Sad and Bougie

Wow. It's been over a year since my last post. So it seems as though I've fallen victim to my usual old problem, trying to do all the things. In doing so, as always, I've done none of the things.

Well that's not true.

Off the top of my head I can think of a few, that I just never found the time to write about...or...in my case...was too distracted by other necessary things to procure the time to write about.

I had planned a blog post called "A Little More Yeast", as a sequel to my excursions in yeast, in which I would talk about my adventures in brewing - specifically, I brewed a clone of New Glarus Brewery's Spotted Cow (famous here in Wisconsin), and I also made a batch of Dandelion Wine.

Yeah that never happened. And by that I mean the blog post; the actual brewing occurred mid-year.

In August my family and I took a weeklong family vacation, something we have never been able to do. We went to Mackinaw City, Michigan and had a wonderful time. We will have to go back when I find my dream job and/or money is no longer (or much less of) an object.

In April we bought a Jeep. I have a higher car payment now, but I'll take the car payment over having to worry about car repairs. Being a single car family (in this town at least) really sucks, but I've been making do since October of 2016. Public transportation in this area is lacking, save for a bus, which I rode once, but honestly, I got spoiled by the Metra/CTA of Chicago.

Late March I got introduced to Rhett and Link via Good Mythical Morning, and it could not have come at a better time. Just two weeks prior, my family and I suffered a loss. Something that subconsciously may have been the cause of my apathy of last year and which may have sparked another round of depression, now that I actually think about it. Something that we'd been hoping for, for quite some time, was given to us, and in just two weeks' time was taken away. Given some time to think about it, I know it was for the best and God always knows what he's doing, but it still hurts when He takes people away from you, especially before you get a chance to meet them.

Oh! And a big thing that happened which allowed us the ability for the above-mentioned items. My wife and I quit smoking. As of this writing, it has been 1 year, 1 month and 2 days for me. As of late I have been having days where I really crave some, but not enough to throw away a year's worth of being able to say I'm a non-smoker. Most of that is due to poorly managed stress, so if I can find a way to better manage my stress, I think the cravings will stop altogether. I couldn't have done it without Chantix and the fact that my wife wanted to quit as well. Guarantees if that weren't the case we'd both still be smokers. But oh what a world of possibility being a non-smoker opens up.

I have a problem, well, actually, something I'd just like to discuss as it has infested my life lately, but as this seems to be more of a catch-up post, I think I'll give that its own post. I'd like to dive more in depth into the topic, and I don't feel like that can be done with this post here. Plus I mean come on, we're 3 months into the year already and I ain't post nothin yet.

Blocked and Deleted

What is it about Facebook...it truly does mess with people's heads. I'll grant you it can be a useful tool in staying connected with people, but I've increasingly been finding out that it's more in my head than I'd like for it to be.

Recently I've discovered that I've been blocked and deleted by a number of people. Two in particular left me with a "what the f" feeling. And really it shouldn't bother me as much as it seems to be.

So why does it?

I've made mention of the false reality Facebook creates, leading others to look at their timeline comparatively. "Oh so and so just got back from vacation", "This person just got a new car", "That person just put their two weeks in because they just got offered a fabulous job", so many people seemingly enjoying their lives and living way more fabulously than you could ever dream to, and then you sit and take stock of your life and become disappointed. And this is the definition of social media?

(Whoa, get off your soap box. You're going to be sharing this post via Facebook)

When I had my hands busy knitting and working on Christmas projects, I found little time for Facebook and this did not bother me one bit. But now that I've slowed down on that, Facebook once again sinks its time-stealing claws into my mind and it is then that I'd discovered the whole blocked and deleted nonsense.

But now back to my original question: why does it even bother me? It shouldn't. Admittedly my posts as of late tend to be a little left-of-center, which doesn't exactly mesh well with some of my right-leaning friends, and since you can now see things that other people like as opposed to what they just post, people can see that I merely liked things that are a bit Catholic in nature, which doesn't exactly mesh well with some of my more evangelical-leaning friends.

At the same time, I am neither staging a Lenin-esque takeover nor am I proselytizing, so their blocking and deleting really comes down to their narrow-minded insecurities and do I really want that in my life anyway? It's almost as if I'm taking each unfriend or block/delete as a personal attack for which vengeance is necessary. (Okay that was a bit dramatic, at least the last part. I apologize.)

In all honesty, it's more like a bee sting (although I am allergic). Now that I've given it a few days, the initial sting has passed and I'm soothing myself with the Benadryl cream of "you don't want that kind of negativity in your life anyway".

But still, for something to have such a profound effect on one's psyche, says a lot about the subliminal power of the Facebook.

Poster beware.

January: The Traditional Cold, Grey Bucket of Suck

I have to say it's nice to be back. I took a couple months. For the month of November, I tried my hand at my first NaNoWriMo, and while I regret to inform you that I was not able to make the 50,000 word quota by November 30th, I am pleased to inform you that I nonetheless was able to come up with what I feel is a kickass story, (but then I am kind of biased). My inner monologue makes a return in my parenthetical quotes, you'll notice.

Sadly, I only made about 22,000 words, but even through all that I consider it a success, as prior to November 2016, I was unable to come up with more than 5 pages of writing that wasn't a school paper (which, incidentally enough I found out that this blog led one of my fellow students to actually plagiarize my paper on indifference that I had posted here and have to now make private).

Also during my two-month (and a half) hiatus, I busied myself with a couple new hobbies. I began working with yeast (as is alluded to in my previous entry); I got myself a bread machine that my mother was not using and which, in my household, has been used more than it has been in the decade or so it was under her ownership. I've made breads in there as well as some homemade ciabatta bread, (the crumbs of one loaf are still in a bowl awaiting to be made into either bread pudding or a stuffing dish)

I also took up knitting. (Yes...knitting. Men can knit too. Knitting, I'm told, used to be particularly male-dominated, but suffice it to say, men can knit too. More on that in a future post). I started simple - I made my wife a scarf, and one for my sister-in-law and one for my friend who has defeated cancer. That ballooned to a straight month of knitting scarves, 24 in total. It's just so quick and easy. Then I tried to make a dish rag and let me just state, from a dude's point of view, and a left hander's point of view, the purl stitch can suck it. Ain't nobody got time to dig under the top stitch and grab the bottom and pull through.

