2010: A Year in F.U.

I’m calling it. 2010 has officially come to an end, as far as I’m concerned. I had a good weekend last weekend, and I anticipate a great final weekend of the year as I head into a fine 3-day mini-vacation. This was a fairly uncommon theme given how my year started out, and I’m not sure if it got better or worse as the year progressed, but here I am, so it is what it is.

2010 was a year of metamorphosis. Not the peaceful caterpillar to butterfly kind; there was no kind shelter of a cocoon, no emergence into the light as a beautiful sight to behold. This was more like emerging from a bunker after the passage of a nuclear winter; taking that first breath of toxic air and gasping my way through a bone crushing, flesh searing, brain emulsifying mutation.

Youth is a funny thing. There is a sense of entitlement that may be almost unavoidable; not necessarily that one has a right to have everything they desire, but that one has all of the knowledge and experience that one will require, without putting forth the effort of actually learning these life lesson-not living long enough to have experienced the experiences. It is very easy to convince oneself that each decision is made with the greatest of care, and no matter what anyone says, one will not be swayed. I can’t say that this delusion comes crashing down on everyone; certainly there are those who go through life without ever recognizing that they may be wrong. This year, I think it is safe to say that my delusion of youthful wisdom came crashing. I never considered myself foolish, I never considered myself to be impulsive. It certainly was foolish to think that at 19, I had finished growing. I had learned all of my lessons, and the rest was just cake. I finally came to terms with this mistake, only it wasn’t one that could be brushed off and moved on from. Picking myself up off of the mat from this crushing blow wasn’t as easy as shaking my head, sponging away the sweat, knocking my gloves together and coming back out swinging. It was more like listening to the ref count me out. On 1, I was ok being down. It was nice and quiet in my concussed darkness. At 2, I realized how lonely this darkness was. 3, I tried to open my eyes, but the light was so bright, everything out of focus. The count of 4 and I started to force things back together. 5 and the pain was all too real. At 6, I realized I could be finished, and I was not ok with that. On 7, I realized exactly how much will it would take, and on 8, I took a deep breath and got to my knees, half expecting to fall back down. 9 and I’m standing, wobbly; my legs like jell-o, my arms on fire, my head feeling 3 times its size. I won’t go down that easily.

Each of the lessons of this year were an exercise in punch drunkness; none had the kind whisper of the chalk on the blackboard. Instead, they were delivered with the blunt impact of a ball peen hammer. There were lessons in trust. Lessons in love. Lessons in expectation. Lessons in independence. Lessons in dependence. Lessons in anger. Lessons in hate. Lessons in faith. Each passed and as I recovered from their force, another blow would follow-a sharp reminder that 2010 had it out for me.

If I could offer one sentiment to 2010, it would be a giant F.U. Slag off, 2010. You took too many, gave too few. You stole from me a part of my innocence that I will never have back-whether it was delusion or not, it was comfort. You stole my vegetable garden. You gave me a bottle to turn to, whether filled with liquor or medication, the fact is that you took my ability to cope. You gave me emptiness. You gave me turmoil at a time when I was most seeking peace.
To end, I’d like to thank everyone who reads my rantings. I love you all, you mean the world to me. Each one of you played a part in my getting off of the mat, I know you were all in my corner and I will never forget it. Here’s to 2011. May each one of you experience comfort and peace, strength and hope.

Self Destruction, Erik be thy name.

When thinking of self destruction, there’s the obvious extreme case that comes to mind; that of some poor soul lost to substance abuse. Drugs or alcohol have taken such possession of this victim that their families can no longer afford the mental, physical and financial anguish that accompany such a tragic set of circumstances. Their bodies reject normal living, ill at all times save the times they are under the influence of their chosen poison, or perhaps better stated as the poison that chooses them.

Have you ever seen Requiem for a Dream? It’s a terrible movie. I don’t need an hour and a half visual lecture that we are all victims of our own addictions. And Jennifer Connelly really should’ve shaved. Just saying.

