around every corner. The things that seem to get stripped away from you as the charges of adult life pile ever more frequently into your lap.
I was immediately surprised by my companion's willingness to venture through rough terrain and I was, for the first time, extremely glad about the existence of cell phone apps. Apparently, phones have a "flashlight" app now and it came in rather handy, though I feel like the last person in the world to know of such things.
We traveled to one of my favorite spots, a little known area that is often a bit frightening, especially to the fairer sex. My companion however, did not hesitate at all, we ventured into a dark concrete tunnel with water running through it. She did not hesitate at all, walking straight through the water, even I remained on the sides of the tunnel, but for her it was all or nothing.
After a bit more tunnel walking, we had to return to the open air of the night. The woods around us were filled with downed trees from the recent storm and droves of weeds ready to plant their burrs upon us. We made it out and though my companion was covered in the green burrs, literally covered, she took it in stride, without a care, just enjoying the night and the adventure. It was the same attitude you see in kids, the kind of carefree, let it all roll of your back sort of thing.
I won't go through the entire night, but suffice it to say we ended up sitting on a rock in the middle of a creek, letting our imaginations get the best of us. As I kid, I used to be able to imagine things so clearly, that I would have sworn they were real. I think most of us could do that as children. Somewhere though, between school and the daily grind of life and responsibility, we lose that ever important skill of imagination. We still have it, but it becomes less potent. We can no longer convince ourselves of things, we are too wise, we "know better."
That night though, that night, rebooted my imagination and together we had ourselves convinced of things that we otherwise knew couldn't be real. It was fantastic, wielding the power of imagination again, as an adult. I attribute much of it to my companion and her amazing ability to just exist in the moment, but ultimately, it was a collective experience.
It was perhaps one of the most incredible nights I have had in a long time, but this is not a tale of Batman finding love. The story ended with a smile and a goodnight, a nearly perfect ending to a nearly perfect night, but Batman still finds himself alone.
Since then, I have once again resumed my travels through the night alone. Searching for answers, friendship, companions and anyone who may need my help. Go on about your lives and do the things you feel you must, a lesser form of Batman is watching the homestead and all will be well when you return.
Thursday night, before I left on my weekend trip, (which will absolutely be written about, but as I said, I must stay on track.) I went for a late night walk. Getting out at 12:30 a.m. every day usually makes late night walks a relatively common event for me, but over the last few months, I have been taking them alone. It is mostly due to opposing schedules of friends and what not, you know, the price of growing up and becoming responsible. It has also partially been my own doing, I seldom even try to invite others on my night excursions. I have become fond of the darkness, scouring the night, feeling akin to Batman, looking for purpose and something bigger than myself.
Some nights, I even find myself having to be a hero, I have helped people in need while walking through the night. My little suburban area is no Gotham City, but it is still my home and my world, if I can help, I will.
The night is peaceful and lonely, profound and brave, things I feel I can relate to, things I hold dear. That Thursday night however, I did not wander alone, nor did I wander in search of meaning or purpose. I traveled through the night with a youthful heart, seeking fun and adventure, the things I used to find around every corner. The things that seem to get stripped away from you as the charges of adult life pile ever more frequently into your lap.
I was immediately surprised by my companion's willingness to venture through rough terrain and I was, for the first time, extremely glad about the existence of cell phone apps. Apparently, phones have a "flashlight" app now and it came in rather handy, though I feel like the last person in the world to know of such things.
We traveled to one of my favorite spots, a little known area that is often a bit frightening, especially to the fairer sex. My companion however, did not hesitate at all, we ventured into a dark concrete tunnel with water running through it. She did not hesitate at all, walking straight through the water, even I remained on the sides of the tunnel, but for her it was all or nothing.
After a bit more tunnel walking, we had to return to the open air of the night. The woods around us were filled with downed trees from the recent storm and droves of weeds ready to plant their burrs upon us. We made it out and though my companion was covered in the green burrs, literally covered, she took it in stride, without a care, just enjoying the night and the adventure. It was the same attitude you see in kids, the kind of carefree, let it all roll of your back sort of thing.