I also finished my plastic canvas ornaments, a self-professed tradition my great grandmother had going on when I was a kid, and which she ended the Christmas of 1989 due to her death in August of 1990. Pictures to follow in another post so as not to bog this one down. A brief rundown though, in 2004, after 15 years having passed since her last ornament, I took it upon myself to make a commemorative replica (or a new word I've recently learned, a pastiche) of the ornaments she used to make. I don't know if it was a tradition of hers or not, I just know that the older 3 cousins of the family (which includes myself) received a handmade ornament from her for Christmas.

This seems the perfect segue to my topic for this post : Tradition. I myself quite like the idea of tradition. I admire close-knit families that have traditions that keep them closely knit and together (wow paralleling my newly-discovered knitting hobby much?) Perhaps it's because my family, sadly, doesn't seem to have very many traditions. Even my grandmother admitted, before she died, that there weren't many (if any) traditions when I'd asked her in an attempt to revive forgotten traditions.

Now there's nothing wrong with that. Sometimes having no traditions can probably be in itself a tradition. And regardless of that, all traditions begin somewhere, or somewhen. Also true is the fact that it is never too late to start traditions. And it doesn't even have to be some Old World tradition that one's ancestors used to do generations ago "back in the old country" either. Admittedly, that had been my fascination in past years, especially since the death of my grandma who was predominantly Polish.

A death of a central family figure creates a devoid, a vacuum of sorts. Sometimes that death creates what I'm calling a "Diaspora Effect" on a family. Sometimes it's not a death at all; sometimes people just move away. Experience and firsthand witness has taught me that it's much easier to maintain a close knit when the family is located in one general vicinity, if not the same city. And sometimes, we find ourselves just naturally closer to one portion of the family than the other. Sometimes we also go through an exorbitant "teenage drama phase" and distance ourselves from our families. Sometimes, it's a combination of all of that which creates a perfect storm of family unraveling. But I digress...

Sometimes one central figure becomes the glue that holds a family together, and when that person departs in one way or another, it can become very difficult to stop the inevitable unraveling. It's sad to witness, it's sad to describe. It becomes necessary to then stop at that crossroads and evaluate whether or not it's time to detach and start knitting your own "close-knit-ness", for lack of better words. If it becomes especially hard to knit back together that unraveled or unraveling heap, then the answer is pretty clear.

It takes more than one person to want to keep an unraveling family from falling apart and completely dispersing. But then, families can surprise you, too.

So posting on a Friday the 13th, right!!! Admittedly, my absence from blogging and coming back to it opens up fresh ideas in what WheezyWaiter calls my "mindbrain". Blogging isn't the first thing I've come back to after a period of hiatus-ing...I've also started working on school stuff as well, as my 4th Term for my AA has begun as of January 1st. I am determined, and I know I've said this before, that this will be my last term. By June 30, I resolve to have completed and earned my AA, maybe even venture to New Hampshire to march across the stage and receive my degree in person. That might be a bit lofty, but the finishing of the degree not so much. It's only 44 credits...

(I just scrolled up to realize I've had a lot to say in this post) (Parenthetical side note: I just went down to refill my coffee and found myself uttering to myself, "That's one full ass cup of coffee.")

So we celebrated our first New Year's at Little Townhouse on the Prairie...and while me typing that brings about a certain sense of deja vu...(and yes I will be looking back at my posts of January 2016 to see if I've typed something similar, and maybe for that sense of nostalgia), I have to say it combined with my Christmas was actually refreshingly low-key. Even with no traditions, except for one that I started, since we had more time on Christmas Eve (as we had one less Christmas to go to this year), I read my oldest The Polar Express when we got back, took the kids to the light show at the park, and set out cookies and milk (or, Mocha Coffee Drink) for Santa.

So here's to the first post of 2017, 26 more to go! (in order to beat last year's post total of 26 because yeah that's a thing.) Next post I'll low key talk about some heavier things...unless I'm inspired to write something else. It's just good to be back :)

A Worthy Sacrifice

"A man's biography is written in terms not so much of what he causes to happen, but rather what happens to him and in him. The difference between men is not in the adversity which comes to them, but rather how they meet the adversity." - Archbishop Fulton Sheen.

I came across that on my Facebook feed and immediately my brain crack receptors went off.

Brain crack? Rather than try to explain it, just watch this video from the Great Ze Frank, who came up with the term.

That particular quote couldn't be more perfectly timed, as I sit here and contemplate my life's story.

Google search defines adversity as "difficulties, misfortunes". I'm not going to sit here and pretend to be the person most affected by adversity. But I will say that adversity takes many forms, wears many different hats and disguises if you will. Many of mine in recent years have been monetarily in form. I've learned lessons, slightly slipped back, but found more gripping as the days progress, however I can look back on where I was two years ago and state with confidence that even though it feels the same, it really is not. It's better.

And it will get better.

I've done my fair share of running, when faced with adversity. But I've also trudged through like a blinding blizzard because I've had no other choice. I've taken easy roads and hard roads, though admittedly my inherent impatience does get the better of me when the latter is involved. It's easy to let happen. You want results, and you want them now. A misfortune befalls you, and you immediately try to think of ways to solve it. Sometimes that solution lies just outside your realm of control, and it irks you to no end. And then it becomes an obsession (or maybe that's just me?).

But it gets better. It doesn't feel like it at times. It feels more like you are stuck in a rut and it's never going to get better. But it will.

Choices are and must be made every day. One often looks back on those choices and wonders how things would be different if they just took that other path. But what one doesn't take into account sometimes is that everything would be different. You go back and alter one choice and you end up in a totally different situation. And then, realizing that, one comes to the conclusion that you were meant to choose that path for a reason. What you might now deem as a mistake, ultimately leads to a great joy. A joy which sometimes is overlooked for the simple fact of the desired result of making that other choice.