But more to my original point: my own self destruction. It’s a destructive path of near moderation, the greatest irony in my life, most likely. I recently have come to the conclusion that I really only have the ability to exert my will on one thing at a time. I believe my will is strong, my focus is great; perhaps too much so, as it is seldom that I am able to really focus on several tasks. For example, right now, my focus is school. Everything else falls to the wayside; physical activity, proper dietary habits, family and friends. There was a year where it was all about the gym; I spent 10-15 hours a week there - it was awesome. There are times where I can go without coffee, there are times where I can go without drinking, but these times never coincide.

This leads me to wonder what it is in my wiring that doesn’t allow me to make the right decisions. ‘Right’ obviously doesn’t mean good vs evil in this instance, but in a mind/body kind of way; I can properly exercise my mind right now, so why is it that I can’t exercise my body? Why is it that I can’t exercise my will when it comes to food? Or beer? It’s 8:30, I’ll be going to bed in 3 hours. What I should drink is water. What I do drink is beer. I can totally recognize that I’m making the wrong decision, why can’t I just take that next step and make the right one? I’m back to drinking diet soda in the afternoon for caffeine. It’s awful, I am fully aware that it is just 20oz of disgusting, cancer causing chemicals. Doesn’t matter. And this morning, I forgot my oatmeal. Did I stop at Wilson Farms for a banana and orange juice? Nope. Straight to Burger King, donating a few dozen grams to my ever-growing mid section.

What’s the moral of the story? There should be an extra 6 hours in a day. I think with 30 hours to work with, I could get through work, even if I had to do overtime, I could pack in the necessary homework and still have time to go to the gym. And walk the dog. And clean the apartment. And cook dinner. And visit family.

Maybe an extra 10 hours…

An argument for destiny.

The cyclical nature of life has me questioning my lifelong habit of questioning. I've spent a lifetime insisting that I was in control, that the future was not decided, that what I do does matter — my decisions do make a difference.

I woke up this morning not so sure. It seemed very familiar; and familiarity does indeed breed contempt. One has an expectation that things will progress — people will grow up; they will identify their weaknesses and they will do their best to strengthen them. One has an ideal that they have the ability to change things about themselves, to view themselves objectively and take steps to alter their course if they feel they are meandering. Suddenly, I feel that I've realized that it is just not the case.

I feel as though I have worked very hard in the last year to break the cycle of life that I'd been in since I became an adult. I judge, I internalize, I never ask for help. I try to rationalize behaviors. I often feel stagnant. I overthink. I allow things to get to me that I fully recognize that I have no control over. So I read books on compassion, and try to practice it in everyday life. That's not really working; I have no better tolerance for stupidity than I have ever had. I try to express myself more openly, but people just end up offended, and so I realized that I should just keep things to myself. I identify opportunities to have other people help me; they generally express their confidence that I can handle it on my own. I still rationalize my behaviors, whether or not I can recognize that it's not really the right thing to do. I started school, and I love it, but it's just SO intense, SO encompassing. I still overthink EVERYTHING. Everything. I took a meditation class hoping to learn to separate myself from my thoughts. I overthink my meditation class. This probably doesn't shock most of you, but it kinda disappoints me. I tried medication, but I'm not sure it's changed anything. It's still cyclical: I think I can/will. I know I can/will. Why can't you support me while I try/do? What the fuck is wrong with you? It's not you, it's obviously me. This is too damned hard. Drink. Drink. Drink. I can't do this. I think I can/will...

It's not just my life that is cyclical, my experiences just don't seem to change, no matter how much I want them to. I really identify with the whole 'you can't change the way other people are, you can only change how you react' thing. It's definitely true. But how do you react to the friend who blames everyone else for his embarrassing, idiotic behavior? How do you react to the selfish nature of those who are so close to you? I honestly don't have the ability to tolerate it any longer. I have too much going on the worry that everything you do is my fault, or everything I do that does not involve you is a personal attack. To quote The Ramones, I want to live my life. I also want to surround myself with people who are happy that I want to live my life; not condemning everything on the basis of pure selfishness.