I won't go through the entire night, but suffice it to say we ended up sitting on a rock in the middle of a creek, letting our imaginations get the best of us. As I kid, I used to be able to imagine things so clearly, that I would have sworn they were real. I think most of us could do that as children. Somewhere though, between school and the daily grind of life and responsibility, we lose that ever important skill of imagination. We still have it, but it becomes less potent. We can no longer convince ourselves of things, we are too wise, we "know better."
That night though, that night, rebooted my imagination and together we had ourselves convinced of things that we otherwise knew couldn't be real. It was fantastic, wielding the power of imagination again, as an adult. I attribute much of it to my companion and her amazing ability to just exist in the moment, but ultimately, it was a collective experience.
It was perhaps one of the most incredible nights I have had in a long time, but this is not a tale of Batman finding love. The story ended with a smile and a goodnight, a nearly perfect ending to a nearly perfect night, but Batman still finds himself alone.
Since then, I have once again resumed my travels through the night alone. Searching for answers, friendship, companions and anyone who may need my help. Go on about your lives and do the things you feel you must, a lesser form of Batman is watching the homestead and all will be well when you return.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Correcting The Grammar In Other People's Letters
Everybody lies. Those two words have become a relatively popular phrase thanks to television over the last few years. It is true though, but I think there are shades of gray.
If, for example, you told someone how much they meant to you and that they make you happy and a better person. Then, some time later, you say those same things to someone new. Does that make the original statement a lie, or have you as a person simply changed again and the truth is then circumstantial.
We can't judge solely on the present, nor can we judge solely on the past. There must be a healthy medium between good memories and pleasant tomorrows. I seem to seek out personal sorrow, like an emotional masochist. As far as faults go though, that really isn't too bad.
Have the courage to fail big and stick around, make 'em wonder why you are still smiling.
I don't do anything small, when I go for it, I go for it. I either succeed in an absolutely gorgeous and unforgettable way, or I fail, fail big. I have always had the courage to do this though, and I always stick around, even if I fail.
Yes, that is an exercise bike with a butcher knife attached to it. I find it a very humorous representation of how I feel sometimes. Even in the most dire of situations, I have to do it differently, be different. Go big and unexpected, give them something they've never seen before. Like a suicide bike.
I still have a few things floating out in the ether, things I tried and I honestly have no idea of the outcome. Someday soon I hope to figure all of that out. I hope figure out everything, find the answers I am looking for. I just can't help but worry because I know, everybody lies.
We often lie to spare feelings, I don't care about that though. Honesty and hurt is better than feeling good about a lie.
Wow, these posts have gotten really unorganized, but I told myself when I started this that I wouldn't fret over editing. This is an outlet, not another thing to fuel my incessant chase of perfection.
If, for example, you told someone how much they meant to you and that they make you happy and a better person. Then, some time later, you say those same things to someone new. Does that make the original statement a lie, or have you as a person simply changed again and the truth is then circumstantial.
We can't judge solely on the present, nor can we judge solely on the past. There must be a healthy medium between good memories and pleasant tomorrows. I seem to seek out personal sorrow, like an emotional masochist. As far as faults go though, that really isn't too bad.
Have the courage to fail big and stick around, make 'em wonder why you are still smiling.
I don't do anything small, when I go for it, I go for it. I either succeed in an absolutely gorgeous and unforgettable way, or I fail, fail big. I have always had the courage to do this though, and I always stick around, even if I fail.
Yes, that is an exercise bike with a butcher knife attached to it. I find it a very humorous representation of how I feel sometimes. Even in the most dire of situations, I have to do it differently, be different. Go big and unexpected, give them something they've never seen before. Like a suicide bike.
I still have a few things floating out in the ether, things I tried and I honestly have no idea of the outcome. Someday soon I hope to figure all of that out. I hope figure out everything, find the answers I am looking for. I just can't help but worry because I know, everybody lies.
We often lie to spare feelings, I don't care about that though. Honesty and hurt is better than feeling good about a lie.