It's easy to look back on past choices, but a whole other mountain with present choices that need to be made, along with all the possible future outcomes. And it becomes dizzying.

There's something to be said about a worthy sacrifice. For some reason this phrase has been bouncing around my head this week, which is a sure sign that this is brain crack and must get released from my fingertips. It's choosing to forgo going out so you can spend time with your family. It's briefly taking a second job so you can provide better for your family. It could be forgoing, or at least temporarily, your big city dreams in favor of a smaller town life because that's what your family has become accustomed to.

In the past few entries I've talked about my desire to move. I can never fully shake that feeling, especially when I pull up Google Maps and look at all the places I could go. But then I see my sons playing with their cousins. And then I know, that at least for now, rather than think of it being "my fate sealed", that I made the right choice. That regardless of any other feelings of being an outsider looking in, being a stranger in a group that once was so closely knit, effectively being shunned to a point...regardless of all that, I've made the choice for awesome. Or at least it would seem that way, for my kids. And wasn't that what I'd wanted all along?

A worthy sacrifice.

An outsider looking in?

Perceived or otherwise, feeling like an outsider doesn't feel good at all. To belong to a group where everybody seems to be connected to each other, and know, or at least perceive, that you are not included, sucks so bad. It feels like you're living in the shadows of that group. Like you're trying too hard to fit in, and why doesn't he just get the hint that he's not welcome do we have to come out and say it? It may or may not be the case, and in most cases it's not. But sometimes, perception is everything. People will never forget how you made them feel.

Then you shake all that out of your head. Concentrate on the choice, concentrate on the here and now, and forget everything else. Deal with the conflicting feelings as they come in waves, like high tide. Build a levee to control them. Consider your worthy sacrifice.

The trouble is determining whether or not said sacrifice is, in fact, a worthy sacrifice.

The Laugh Track is Extra

Life isn't just a sequence of waiting for things to be done." - Ze Frank

Do you ever get the feeling that you are living in a circus and all of a sudden you are thrust into the role of unwanted ringmaster?

Hi, I'm Eric, and this is my circus. 

My car won't start. And when it does...it acts as if it has elected a new pope. And last I checked Pope Francis is still the pontiff.

**For those who do not get that, this is my punneriffic way to say something is majorly wrong with my vehicle. You see, when the pope does and the College of Cardinals convenes to elect a new pope, They indicate said election by releasing white smoke from the Vatican. If they've not, black smoke is produced. Side note over.**

Now then, it doesn't stop there. Yesterday my father's guardian angel made itself known by guarding him from being hit by a semi truck while in his car. 

My days have converged into a series of get up, work, work overtime, log off, cook dinner and go to bed, in a series I'd like to see cancelled by Fox. (don't mistake that for suicidal ideation, it's a metaphor, duh guys.)

My life is a sitcom; all that's missing is the laugh track. Or maybe the live studio audience. But I guess, in my case, everyone I interact with is my live studio audience. They're just not gathered collectively as my life situations play out. Going off of my previous post, the phrase from Beauty and the Beast (modified for context) "There must be more than this provisional life" seems to be uttered by my inner voice a few times a day.

Provisional Life. What the F does that mean, I asked myself. A quick Google search defined it as follows: people whose lives are stuck on a dysfunctional merry-go-round of self-inflicted crisis, that everything they don’t like about their lives will change just as soon as something else happens

Hmm. 

And now I'm drawn back to the previous post, thinking about Puer Aeternus. My fascination (or borderline obsession, if you will) that moving from this town will magically make everything better. We have a winner. This sounds oddly familiar, the resemblance is striking.

And now I've just had an epiphany. I was writing that during my lunch. Back story, the past few months we'll say, I've been taking stock of what my true passion in life is. I've done some research, as I've briefly referenced in previous posts, and one of the things I've stumbled upon are the following questions:

1 - What makes you lose track of time?
2 - What do you spend money to do?
3 - Where do you fear judgment?
4 - What makes your heart race?

I've discovered one thing that can answer all four of these questions. WRITING. I almost forgot to come back from lunch and punch back in after my half hour, time just flew while I was writing, and the words just keep coming off my fingertips. I may not be able to do it at present but I've been toying around with the idea of self-hosting my blog/writings. I do fear judgment on my writings, because I don't really take criticism well. And when I write what I feel is a really good post, my heart does race as I wait to see how many people it will reach. 

Side Note - I'm thinking of drawing up a character I'll use in a forthcoming story. All I will say is he has a man-bun. And people call him Man Bun because his name isn't worth remembering, mainly because I haven't thought of his name yet. But I do wonder if I can pull off a man bun myself...but then I remember I'm balding. Moreover, I have a growing bald spot on the back of my head from where I used to (don't judge me) consciously pull my hair out as a kid. Side Side Note, The diagnosis of childhood psychosis is starting to make more sense...

So, as if it never existed before and I'm just discovering it now, the world is not flat. No, no, that's not it. I've found (at least one of) my true passion(s): writing. It was there all along, I haven't sat down to actually write anything in a while, but rather than feel guilty about it (as I read in another Google Search of "how to start writing again after a long break"), I will resolve (wait is this New Years?) to start writing again.

You'll notice that I've allowed my inner voice some commentary throughout this post. That actually gives me a rush too in thinking of when I will post this. My inner voice has a dad-jokes sense of humor, which is why I feel like I will be (or, am...) that classic dad jokes guy.

Trains on a Butterfly Wing

You get to a point in your life when you finally grow up. You realize the things you made such a big deal about when you were a teenager aren't as big of a deal as they were, and you even question your motives as to why you let it upset you to the extent that you did. And then you feel embarrassed by the way you acted/reacted.