Thirty-one

The first song I heard as a 31 year old: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qn5IHOi-vII

Appropriate, I suppose. It's not a song I'm very familiar with, but listening a little more intently while I write this, it's relatable.

I kind of wish I had written this a few days ago. I was looking forward to 31, I really felt like it was a refreshing number. 30 held the end of so many things; it was a year of moving on. 31 appeared to be promising, I feel as though I've done a lot of changing in the last year. I'm proud to say I feel like me again. I've rediscovered my creative side, for real. I'm exploring things I never thought I would. I've become more content with my best effort, more accepting of imperfect results. I've found a sense of deep pride from the things I've created, regardless of how they are regarded by others. I've found a self confidence I always pretended to have but never did. At 30, I was defeated. At 31, I've learned how not to fight. At 30, I was stagnant, at 31, I'm flourishing. At 30, I was uncomfortable, at 31, I'm finding a familiarity with myself.

I want to thank the powers that be for this week's reminders that there is no time other than now. I didn't know Jessica well, but I can easily recognize the depth of the tragedy. Her poor daughter, losing innocence at 2. She'll never get that back. This girl's family will bury one of their youngest members. None of us expect to outlive our siblings; I know I don't. I knew Mr. Nuthall. When I moved to West Valley, I made the choice to take British Literature over American Literature, Am Lit is so stuffy and British literature is so...fun! Chaucer? Shakespeare? Yes, please! My class was myself and 3 other guys, 16 or 17 and Mr. Nuthall was our Robin Williams in Dead Poet Society. I had a difficult time relating to the males available to me at the time; we did not see the world the same way, and so we didn't really discuss the kind of things that needed to be discussed at that time. In short, I lacked a mentor. The members of the English department at WV were exactly that. Mr. Nuthall and Mr. Sortore were some of the most inspirational people I've known, without even trying. They were true leaders of men; patient, malleable, wise, intelligent. They had a way of expressing how they viewed the world that was captivating, but at the same time, they had such a thirst to understand how we viewed the world.

The loss of these two people, Jessica and Mr. Nuthall is very striking. The frailty of life is terrifying. The difference between life and death, what is and what was, is nothing more than a moment. As each moment passes, we come closer to that defining moment. I don't know how many moments I have left, but I truly want to make sure I take full advantage of them. 30 dwelled on what was. 31 will be spent on what is, and what could be.

Cheesey Thanksgiving Blog

There is so much that I am thankful for. I think that it is really easy to get the impression that I take life for granted; admittedly, I feel that way sometimes. I have high expectations and I am easily frustrated, so it is easy for me to lose sight of what's important, but deep down, I know what I have and I am very thankful for all of it. Here are some highlights.

• I am eternally grateful for my family. There is no way that I could ever ask for better. Their love and support have meant the world to me and truthfully, I would not be what I am today without them. I hope that I properly express my gratitude to each and every one of them, for they truly deserve the world. I daily wish I could give it to them. This also goes to members of my family who are no longer with us. The way that they lived their lives is a daily inspiration and I hope that I live in a way that makes them proud.

• I am thankful for intelligent free will. They say ignorance is bliss, and it may be true. For as often as I say that I wish I were one of the blind masses who pass through life from one moment to the next, rarely pausing to take notice of their surroundings, it's not true. I am grateful for an understanding of the impact of current events. I am grateful for the ability to recognize the evil in the human race, for it enhances the beauty of the humanity. I am very thankful that I can express myself. This is part thanks to mom for giving me my love of reading and part thanks to some kickass english teachers in WV (sorry, Ange, but Nuthall was awesome when I had him.)