Wow, these posts have gotten really unorganized, but I told myself when I started this that I wouldn't fret over editing. This is an outlet, not another thing to fuel my incessant chase of perfection.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Tighten Up
*Warning! Explicit Content*
I have never had to put a disclaimer before anything before, so bare with me on this. This particular post will contain very lewd and vulgar things. It will not become a pattern to my postings by any means, but tonight is simply something else.
I have false confidence, that, I suppose is the easiest way to describe it. It may be slowly melding into real confidence however, it is far too early to say just yet.
Fuck! I am losing grip!
Earlier today at work, I was walking toward one of the new guys that had just started yesterday. I heard him say something to his buddy as I was approaching, but I didn't pay much mind to it. I don't really like new people, it takes me a long time to warm up to them. As I got closer to him, he stopped me, a guy that I have barely said ten words to, stopped me to talk to me.
He didn't ask me a question, nor did he make some inane attempt at small talk. He stopped me to tell me one thing.
He said to me. "Sam, I just thought you should know, that the way you walk and carry yourself makes you look like you have so much confidence. Enough confidence in fact that as you were walking up here I thought, man he looks so sure of himself, I doubt I would reject him if he tried to convince me to let him sodomize me."
It certainly was an odd analogy, but nothing else could have driven the point home in quite the same way. Though I am not sure if it is a good thing, I took that as a compliment and I had a pretty good laugh about it as well. After all, it isn't everyday that someone says something like that to you.
I am well aware that it was partially a joke, but even still, it really got me thinking about my confidence and why the hell people seem to think I have it.
(It is all a lie. Fuck!) Tighten up.
Sure, behind the safety of words and a computer I can have charisma, confidence and charm. Anyone who has ever had the distinct pleasure of talking to me in person and online would easily notice a marked difference. Words, as I have said before are my weapons and my armor and through text I am nearly untouchable. Get me alone in a room face to face though and all that confidence flies out the window. In real life, I am just a nerd who gets nervous around girls and is insecure about pretty much every aspect of his life.
I feel as if the line is becoming blurred, between text Sam and real life Sam and maybe that is good, but maybe it isn't. I need to get a firm grasp of the reigns and tighten up. Figure out if maybe the two Sams can coexist cohesively. Confidence in actuality.
I feel as if I have recently experienced a profound failure of life.Something far worse than failure Something that I could do my best to describe, but honestly, there is a movie quote that does it much better.
There's a difference between a failure and a fiasco. A failure is merely the absence of success. Any fool can achieve failure. But a fiasco, a fiasco is a disaster of epic proportions. A fiasco is a folk tale told to others to make other people feel more alive because it didn't happen to them.
It is time to recover from this and tighten up. Find my confidence in actuality. Walk in a way that makes people stop and tell me that I move with purpose. I do move with purpose. . . I am just still figuring out what that purpose is.
One last time for good measure. Fuck!
I have never had to put a disclaimer before anything before, so bare with me on this. This particular post will contain very lewd and vulgar things. It will not become a pattern to my postings by any means, but tonight is simply something else.
I have false confidence, that, I suppose is the easiest way to describe it. It may be slowly melding into real confidence however, it is far too early to say just yet.
Fuck! I am losing grip!
Earlier today at work, I was walking toward one of the new guys that had just started yesterday. I heard him say something to his buddy as I was approaching, but I didn't pay much mind to it. I don't really like new people, it takes me a long time to warm up to them. As I got closer to him, he stopped me, a guy that I have barely said ten words to, stopped me to talk to me.
He didn't ask me a question, nor did he make some inane attempt at small talk. He stopped me to tell me one thing.
He said to me. "Sam, I just thought you should know, that the way you walk and carry yourself makes you look like you have so much confidence. Enough confidence in fact that as you were walking up here I thought, man he looks so sure of himself, I doubt I would reject him if he tried to convince me to let him sodomize me."
It certainly was an odd analogy, but nothing else could have driven the point home in quite the same way. Though I am not sure if it is a good thing, I took that as a compliment and I had a pretty good laugh about it as well. After all, it isn't everyday that someone says something like that to you.