I can't say I've had the same childhood as Anthony Kiedis, lead singer of my favorite band, the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Nor can I say I've had the same father/son relationship he had with his father. But I can relate to this song, on a different level. The Red Hot Chili Peppers song "Savior" until very recently just struck me as another track off of the Californication album, something I usually would skip over unless I was in that mood. That is, until I found out what the song was about, thanks to both Kiedis and his father Blackie Dammett via a YouTube video.

(side note, the RHCP are notorious for having hidden meanings in their songs, and me having the delightful inability to read between the lines has to make it a point to seek out the meanings as I can't read them myself)

The line "he's just a man and any damage done will be all right" resonates with me, especially now that I know the song is about his father. Growing up, I didn't exactly have a normal father/son relationship with my father. As this isn't a tell-all autobiography and just merely a blog post, I won't get into details. As I've grown and (in terms of this subject) matured, I've come to the realization that I was quite - you'll forgive my blunt phrasing here - a drama whore, in my teenage years. Going back and reading the things I wrote, hoping they'd become future bestsellers at the time and thinking I'd written gold, I have confirmed this notion. Now I just roll my eyes.

No one was a victim, and no one was an instigator, although 15 years ago I was telling the story quite differently. When you get two people together that are under the same mindset of "This is logical to me, and anything different is illogical and therefore wrong", and one of those person's logic goes against the other person's logic, there are bound to be problems.

As for the aforementioned writings, after much debate I've decided that they belong in what I have cleverly dubbed "The Turd Archive". I could take the time to polish them up and tweak the drama out of them but I think that time would be better spent adopting my new and improved (and still improving) writing style, and starting fresh. This decade long creativity dry spell has to end,

I didn't become addicted to drugs because my father fed them to me along with a passion for womanizing and what not, so in that way I differ from the song. But in many ways I can relate. There was a time when I wanted nothing to do with him, even thought about changing last name (see? drama whore), and then my perspective changed. It wasn't overnight; in fact it took many years for me to adopt this new perspective, but I'm glad I finally did.

He did what my grandfather did before him, and what I'm sure his father did, and so on. He made the best of what he had  Which is what I find myself doing today. Don't get me wrong it's very difficult at times. But things always have a way of working themselves out. Time does heal wounds.

The Choice For Awesome

I may have made potentially a stupid decision. A stupidly awesome decision. I'm going to do a daily vlog. Ish. I know I'm about 8-10 years too late, and no I don't think I lead that interesting of a life but the fact of the matter is I enjoy making videos. Yes, my earlier videos have basically for the most part, for lack of better terms, sucked. But that doesn't necessarily mean stop making them, and in light of recent events it's almost necessary.

I'm not going to wait until I have the perfect job or even my dream job to be awesome. In a major DUH turn of events it has occurred to me that I can be awesome while still hating what I do to put food on the table. If I am awesome to just a handful of people then it is a success. If only 30 people read my blog and 7 people watch my videos, whatever. I will have a showcase for my children that I don't have with my relatives. A chance to see them as they were. In some cases even before I knew they existed.

I have felt a little less than awesome as of late. Well I shouldn't say that. I've had intermittent spurts of awesome, but I feel like I need to be gushing with awesome and doing my part to decrease even the tiniest amount of world suck. Maybe I sort of lost it trying to figure all this true passion stuff out, that perhaps what is necessary is to keep doing what I love to do, create my own awesome as it were. Something tells me, if history proves anything, is that when the time is right, things will fall into place the way they always seem to do. I'm not saying I will just sit back and wait for these things to effect themselves, but I can't stop doing what I love just because an existential crisis is at hand.

Oh and I think I might just try my hand at NaNoWriMo in November.

Finding the St. Francis Within

This past Friday, I listened to a fascinating documentary on St. Francis of Assisi. It was very jarring in a most positive way, to the point that he may give St. Philip Neri a run for his money in terms of being my patron saint. You can have more than one, right? I hope so.

It is my understanding that Francis of Assisi was much like me, much like all of us really, through his teens and 20s. Then he found himself in an old dilapidated church and call it what you want - he had a vision upon gazing at the crucifix. The Lord told him to rebuild his church. So he did. He cleaned up and repaired that church. Obviously there was a deeper meaning to it, but from what I understand, he left that experience a changed person. He wanted to do something bigger with his life.

I'm going to stop there, lest I ruin the documentary for you. But that is where I find myself today. I'm a 31-year-old Claims Adjuster, having gone through 3 different jobs since I started working on "the edge of twenty", to borrow but not quote a phrase from Stevie Nicks. As a side note, I've recently found out that my quoting of songs in past blog posts amounted to what I am calling an accidental infringement, and thus all quotes (to the best of my ability) have been removed, sadly. I am very much a musical person, and one of those people that if we can't talk in song lyrics we can't be friends. I enjoyed making that a part of my blogs but I also don't like infringing on copyright, so it had to be done.

Doing what I do for a job, I hardly feel like the force of nature I've made it my life's goal to become. Have I discovered what my true passion is yet? I can't say that I really have, but I'm working on it. I'm not asking to become a bestselling author, celebrity chef or professional vlogger/blogger, but I do enjoy all those things. I'm trying to figure out which of my passions I could capitalize on and do for a living. Many people say cooking is my strong suit. Humbly, I say that I'm not that good. And it's true, I have a lot to learn. Everybody does. But I can't in good conscience continue to do what I'm doing, expecting to be that force of nature I'm always striving to be.

My old religion teacher always used the phrase "the workaday world", and I now get what that means. I used to write for hours every day. Now, I'm lucky to be able to sit down and pen thoughts that are swimming in my head. Ten hours of work, plus a family, does not equal much free time. It's a struggle trying to ensure everything gets done, both wants and needs.

But does it have to be?

Say my true passion does involve cooking. At present, I don't feel like me taking on any kind of cooking job would be able to pay enough to sustain my family. I know money isn't everything but hey, a Claims Adjuster salary is doable with some creative financing, and as I've said I'm no celebrity chef. Not to mention I'm sure if I wanted to do something like that, I should have thought of that after high school and not as I enter my 30s.