• I cannot express how thankful I am for music. There is almost nothing that can alter a mood the way that music does. The worst day is instantly forgotten when a good rocksteady beat drops. My head bops to the rhythm, everything dissipates and I'm lost in the music — it's salvation. Fast and loud, there is nothing more cathartic than a great punk rock song. I am grateful for the time I was able to play punk rock and for all of the people that the music I played meant something to. I am extra grateful to Ben and Mike for allowing me to play the irish music with them; it is the music of my ancestors and it holds a very, very special place in my heart.

• I am thankful for Damara (and Zapata, RIP!) There was a time when I was feeling desperately alone and I had a lot of difficulty expressing it. There is no better companion than this special lady; she is truly my best friend, my co-pilot, my camping buddy, my hiking partner, my snuggle buddy, the biggest pain in the ass and the best part of a bad day. She is genuinely joyful each time I walk through the door and knowing that something loves you that much is really heartwarming. Yes, dogs have emotions. Cuz I said so.

• I am thankful for my friends. I think I am pretty lucky to have them in my life, and they have been a part of my life for the majority of it. It is amazing to watch them grow as people and as they start to have families, it is amazing to watch their families grow.

• I am thankful for my life experiences. They haven't always been ideal, but I was able to learn from most of them and they helped to mold me into a hard-working, hard-playing, hard-loving person. I am nothing if not passionate, and I feel that this gusto comes from learning that the little things mean the most.

I hope everyone who reads this is as lucky as I am. There is obviously much more to be thankful for, but I think these are seldom recognized and I wanted to tip my cap. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