I am well aware that it was partially a joke, but even still, it really got me thinking about my confidence and why the hell people seem to think I have it.
(It is all a lie. Fuck!) Tighten up.
Sure, behind the safety of words and a computer I can have charisma, confidence and charm. Anyone who has ever had the distinct pleasure of talking to me in person and online would easily notice a marked difference. Words, as I have said before are my weapons and my armor and through text I am nearly untouchable. Get me alone in a room face to face though and all that confidence flies out the window. In real life, I am just a nerd who gets nervous around girls and is insecure about pretty much every aspect of his life.
I feel as if the line is becoming blurred, between text Sam and real life Sam and maybe that is good, but maybe it isn't. I need to get a firm grasp of the reigns and tighten up. Figure out if maybe the two Sams can coexist cohesively. Confidence in actuality.
I feel as if I have recently experienced a profound failure of life.Something far worse than failure Something that I could do my best to describe, but honestly, there is a movie quote that does it much better.
There's a difference between a failure and a fiasco. A failure is merely the absence of success. Any fool can achieve failure. But a fiasco, a fiasco is a disaster of epic proportions. A fiasco is a folk tale told to others to make other people feel more alive because it didn't happen to them.
It is time to recover from this and tighten up. Find my confidence in actuality. Walk in a way that makes people stop and tell me that I move with purpose. I do move with purpose. . . I am just still figuring out what that purpose is.
One last time for good measure. Fuck!
Bleeding From The Face And Other Things That Are Bad For You
In my lifetime I have maybe gotten four nosebleeds, but today, I nearly doubled my all time record! Having bled from my face on three separate occasion today, I have learned one very important thing. I really don't like bleeding from my face. Granted, having dried blood stained on your face kind of makes you look like a bad ass.
It really isn't as affective when it is dripping out of your nose and staining your upper lip. As I do with most things that happen to me, I ended up comparing my nosebleeds to the nature of life.
Yes, I am going to go down that road. I will make unexplained nasal blood discharge a metaphor for everyday life.
Last summer, probably pretty darn close to a year ago, I was heading up north with my then girlfriend to go visit my Grandparents and to go camping. It is about a 3 hour drive north to get to my grandparents, but that wasn't a big deal, car rides were sometimes the best part. Everything was going great, until we stopped at a little dollar store about 40 minutes away.
Nothing was wrong with the dollar store, but when we got back to the car and attempted to head on our way, something was very obviously wrong. Now I can't say I remember exactly what it was, but I remember we stopped the car and I did the obligatory man thing and had my girlfriend pop the hood so I could take a look.
I don't know much about cars at all, nothing more than the basics and I knew I wouldn't be able to actually do anything, but I poked around and pretended to know what I was doing while she called her dad. The entire situation was causing her a lot of stress, especially since it was her car. Me though, I just tried to stay calm and to keep her calm too, there wasn't much we could do, so he had to roll with it.
Roll with it ultimately became the motto of our entire trip and it was an amazing trip.
(I hope you took your kayaking skills with you overseas)
The car ended up being fine, as was probably made obvious by the trip being amazing, but the idea of rolling with it is what really sticks out. Lots of things didn't go perfect on that trip, storming while camping for example, but we rolled with it and it was great.
If there is nothing you can do about a situation, i.e. bleeding from your nose, you can't stop it or change it, just do what you can to keep from making a mess and roll with it. Let it flow, in the case of nosebleeds, that is rather literal. No sense in fretting about all the little things you can't change or that don't go right, life is like that, just let it flow. Roll with it. No need to over think, it is what it is and just roll with it.
I hate bleeding from my face, I truly do, but I will continue to just roll with it, because otherwise I am just complaining and nobody cares to hear that.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
I Have Magical Powers
There was a time when, like most young boys, I wanted to be a hero, or even a super-hero. I would play awesome games with my friends, using only our imaginations and we could do anything. To this day I still sometimes find my mind drifting off to those characters, those alter-egos we made for ourselves. The best parts of who we wanted to be all rolled up into collective childhood games. In these games, I didn't have super powers, or even magical powers, but I think the fact that I have held onto that youthfulness is what grants me my powers today.