Thinking about it, what do I really love? Writing. Writing, Photography, and making videos. And I love watching vlogs on YouTube, specifically vlogbrothers and Wheezy Waiter. I don't necessarily feel like I live an interesting enough life to vlog about, but the time factor comes into play again.

I refuse to be relegated to mediocrity. If there's one thing I learned from the Vlogbrothers, it is not to forget to be awesome. And that's what I want to do with my life. Something awesome. Maybe only awesome for few, maybe awesome for many, but something awesome nonetheless.

And now is the part where I open it up to you, the readers, taking suggestions on how to best find my true passion.

Evolution of Family - Thoughts From Arab, AL

Over the last 6 years, one thing I have learned is that blood isn't the only thing that makes you family. I have been fortunate to have more than tripled the size of my family over that time under that logic. Merriam-Webster even has varying definitions of family, ranging from the usual sharing of a common ancestor to sharing common convictions or affiliations.

The point is, you don't have to be related to someone to call them your family. Whoever you associate with, who when they're in pain or suffering you share in their pain and suffering, and when they are joyful you share in their joy, that is your family. Sometimes non-blood relations are closer than blood relations. Sad to say, but this can be true.

Everyone needs family of any kind; going through this death sentence called life alone is a special kind of torture one must never subject themselves to. If we aren't going to make it out of this adventure alive, we might as well enjoy the ride in he company of others.

Yesterday marked the second year since my Grandma left to go dance with Jesus. I was blessed to have her in my life for 30 years, even if at times I didn't make the most of those 30 years. I think we are still in that "lost" phase, where the loved one is taken and we're still trying to figure out how we're going to move on with our lives. The phase where nothing seems right and the realization that nothing will be the same again is still prevalent.

The thing about family is it's always evolving. Marriages, births, deaths, meeting new people...like the weather in Wisconsin, it is constantly changing. And we are all family with God as our Father.

Just up the road from where we are staying in Alabama there is a pond in a city park. I'm not sure if it's teeming with fish or not, but suppose it is. They will forever be relegated to that pond, that will be all they know of existence. They won't know that there is so much more water to explore. And anthropomorphically speaking they'd probably be fine with that. Some people are like that too. They stay within the confines of their city or state, and they are perfectly fine with that. I'm very thankful I was blessed with the ability to travel and venture outside my city walls (if you knew my city you'd know the Department of Transportation built a bypass that is effectively a modern day "Great Wall" of sorts) and see more of the beautiful world God created. I was afforded the opportunity to immerse myself in Southern culture, even developed my own accent that'll likely stick with me for about a week. It was the first time in 6 years I have been able to travel out of state; incidentally enough to the same place, this time with a wife and kids.

Side note: a twelve hour road trip with an almost 3 year old is basically signing away a percentage of your sanity.

The Shortness of Life - Thoughts From Park Falls, WI

In true vlogbrothers fashion, I am plugging in to write a post from Park Falls. I may end up finishing it at home, due to service on my cell not to mention battery life.

Everyone and I mean everyone needs recreation. A great theologian Taylor Marshall outlines how to go on vacation and truly re-create, or rather, BE re-created. It doesn't matter how or where you do it, I am just by nature (and perhaps transmitted memories via DNA) attracted to the Northwoods of Wisconsin. My family hails from Iron Mountain. Anyboobastank, it used to be that I was sort of biased towards Minocqua and Lac du Flambeau, as far north as Mercer. But there is something to be said about the Northwoods as a whole. Park Falls is about a half hour 45 minutes to the west of Lac du Flambeau.

In the years since I've met my wife and had begun coming to Park Falls over the Fourth of July, I've come to see that everything north of US Highway 8 in Wisconsin is considered Up North, and there's treasure to be had and recreation to be had everywhere. I used to want to own property in the Minocqua-Lac du Flambeau area but now...anywhere will do. Just property. Then a camper.  And we can drive the camper and park it on the property and camp for a weekend. Just get away.

Life is short. Too often we say "some day". And then we get older and those "Some days" turn into "I wish". I will not be a victim to that kind of guilt. Cancer has been spreading like wildfire amongst my family and friends lately, and I myself am getting some suspicious moles looked at. Can't really afford it, based on my awesome insurance "coverage" (sarcasm intended), and I still keep second guessing myself if I'm (to make a pun here) making a mountain out of a molehill...but with my luck I'll let it go and it'll be something. I'm already prepared to go in there and find out it's nothing. But what if...what if I woke up tomorrow and had cancer of the something else?

That's why while we're up here I'm doing the most I can with my kids, and myself. I just got back from kayaking across the lake in a fashion hat would make my cousin who works with a rowing team proud. I've taken numerous trips out on the kayak and paddleboat with the kids even if it's just out to the bay and back. You just never know if this will be your last time.

I got so close to a loon. Like within a two kayak distance. I probably scared the living crap out of it, as it started doing its wailing call and getting up and flapping its wings. Those of you who know me, know that I have a strong affinity for the Common Loon. Aside from being a self-professed loon (although not of the avian kind), I have the bird tattooed to my right forearm. It is my number one favorite bird, next to cardinals and red winged blackbirds.

Nelson Mandela said "There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered." Next year, there might...no strike that, there will be some alterations, one way or another (I'm gonna find you I'm gonna getcha getcha getcha getcha). No but seriously, I say that every year I come to the Northwoods.

I think the first thing to get should be a camper. Camper first, then the property. Anywhere north of highway 8 is good for me!

And wouldn't you know it, I put sunscreen on and my shoulders still got burned.

A Lesson From a Mourning Dove

This morning, I sat on my back stoop during my morning ritual, during which a mourning dove (after scaring the shit out of my wife and I after taking off from the side of the house right over the door we just exited) kept flying all around the backyard. It was rhythmic, too - the typical squeaking if you will, as the dove takes off and flies to its destination.