Personal Faith

As citizens of the defining western culture, it is no secret that there is one thing that rules our lives. Built into every form of media, studied as a science, breaking people into demographics; impersonal numbers that represent dollars, is advertising. Commercialization can be said to be man’s greatest sin—the demeaning concept that everyone has a price, that people are a commodity to be bought with ideas and sold to the lowest bidder. The true tragedy of our obsession with hollow brand names or our undying loyalty to the cult of bigger is better is that our souls have literally become for sale. Just as any great company is defined by it’s logo, so goes religion. Do we really need to be sold on the ideas of faith? Is it really so important that we be constantly reminded of our faith through an endless stream of symbols, holidays, rituals and prayer. It is my contention that no, we do not. True faith needs not remit to these commercial pressures.
The most obvious religious concept that has gone horribly, horribly wrong is that of the ‘holiday.’ Once defined literally as ‘holy day,’ this has become an excuse for humanity to largely ignore any reverence of what the day represents, choosing instead to turn its attention to taking advantage of this week’s greatest discount prices. The entire concept has become a putrid marketing scheme, so much so that uttering the word ‘holiday’ with a terrible taste in the mouth. To begin with, one who is truly strong in faith should live in perpetual reverence of what is holy; truthfully, there should be no need to set aside days of the year that represent especially ‘holy’ days. One should live each day as a holy day. The idea of a ‘holy’ day weakens what is holy—it should be true that something that is holy is always holy, not on a specific day or month or moment, but always, and we as the faithful should recognize the holy as such. The idea of Christian holidays is further tainted by the fact that they fall on or around the same day as pagan holidays, so as not to be overshadowed by the ‘heathen.’ (Fieser pg 333-334, Livingston pg 146). This sort of petty jealousy is a mockery of what one would perceive as ‘holy.’
The idea of religious space is further manifestation of man’s ignorance to true faith. The religions of the world believe that God, or the powers that be, are everywhere­—in all things—but space is set aside specifically for worship. This concept seems to contradict the omnipresence of God or The Gods. It is said that “Consecrating a place is equivalent to founding a world, a cosmos out of chaos,” (Livingston, pg 44). The idea that a particular place is ‘holy’ is a testament to the weakness of human faith. Every step, every breath, every flower and every wall is holy. Every experience is a gift from the heavens-sorrowful experiences can be lessons; joyful experiences can be blessings. These holy moments needn’t be shoved into a cubby-hole of space, these holy moments should be in the open air, where the Gods intended us to experience life. God didn’t build churches or erect altars—these are the works of humanity. God created the wind, the tree, the rain. God has blessed us with the beauty of nature, and reverence of good should occur everywhere, not just at a specific place. Currently, there is a debate over the placement of a mosque, an Islamic house of worship, near a site of a terrorist attack. This debate would not exist in a faithful world, for in a world of fully developed faith, every square inch of the earth would be holy and religion would not act as divider.
Even more of a detriment to religion is the worship of religious symbols. Each of the major religions seems to have developed a logo, something that can be displayed proudly to show what team you root for—religion has been relegated to the marketing ploys of sneaker companies and sports teams. These symbols, once meant to represent the death of your savior or the leadership of your forefathers are now for sale on every city corner, plated in gold or platinum, diamond crusted and featured in the least holy, most demeaning ways—flaunted with half nude women or else defined as the inspiration for the latest call for violence and greed. The use of the religious symbol as a twisted representation of faith is certainly not new; the crusades pitted the cross against the scimitar and dying in these battles assured one of eternal salvation. The third reich used the symbol of the Jew against them, forcing the Jewish to be represented by their star, a representation that meant almost certain death. Religious symbols have done more to divide the people of the world than to unify; it seems to me that most religions ascribe to peaceful ideologies and the love for your fellow man, but this peace and love is nowhere to be found. Religious symbols have become one of man’s most simple tools for separation.
It will be a wonder if we don’t, in our lifetime, see the development of mascots for the various religions—they already have cheers! People gather regularly to sing their anthems and recite their chants, almost as if they were a fan at a sporting event. “LET’S GO, GOD!” The tales of their victories are long written in the pages of religious texts­—the defeator of demons, the savoir of humanity. Slayers of giants, healers of the sick. These stories reflect the same reverence offered to the legends of sport. These Gods don’t deserve this sort of childish homage; they shouldn’t be emblazoned on posters and hung on adolescent bedroom walls. They should be truly revered! They aren’t common victors; the Gods ARE victory! The Gods are power! The Gods aren’t awe inspiring, they are AWE itself! These texts serve only to water down the power of the word of the Gods. Repeated over and over until they can be spoken in one’s sleep; too often they are. They have become meaningless mumbles of the disinterested, the mundane ramblings of commonality.
Finally, I will address the idea of the relic, the talisman. This is such an obvious attempt to take advantage of the weak-minded, the weak in faith, and the strong in pocket. Since the dawn of man, the idea that an ordinary object can be the embodiment of a heavenly power has held man entranced. Everyone has a lucky penny or stone, a lucky article of clothing; these basic talismans expected to decide the outcome of a game of chance, or define one’s fate in a positive or negative manner. How dare we entrust our fate to anything but the holy themselves? Who is it that has blessed this object, given it it’s magical powers? God? The mere thought of this is disgusting. The world is literally a floating orb of suffering. Disease, famine, pestilence, violence, greed, inequity and pure, unadulterated filth swirl about, taunting superior powers with their ability to trod down the common man, and we are to believe that God cares so much about your poker game that the time was taken to bless your socks? The true tragedy is that religion plays on this idea! The concept of the holy relic, for sale to the highest bidder, authenticity guaranteed. Maybe Billy Graham’s sweat rag, full of all that god-fearing goodness. The money all goes to an honorable charity, we promise. This is, after all, a non-profit organization!
If these statements seem cynical, friends, I assure you, cynical is an understatement. The fact that the idea of the holy has become so warped that it is defined by time, or space, or object—all of which are man-made—is a travesty of epic proportions. What man really needs to do is take a step back and realize that true faith, true religion, is expressed in every action and in every place. Are you caring for your brother the best you can? Are you caring for your earth the best you can? None of us is as great as all of us. Nowhere else can life be sustained as it is here on earth. It’s about time we stepped up and started living truly religious lives. Honor the Gods by doing everything you can to take care of everything you can. No time or place or book will define this for you. Only your actions will define you and your God.