Everyone I get close to, hell, even people I just met, open up to me and talk to me. I am not sure what it is about my demeanor that allows for this, so I chalk it up to my magical powers. That really isn't the kicker for me though, the true nature of my magic seems to be in my influence.
Now, this may seem bad (and I suppose it is), but I once helped convince a guy I had met only a day ago to go rob a bank. Granted I didn't tell him to do it, but I gave him the idea and sure enough I found out a few weeks later he had gotten caught trying to do just that. If anyone wants to hear that entire story just let me know, I will type it out at some point.
Mostly though I seem to encourage the good in others, which although noble, often sees me leading them straight on a path away from me. I accept that I tend to be a black hole when it comes to achievement and success, I'll even go so far as to say I am a black hole for growing up in general. It is comfortable here, but ultimately I end up encouraging my loved ones to go and pursue their dreams, live their lives, I will be here when the journey is over.
I don't know if it is because they trust me, or if it is simply because they have someone who believes in them, but almost always, the people left in my care, go on to do the things they truly wanted to do.
Teaching people how to fly, means they will fly away eventually.
I'd love to say it is a lonely existence, I think as a writer (or someone who wants to be a writer) part of me wants to live a life of solitude. A life full of sorrow and missed opportunities, a life filled with an unending wellspring of inspiration. This is not true though, it is not a lonely existence, in fact, it is rather fulfilling. I hate to see people go, but I love seeing what they become. I try to find inspiration in those things, try being the operative word.
My powers seem to be able to heal hearts and minds, now I just need to work on healing physical ailments. I don't think words (which are the true root of my powers) can do such feats to the physical body, but if there is a way, you bet I will be the one to find it.
Everyone I get close to, hell, even people I just met, open up to me and talk to me. I am not sure what it is about my demeanor that allows for this, so I chalk it up to my magical powers. That really isn't the kicker for me though, the true nature of my magic seems to be in my influence.
Now, this may seem bad (and I suppose it is), but I once helped convince a guy I had met only a day ago to go rob a bank. Granted I didn't tell him to do it, but I gave him the idea and sure enough I found out a few weeks later he had gotten caught trying to do just that. If anyone wants to hear that entire story just let me know, I will type it out at some point.
Mostly though I seem to encourage the good in others, which although noble, often sees me leading them straight on a path away from me. I accept that I tend to be a black hole when it comes to achievement and success, I'll even go so far as to say I am a black hole for growing up in general. It is comfortable here, but ultimately I end up encouraging my loved ones to go and pursue their dreams, live their lives, I will be here when the journey is over.
I don't know if it is because they trust me, or if it is simply because they have someone who believes in them, but almost always, the people left in my care, go on to do the things they truly wanted to do.
Teaching people how to fly, means they will fly away eventually.
I'd love to say it is a lonely existence, I think as a writer (or someone who wants to be a writer) part of me wants to live a life of solitude. A life full of sorrow and missed opportunities, a life filled with an unending wellspring of inspiration. This is not true though, it is not a lonely existence, in fact, it is rather fulfilling. I hate to see people go, but I love seeing what they become. I try to find inspiration in those things, try being the operative word.
My powers seem to be able to heal hearts and minds, now I just need to work on healing physical ailments. I don't think words (which are the true root of my powers) can do such feats to the physical body, but if there is a way, you bet I will be the one to find it.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Making Rash Decisions
Tonight, for what was surprisingly not the first time, I found myself scouring the internet, looking at random pictures of bug bites and rashes. If memory serves me, this was the second time I have done this and neither time was for me. As it turns out, even with my extensive outdoor activities, I rarely get unexplained skin issues.
Just on a side note, typing skin issues kind of feels dirty and wrong. It feels unnatural, but I am a slave to the keys.