And then I noticed a pattern. The dove would fly off to the side of the house where I had no view, and then fly back, once over to where Philip was peacefully munching on his green leafy weeds, and then back to his spot on the side of the house. Then back to over past the treeline into the neighbor's yard, and back to his spot. And I watched the dove. Every time it went out, it came back with a small twig betwixt its beak.

And then it dawned on me. It was nesting.

Persistently, one twig at a time, one shriveled up leaf at a time, dutifully back and forth.

And then I directed my thoughts inward. That is exactly what I am doing right now. After the events of the last year, one by one things are coming back. And we're accomplishing the task of making our nest, if you will, one flight, one twig, one leaf at a time. We're saving for vacations for the first time. Not a sponsor but the Ibotta app is helping with that, just yesterday I cashed out my first $20. One gallon of milk, one dozen eggs, one box of cereal at a time. One car payment, one cleaning job, one lawn mowing job, one bag of cans, one old outfit that doesn't fit anymore being sold, one penny, dime, quarter at a time. And what we are building is something beautiful for our family.

In Which We Talk About Memories...

How do you define a "Force of Nature"?

In climatological terms (yes Blogger it IS a word, I just googled it because you highlighted it red...indicating I made a spelling error), a Force of Nature is likened to a hurricane, tornado, earthquake, or some sort of destructive (or otherwise) force upon the earth. Metaphorically speaking, which is what I'm going for here, quora.com states the following:

"Force of nature is an idiom. To say a person is a force of nature (is one, not has one) means the person is a very strong personality or character -- like a hurricane or a tsunami are also forces of nature -- full of energy, unstoppable, unchallengeable, unforgettable. In short, a person to be reckoned with."

Urban Dictionary takes it a step further, and although I'm not exactly fond of this definition I'll include it for the sake of point-making: "A person or creature possessing unnatural or God-like power." But we all know that Urban Dictionary is basically what you go to when you want to look up what will undoubtedly have an explicit sexual "alternate" definition that will more than likely gross you out - unless, you know, you have a strong stomach for that sort of stuff. 

I am dedicating this blog post to Tom Broderick, my "Shirttail Uncle". In short form, we are related by marriage, by my blood uncle's wife, whose sister is Tom's wife; therefore, my shirttail uncle. Their children are thus my shirttail cousins...I mean, we do share the same uncle after all...so doesn't that almost define the term cousin? But I digress...

Upon expressing my condolences at his passing, his wife said something that has stuck with me ever since. "He was a force of nature." That phrase really struck me, and ever since then I've made it my life's goal to be able to have that same phrase said of me when I dance with Jesus. "He was a force of nature." Well, in my case I'm sure other things will be said like "that guy was weird", and "he tried to get out of a car through a sunroof", and "did you see his last Snapchat picture? That filter though!" Maybe even "He made a mean Jewish Coffee Cake just like his grandma used to make...except for the walnuts." Some of my Lutheran friends will maybe even question the final destination of my eternal soul due to my Catholic tendencies. But at the core of that, doesn't that sort of at least begin to constitute a Force of Nature? 

Back in the Halcyon days* of my early double-digit years, as I was leaving my hometown of West Allis onto the city where I'd spend the better part of my years (and counting), in August of 1995, my Grandpa Bruce passed away after an unbeknownst-to-me battle with cancer of the everything, as in it had metastasized everywhere. That next month, over Labor Day, my uncle had invited me and my two cousins to go up north to Squirrel Lake, a now-defunct and torn down resort about ten miles west of Minocqua. It was then that I really got to know Tom.

Tom taught me how to drive a pontoon boat, how to park it even. There was always some sort of water adventure to be had when Tom was up north, be it in Dave's pontoon boat, a speedboat, fishing, tubing, and jet skiing. One of my very fondest memories is one gloomy Saturday morning when we were all on the pontoon boat, and something happened with the motor, or the waves or something. That part I do not remember but what I do remember was that the bow of the pontoon boat was where myself and my youngest shirttail cousin Beanie (using nicknames to protect identities, of course!) were seated, decked out in life jackets because Safety, duh. So all of a sudden, the bow starts sliding underneath the surface of the lake. Think a less dramatic and minuscule likening to the Tragedy of the Titanic. Only Not so Much...we didn't sink to the bottom of the lake, we could all tread water and/or swim, and we weren't in the middle of shark-infested waters. Just Muskies. Beanie, I'm looking at you. Remember the Muskies? Now at this point, about 4 feet of the bow is underwater, and Tom, being (I'm just gonna say it) an expert in the field of sailing and all things nautical, knew how to keep the boat from going down. He didn't say anything though at this point, and his wife, who stood behind him, hand on his shoulder, just as calm as can be, said in the most gently prodding and matter-of-fact voice, "Tom, the boat's sinking". Now I'm trying to capture the exact tone of her voice here, and this is the best I have. It was as if she was saying, "Tom, dear, I don't mean to alarm you, but it appears as though the boat is sinking." Or, as we say nowadays, "NBD" (No Big Deal). 

Needless to say the boat, as I said, did not go down. Tom knew what to do. If he was frightened or shaken by any of it, he never let on. But something tells me he was just as calm as his wife was. "NBD" :) That will forever be etched in my memory banks as the fondest Up North Memory this side of proposing to my wife on the side of the hill at Deerwood Lodge...definitely ranks up there.
Over Labor Day of 1998, at this point, my grandmother on my mother's side, was staying with us as she had decided to come back to Wisconsin after suddenly moving on a whim to Arizona in 1996 not too long after my Grandpa's death...now that I think about it, knowing what I know now, it was probably due to her lease being up. I'd like to think that part of the reason she came back was my mom was pregnant with my brother at the time, but something tells me that might not have been the case because upon disembarking the plane the first thing she could say to my mother was "Oh my God are you fat!" And basically ate her words, or put her foot in her mouth (so to speak) when my mother informed her that she was, in fact, 6 months pregnant with my brother.