Why I will inevitably be fired.

(Narration) Hey, I’m Erik (Camera shows Erik arriving at FTN. He looks left, then right, checks the rearview mirror, and then starts beating his head against the steering wheel.) As you can see, I really like my job!

(Narration) My position is really intense. In order to perform at your peak, you’ve got to know a lot of information. (Camera shows Erik copying and pasting from GTD, then Customs website.)

(Erik looks seriously at the camera.) There’s always something new coming in, you’ve got to remain alert at all times. (Camera shows Erik nodding off at desk.)

(Narration) The constant influx of new work keeps me very focused. (Camera shows Erik turning to Jonathan) “I think we should reshoot star wars, with Delonte West as Lando.” (Erik turns back to computer, turns back to Jonathan.) “Who would win in a fight, young Obi Wan Kenobi or Delonte West?” (Turns back to computer, then back to Jonathan.) “What if we made ravioli filled with bleu cheese and then served it with a buffalo wing sauce? That would be delicious!”

(Narration) I take my letter writing very seriously. Keeping the customer informed is my number one goal. (Camera shows Erik’s monitor, he is writing an ‘I am FedEx’ commercial, then a Teresa haiku, then a rap song, then a random rant about Gail.)

(Narration) Customer service is my priority. I will make every FedEx experience outstanding! (Erik is on phone with customer, speaking very sarcastically.) “Oh, no, you don’t have to send me anything. I can submit the information as you’ve presented it. When Customs denies the claim, we’ll just send you the bill again. No big deal.”

(Narration) My name is Erik and I am FedEx. (Camera shows Erik staring blankly into space. Fade to FTN logo.)

Easy like a Saturday morning.

OK, so, the posts so far have been bitter, and I apologize for that. I have always been a lot better at writing about my frustrations than I have been at celebrating my blessings. While I am aware of this, it is something that probably won’t change anytime soon, but I assure you, all is well. I have become better at identifying the moments of peace and savoring them. This weekend for instance…Every weekend should start this way. After some early morning running around on Saturday, I came back home to (finally) brew a batch of beer. I had forgotten how meditative the process is, which is why I enjoy it so much. After sanitizing my equipment, I started the wort boiling. Just listening to the water in the pot is a concentrated act of quieting the mind-the boiling point is very important in brewing. With no thermometer, I listen for the indicator of boiling-the sound goes from the whisper of the wind in the trees to a brook rolling over rocks in the bed. The grains reach saturation and the sound changes again to the gurgling of mud in a hot spring. Beneath the sounds of the sweet tea in the pot, the strains of my playlist reach out from the other room; every now and then it catches my attention and I take a moment to sing along. I add the malt and stir it until it dissolves-this is where the sound becomes most important. If the temperature gets too high, the wort will boil over, not only potentially ruining the batch, but also making a mess that is near impossible to clean up. I sit cross legged on the floor and light a pipe. Instantly, the fragrant tobacco mixes with the sweet scent of the malt, an incense that I wish I could reproduce. I close my eyes and experience it all-the sound, the smell, the taste. Damara comes to join me, resting her head in my lap. This is peace. This is happiness. These are the moments that define a life.

An open letter to a friend (or two.)

Sorry things are so lame right now. Maybe this is what we’re supposed to be doing at this point in our lives; miring through the field of manure to get to the greener pastures on the other side. I’ve got to hope there’s something better out beyond the horizon. To think that this is it, “What if this is as good as it gets?” is depressing beyond belief. Well, I suppose it’s believable, but that doesn’t change the fact that it is depressing. Speaking of, I forgot my pill this morning. Dammit. I had an appointment with my psychologist weds. He was pushing for a counselor again. I don’t disagree with him at all; I just don’t have the time. Or, at least, I don’t feel like sacrificing something to make the time (probably more accurate…)