Anyway, to back it up just a bit. It was a little after 3 a.m. when my friend messaged me asking if I had random bug bites. Not at all the kind of question you expect to get at 3 a.m., I told her I did not and then as anyone would I asked why. Long story short, she had strange, itchy, red marks that resembled mosquito bite on her legs, but they all seemed to manifest at once and out of the blue.
I was talking with her, trying to find out what may have caused all of this and being my regular reassuring self, but all the while I was researching whatever I could on the subject via Google. As I said, this was not my first trip down said road, so I had some prior knowledge base from the last time. The biggest problem was that the last time I had far more information to start with than I did this time.
Everything starts out simple enough, general information about bug bites and skin rashes. I find myself looking at pictures of things I would normally never search out, but it was all relatively harmless and I was sure my friend would be fine.
The rabbit hole that is Google however, goes very very deep. Before I knew it, I was careening down the slide of the internet head first. What began as something simple as a mild allergic reaction, now in my head had become a multitude of potentially very serious conditions. I told my friend none of these things so as to not worry her and to not make me look like a complete weirdo.
I saw images of rotting flesh and gangrenous limbs. I saw sore and rashes that had been itched to bloody pulps. I learned of rare diseases and wildly uncommon side-effect to very common drugs. The rabbit hole took me to places I don't care to see again, I felt as if I had a direct line to the paranoia of individuals. . . and it was infectious.
Before I knew it, though briefly, I was very concerned for my friend's safety, but again I said nothing which is what I assume a rational person would do. If I divulged these thoughts to her, I would surely only be succumbing to the paranoia. I soon got a hold of myself again and crawled my way back up the rabbit hole, but the entire harrowing adventure got me thinking.
Big surprise I know, me thinking.
With all the wonders the internet has done for learning, communication and sharing of ideas and information, it has hindered perhaps just as much. I consider myself a rational person and it only took fifteen minutes of digging to turn me into a temporary hypochondriac. We all have some types of irrational, paranoid delusions and now we all have a medium through which to enhance and project them. It is easy to get lost and hard to separate the facts for the crazy, the internet is indeed a tangled web.
I guess all I am trying to say is, the internet is amazing, but if you are going to take the blue pill and go down the rabbit hole, make sure you have the red pill with you too so you can come back.
Finally, on a completely unrelated note, I have spent my entire life not thinking James and the Giant Peach was a metaphor for something far less kid friendly, but now I am having second thoughts. I think this may have to be a different post entirely. . .
Just on a side note, typing skin issues kind of feels dirty and wrong. It feels unnatural, but I am a slave to the keys.
Anyway, to back it up just a bit. It was a little after 3 a.m. when my friend messaged me asking if I had random bug bites. Not at all the kind of question you expect to get at 3 a.m., I told her I did not and then as anyone would I asked why. Long story short, she had strange, itchy, red marks that resembled mosquito bite on her legs, but they all seemed to manifest at once and out of the blue.
I was talking with her, trying to find out what may have caused all of this and being my regular reassuring self, but all the while I was researching whatever I could on the subject via Google. As I said, this was not my first trip down said road, so I had some prior knowledge base from the last time. The biggest problem was that the last time I had far more information to start with than I did this time.
Everything starts out simple enough, general information about bug bites and skin rashes. I find myself looking at pictures of things I would normally never search out, but it was all relatively harmless and I was sure my friend would be fine.
The rabbit hole that is Google however, goes very very deep. Before I knew it, I was careening down the slide of the internet head first. What began as something simple as a mild allergic reaction, now in my head had become a multitude of potentially very serious conditions. I told my friend none of these things so as to not worry her and to not make me look like a complete weirdo.
I saw images of rotting flesh and gangrenous limbs. I saw sore and rashes that had been itched to bloody pulps. I learned of rare diseases and wildly uncommon side-effect to very common drugs. The rabbit hole took me to places I don't care to see again, I felt as if I had a direct line to the paranoia of individuals. . . and it was infectious.
Before I knew it, though briefly, I was very concerned for my friend's safety, but again I said nothing which is what I assume a rational person would do. If I divulged these thoughts to her, I would surely only be succumbing to the paranoia. I soon got a hold of myself again and crawled my way back up the rabbit hole, but the entire harrowing adventure got me thinking.