So for 144 days (yes I counted...there's a history there and it's not an entirely pretty one), Grandma (I'll refrain from calling her my personal name for her here) lived with us while she found a place to live up here...as in Wisconsin. Ultimately she settled back in West Allis and now somewhere in southeastern Wisconsin close to the Illinois border, but for that first 144 days, you guessed it she was right across the hall from me in what was to become my brother's bedroom. Needless to say, it was not fun times in our household at that time. I believe the term "walking on eggshells" would be apropos to say here. Grandma tended to be very critical of the way things were done, which doesn't work well for any Aspie brain, realized or unrealized. 

So there we were, sipping our "toddies" that were made for us to warm us up after spending a rainy morning out on the lake. In our defense, it wasn't raining at first, but had done so after we'd ventured out on the water. My memory does not permit me to divulge what the toddies were made of, but suffice it to say they were good and warming. And there I was, discussing (okay, I'll say it, complaining) about my Grandma. Tom of course had the perfect solution - I was to shut her up by just saying to her "G-- Damn Gram!!" I'm sorry to say I never did heed that advice, as I felt that a mouthwash made of green Jafra soap (yeah that was the worst, forget your Ivory Spring, your Irish Spring, even your Zest. This liquid green soap from Jafra was the worst tasting soap ever - but who makes soap with the intention of the user to eat it, right?)

But that was Tom, pure, unadulterated Tom. I understand now what that phrase means, being a force 

of nature. And it's that very definition that drives me to strive for that kind of essence in my life. For Tom, I would use the term greatness, but in my case, I will say essence. It's easier for me to speak highly of other people than of myself. If I were to achieve even a fraction of his type of greatness I would consider it a great success. Those memories and more that are still locked up within the vaults of my memory banks, are the kinds of memories I want to make for my children, and eventually, Grandchildren. I know I'm not the only one with this desire, but I would love to be able to sit down with him for one more cup of coffee, or even another one of his wife's toddies, and just talk about life. Thinking about that a little further, I feel as though instead of coffee or toddies, it would likely be going out on the boat to go fishing. So I will rephrase - I would love to sit down with him on the fishing boat, cane pole in hand, and fish for crappies and talk about life. I wonder how many more times he'd have me say the equivalent of "G-- Damn Gram!!" to other people in my life. I'd love for him to meet my wife and kids, and there again I know I'm not the only one. That phrase comes up from a post I just saw again on Facebook, asking who you'd like to have a cup of coffee with, alive or passed, any individual. 

For that matter, I'd love to go back to Squirrel Lake just one more time, all of us, new family members and all, even though the resort is gone, with not a trace of anything left. The cabins, the piers, Duck Poop Island, Bird Poop Island, the boys from Thornwood Cabin who poked fun of us and tried to fight with us that one year, Lakeview, Shore, Edgewater, Dave's house, the playground, the badminton nets, the new Honeymoon Cabins...they're all gone, but the memories are forever in our minds. Some of them locked up, only to be released by that one trigger, that one thought, when the floodgates open and you're reminded of the good times, the love, the family...the forces of nature in all of us to take what we can of Tom and carry it forward in his stead. That love, that confidence, that love of the water, fishing, his wife's ever-so-perfectly roasted (with the patience of St. Theresa of Avila) marshmallows when Beanie would be the one chucking the marshmallow into the fire and dancing around with the stick in the air with a flame-engulfed marshmallow...a sugary torch of sorts...I think we can, and are, carrying that force of with us in his stead. 

We will all meet again. It's not goodbye forever. More of a see you later. Until then, we pick up our flame-engulfed marshmallows and dance around the campfire in some sort of ritualistic Marshmallow Fire Dance that only we will understand. Just as a small squall of rain in the right conditions of heat and humidity can quickly become a bow echo of thunderstorms capable of producing tornadoes, we will, and are, taking what we can from our experiences and memories, and becoming our own forces of nature, that if fostered with that same drive will become great forces of nature for our own families. 

For the record, if I had to describe myself as a Natural Force of Nature, I'd say I'm a hurricane.

*thank you John Green for saying that phrase and Google for telling me what it meant.

And as the great Archbishop Fulton Sheen (soon to be sainted?) would say at the end of his broadcasts, "Thank you, and God Love You."

Wake Up and Rise Above

Toxicity - Webster defines as "the quality, state, or relative degree of being toxic or poisonous"

Toxic - 1: containing or being poisonous material especially when capable of causing death or serious debilitation, i.e. toxic waste. 2: exhibiting symptoms of infection or toxicosis. 3: extremely harsh, malicious, or harmful. 4: relating to or being an asset that has lost so much value that it cannot be sold on the market.

The weird thing about intoxication is that it can be both good and bad. My coffee this morning is intoxicating (not literally, but a metaphor for being good, duh. I didn't spike it...although...that thought has crossed my mind, I won't lie.) Some degree of intoxication can be good, however most of the time people take it past the point of fun and venture into the drunk category. One reason (of a few actually) that I do not drink to get drunk anymore, is that ever-so-fine line between the two. I think to an extent with some people that must come with age. Speaking from a gonna-be 31 year old's point of view, it might be premature...but as my Facebook "On This Day" just reminded me ever so gently, I did do a brief stint in the drunken days...but I digress.

That's not to say I don't drink at all, just the other night I made the wife and I a strawberry banana smoothie with frozen yogurt and wine. It was delicious. And I do enjoy me an Amaretto and Sour, and a Moscow Mule, and I'm quite fond of IPAs (312 by Goose Island is delicious and yes I know that's not an IPA, that it is a wheat ale, but it's one of my favorite beers), but it's not an everyday thing, nor even an every weekend thing. I have my reasons for having no desire to get blinding drunk anymore, which I don't care to discuss here because I'm still too embarrassed by them and that alone is what fuels my temperance, if you want to call it that. Suffice it to say that if you have to be reminded the next day of things you said (and/or did), and you have absolutely no recollection of having said (or did) anything like that, you've had too much to drink. And to do that every time you go out...yeah that is my reason and that's all I'll say.