OK, back to the point…I know you’re feeling stagnant, and I can absolutely empathize. I wish I could say that this is just a purgatory and eventually, you’ll move on to happiness, but it’s impossible for me to know that. If there is anything I can pass on from my experiences, it is that each step forward is into a stronger, colder wind. Each door that opens leads to a room that is harder to navigate, lit by a light that is ever dimmer. The future doesn’t just hold uncertainty, the future is uncertainty. The ONLY way to deal with this truth is to remain in the present-the absolutely toughest thing for any westerner to do. Not one iota of American life is based in the now; everything is based in what is done, or what will be done; the ONLY thing we control is what is being done-how we are experiencing this moment right now. This is more a ‘do as I say, not as I do,’ thing, my eyes are perpetually on the prize, despite my awareness that in looking ahead, I fail to see the obstacles directly in front of my. You’d think by now, I’d have learned, but I have not. Someday, maybe.

Take a deep breath. Take a sip of tea. Roll it around, taste the tea leafs, the spearmint, the chamomile, the black pepper. Breath in (ooooooooooooooooooonnnnnnneeee) breath out (twoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.) The past is not so great. The future is no prize. Right now is exactly what you make it…

On Selfishness?

Of all of the things that humanity suffers from, why is it that I am so selfish that I can’t get my mind off of the one thing that I think will make my life complete? The betterment of a fellow human is far more important than whether or not I can get a girl (woman. I’m over 30 now.) to go to a bar to watch a hockey game with me. And you know what will happen once we get there? Nothing. Sure, I’ll have 1 beer too many because it lowers my defenses and I can be comfortable being me. When I walk her to her car, I’ll try to kiss her. She will or she won’t, but it won’t matter. Maybe she will and then I’ll call her then next day. We’ll get breakfast and start to talk. I’ll tell her that I find it interesting that since the dawn of man, humans have had an intrinsic desire to believe in a higher power. She’ll tell me that the new Taylor Swift album is really deep, or that Bon Jovi is a good band. Maybe she won’t let me kiss her. I’ll send her a text; she’ll ignore it. I’ll send her a message online; that will get deleted. Finally, I’ll get the picture and leave her alone and wonder if it was the fact that I’ve put on weight since school started or it was the fact that I have funny teeth, or the fact that I was critical of a Sabres player who isn’t really that good, but she thinks is ‘hot.’ Back to the drawing board.

Couldn’t my time be better spent? How about instead of cruising free internet dating sites, I volunteer for a couple of hours at a soup kitchen or halfway house? How about I pick up my nephew and take him to a park? How about I volunteer at the Boy’s & Girl’s Club? How about I become a Big Brother? How about instead of wasting my time meeting yet another potential disaster, I go for a run? Work on music for the songs I’ve written?

The problem is I know what (who) I want. Further, the problem is that it doesn’t matter what (who) I want. These girls that I meet could be really awesome, but I will spend a whole lot of time comparing them to the 1 or 2 people who I think are perfect for me. If they were truly perfect for me, wouldn’t I be perfect for them?

In short, I think I give up. I don’t know what that makes me. I don’t know that I care. I was given the advice that women on online dating are inundated with messages; even if they see someone they may be interested in, they easily forget by the time they’ve checked their messages. I don’t have the humility to continue to send messages that aren’t responded to. It makes me feel foolish, it makes me feel desperate. I’m not desperate. If I were desperate, I’d settle, I think.

I am desperate for one thing. I want a baby so badly. I want to hold my child. I want to protect my child. I want to see the wonderment in their eyes at every new experience. I want to put awful art on my refrigerator. I want to scrub crayon off of the walls. I want to have this being curl up in my lap to watch Star Wars for the 3rd time this week because it’s the middle of winter and it’s a lazy week. I want handprint turkeys. I want construction paper pilgrim hats. I want 1-2-4-5-7-6-8. I want elemenohpee.