Big surprise I know, me thinking.
With all the wonders the internet has done for learning, communication and sharing of ideas and information, it has hindered perhaps just as much. I consider myself a rational person and it only took fifteen minutes of digging to turn me into a temporary hypochondriac. We all have some types of irrational, paranoid delusions and now we all have a medium through which to enhance and project them. It is easy to get lost and hard to separate the facts for the crazy, the internet is indeed a tangled web.
I guess all I am trying to say is, the internet is amazing, but if you are going to take the blue pill and go down the rabbit hole, make sure you have the red pill with you too so you can come back.
Finally, on a completely unrelated note, I have spent my entire life not thinking James and the Giant Peach was a metaphor for something far less kid friendly, but now I am having second thoughts. I think this may have to be a different post entirely. . .
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Drunken Poetry
My grandpa used to (and still does to some degree) drink a lot. He wasn't really a liquor guy, he would just spend hours at the local bar, Green's I think was what it was call, just drinking beers with his friends. As a kid I never thought anything of it, it seemed to me like he had lived a long, hard life and being able to put back copious amounts of booze was some type of reward. As an adult, I still believe that, but I also realize his friends and stories were in that bar, it was far more than simply drinking beer.
The tales of small town bars however should be left for another day, because as I often do, I have become side-tracked.
Now, again, as a child I assumed my grandfather's abilities to drink beer in large quantities and not seem to be affected by it had something to do with a power or skill he had acquired through his years. That also had a grain of truth to it, as do most childhood interpretations, but as an adult I know that it was because of the years and years of beers and beers that I rarely saw my grandpa drunk.
In my lifetime I think I have seen him actually drunk perhaps 3 times and I have come to that number based upon a response he gave to me the very first time I saw him that way. Now, as many of you surely know, some people get talky and philosophical when they are drunk, others get sad and introverted, some still become wild and unruly and of course there are your dreaded angry drunks. My grandpa however, is none of those. He is a poetic drunk.
Somewhere in the deep vaults of his brain he has stored countless poems he memorized over the years, and more often than not he'd gladly recite a few if you were to ask, but when he had had a bit too much to drink, there would be no stopping him. The lines and verses would flow seamlessly and had you not seen the stagger in his step or the smell of his breath, you would assume a completely sober old man was recalling a poem he had remembered ages ago. The poetry alone was not a true test of his inebriation, no, once the poems began to flow the only way to know for sure was to ask him directly.
I did just that one summer when I was about 13 and the response I got has stuck with me since and has become my own personal breath-a-lizer test for my grandpa. I ask him, just as he had finished a poem. "Grandpa, are you drunk?" It was an innocent question, born solely from curiosity and he promptly responded, in a rather cheery tone, with this.
He is not drunk whom can rise from the floor
and drink one more.
But he is drunk whom prostrate lies
When he can neither drink nor rise.
To this day I remember that, though I do not know the origin, who said it or wrote or anything about it beyond that if I hear it, I know my grandfather is drunk.
As an adult, I sometimes find myself taking that poem and applying it to life. I know, I know, that makes me sound like a lush, but it is not the content I apply, more the message. Sometimes in life you feel as if you are just done, given up, or for the poems sake, drunk. If you can find the strength to get back up again and take another shot (literally or metaphorically), you will survive, you will make it through, you are not drunk. It is not until your truly have nothing left, not until you can neither drink nor rise, that it is truly over. I continue to fall to the floor, rise again and drink. I imagine I will be doing this for the rest of my life, sometimes I am forced to drink while upon the floor, but that is still not the end. Eventually I rise, sometimes it takes a long time, but eventually I rise, everyone does. In life, as long as you continue to find the strength to rise and drink again, you will only truly be drunk when you are dead.
The tales of small town bars however should be left for another day, because as I often do, I have become side-tracked.
Now, again, as a child I assumed my grandfather's abilities to drink beer in large quantities and not seem to be affected by it had something to do with a power or skill he had acquired through his years. That also had a grain of truth to it, as do most childhood interpretations, but as an adult I know that it was because of the years and years of beers and beers that I rarely saw my grandpa drunk.
In my lifetime I think I have seen him actually drunk perhaps 3 times and I have come to that number based upon a response he gave to me the very first time I saw him that way. Now, as many of you surely know, some people get talky and philosophical when they are drunk, others get sad and introverted, some still become wild and unruly and of course there are your dreaded angry drunks. My grandpa however, is none of those. He is a poetic drunk.
Somewhere in the deep vaults of his brain he has stored countless poems he memorized over the years, and more often than not he'd gladly recite a few if you were to ask, but when he had had a bit too much to drink, there would be no stopping him. The lines and verses would flow seamlessly and had you not seen the stagger in his step or the smell of his breath, you would assume a completely sober old man was recalling a poem he had remembered ages ago. The poetry alone was not a true test of his inebriation, no, once the poems began to flow the only way to know for sure was to ask him directly.
I did just that one summer when I was about 13 and the response I got has stuck with me since and has become my own personal breath-a-lizer test for my grandpa. I ask him, just as he had finished a poem. "Grandpa, are you drunk?" It was an innocent question, born solely from curiosity and he promptly responded, in a rather cheery tone, with this.
He is not drunk whom can rise from the floor
and drink one more.
But he is drunk whom prostrate lies
When he can neither drink nor rise.
To this day I remember that, though I do not know the origin, who said it or wrote or anything about it beyond that if I hear it, I know my grandfather is drunk.
As an adult, I sometimes find myself taking that poem and applying it to life. I know, I know, that makes me sound like a lush, but it is not the content I apply, more the message. Sometimes in life you feel as if you are just done, given up, or for the poems sake, drunk. If you can find the strength to get back up again and take another shot (literally or metaphorically), you will survive, you will make it through, you are not drunk. It is not until your truly have nothing left, not until you can neither drink nor rise, that it is truly over. I continue to fall to the floor, rise again and drink. I imagine I will be doing this for the rest of my life, sometimes I am forced to drink while upon the floor, but that is still not the end. Eventually I rise, sometimes it takes a long time, but eventually I rise, everyone does. In life, as long as you continue to find the strength to rise and drink again, you will only truly be drunk when you are dead.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
My Brain Wants A Coxswain
Accomplishment comes in an unfathomable amount of forms, some more fulfilling than others, but accomplishments nonetheless. Many small, and a few large, accomplishments have graced my doorstep as of late, but it is not enough. You can achieve little goal after little goal, nickel and dime your way through, but accomplishment does not assure victory and victory is the ultimate goal. I feel as if I am far from victory, in fact, often times I feel as if I have already lost and these small positive deeds are nothing more than consolation prizes. I can't pretend to know for sure and I certainly don't want these little accomplishments to cease, but as with all things good, I have become skeptical. Perhaps it is all leading to something grand that I cannot comprehend, but until that happens I am rather stuck. I know what I am searching for and I know what I want, but I cannot find it nor can I have what I want. I suppose I have to continue on part by part and inch by inch and it will have to be enough. . .but it is not enough.
For a few hours today I very seriously thought I was going to have a stroke. That fear has passed and with it came mixed feelings. In a completely non-depressing way, strictly logically, I have reached a point where, assuming it did not kill or permanently damage me, a stroke could help me. Now don't get me wrong, I do not want in anyway to experience what it is like to have a stroke, but I really do feel as if it would answer a lot of questions. There is so much I don't understand and the clock is ticking away.
This is an incomplete blog, an incomplete thought. . .it is not enough.
For a few hours today I very seriously thought I was going to have a stroke. That fear has passed and with it came mixed feelings. In a completely non-depressing way, strictly logically, I have reached a point where, assuming it did not kill or permanently damage me, a stroke could help me. Now don't get me wrong, I do not want in anyway to experience what it is like to have a stroke, but I really do feel as if it would answer a lot of questions. There is so much I don't understand and the clock is ticking away.
This is an incomplete blog, an incomplete thought. . .it is not enough.
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