I'm not getting up on a soap box either, going all Carrie Nation (she's kinda famous for smashing liquor bottles at a local bar here) and preaching temperance to everyone, I'm actually reminded of a meme post from Catholic Memes with Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI having a rather large beer (think Das Boot) with a reference to a line in the Catechism of the Catholic Church. A quick Google search for said meme turned up fruitless but it doesn't take away from my point of I don't drink much. Which isn't even the point of this blog post anyway but as the subtitle of this blog should say, "But I Digress..."

Update: I found the meme:

And if you're wondering, CCC #2290 states: "The virtue of temperance disposes us to avoid every kind of excess: the abuse of food, alcohol, tobacco, or medicine. Those incur the grave guilt who, by drunkenness or a love of speed, endanger their own and others' safety on the road, at sea, or in the air.

All of that being said...toxicity enters our lives, and sometimes we don't recognize it at first. Sometimes it takes an unobtrusive third party to kind of "bring us to our senses", and to realize that some sort of toxicity has crept its nasty way into our lives. It can be a toxic family member or friend, using guilt or manipulation to persuade you into performing their demands at the risk of your personal satisfaction. Those with Stockholm syndrome will derive some sort of pleasure even while they are doing what they don't want to do, but sooner or later we have to take a moment to take stock of what we do, who we do it for, and why we are doing it. Either something happens that wakes us up to who that person or those people really are, or oftentimes that unobtrusive third party will put their two cents in that will ignite a spark to the aforementioned self-assessment. However, that unobtrusive third party generally can't be truly unobtrusive unless they know the intimate details of both parties, otherwise they are just getting your side of the story, and unless you are being painfully truthful, that story will always be tilted in your favor, even if ever-so-slightly.

That being said, even this tilted point of view that the less-than-unobtrusive (because obtrusive was definitely not the word I was looking for here) third party has, will almost certainly lead to points that you yourself had not given thought to, for one reason or another. They may be incorrectly founded, but at some level they are points worth considering. One being the occasional or sometimes recurring notion that you may not be as important to a particular individual as they are to you. On a more serious tone, there may be indications of actual abuse where you just saw harmless...whatever.

One "problem" (and I use the quotes intentionally) of an Aspie brain is being less able to detect people's true intentions. Simply put - you take them and their words at face value because that is what is logical. This makes guilt and manipulation a more powerful tool to the toxic individual because you're now easier to manipulate. Juxtaposed with guilt trips, you are putty in the toxic individual's hands.

Until you wake up.

In a seemingly unrelated but assuredly related segue, toddlers sometimes make the best therapists. You gently vent your frustration in the form of a singsongy story time voice and boom - save yourself a $200 therapy copay. "So-and-so can't find it in their heart to do such-and-such possibly minuscule-but-turned-mountain of an annoyance or otherwise timely detestable thing, and wouldn't you think after I did some altruistic thing they could do my <insert timely requirement here>?" Toddler's response: a non-sequitur-esque and joyfully emphatic "Yeah!" If that doesn't melt away your frustration then you my friend possess no soul.

And so, Aspie or Neurotypical, when we wake up, when we see for ourselves that toxicity has crept into our lives, we do as Miranda Bailey and Cristina Yang did in Grey's Anatomy when they were forced through obligation to their Hippocratic Oath to treat a Neo-Nazi white supremacist, and we "rise above".

An Aspie brain is a beautiful thing that must never be thought of as a defect or a problem to society. Some of the best things to come into this world do so through the minds of Aspie greats. Don't underestimate us.

Dawn

"I am making everything new!"

Admittedly that is in regards to something completely different...I am not talking about the New Heaven and New Earth in Revelation. But I thought that verse was pertinent, especially now. God is making everything new. Recently He has finally blessed us with a place to call our own, even if it is rented. As He always does, He has made everything perfect and is working things out for the good of those who love Him. I feel on fire, in more ways than one, and I haven't felt this way in a long time. Don't get me wrong, my life is still far from perfect, and even now our new house looks like a war zone. It will all fall into place.

In regards to my Journey of Faith, well, as they say in the scientific world, "further research is necessary." Suffice it to say that there's just so much I don't know and haven't learned that I cannot just jump ship.

The volatility of life has not changed either, but my perspective on it is evolving. I feel like I'm beginning to awaken from the sleep of depression, however at this point I'm still groggy and only on my first cup of coffee. I do not function until I've had at least one and a half cups of coffee. Well okay, I function, but barely...

Confessions From the Fog

A vice grip can be a handy tool. It can also be a metaphor used to define situations in which life is pressing down on all sides leaving one with little to no room to even exist. St. Paul makes reference to this. Money can be a vice grip when you live paycheck to paycheck and all your money is gone the day you get it and somebody always wants more. Friends and loved ones can pull you in different directions and, if you're a people pleaser like me, you can't satisfy them all and somebody is left feeling disdain.

The situation quickly becomes a mountain it seems impossible to surmount. And there you sit. 

Because of negative cognitive bias, we tend to only focus on the bad things, and it becomes like a dark veil overshadowing all the good things happening. Or a very dense fog that when you try to look through it all you see is a gloomy nothingness so close it's suffocating. 

How does one combat it? I'm currently trying to figure that out. 

When the sun does manage to come out and burn that fog away, the positives that shine through seem to be frail, fleeting moments of joy before night falls and the crippling fog sets back in, leaving one clueless as to when the sun will come out again, and this can be even worse than a vice grip, squeezing ever harder as like an addict fixating on his next high one seeks out the happiness that has just eluded. Motivation to do anything evaporates, as one no longer finds joy in things they once did. 

And the vice grip tightens, and even more pressure is exuded. All internalized, all encompassing stress constricts one's ability to think or act or do. One goes through the motions day in and day out, and even that is trying, like trying to get through one's day with a migraine. Life becomes a migraine, and all one wants to do is sleep. 

And then sleep comes, and you wake up in that same fog, not feeling rested at all. 

Not feeling anything at all. 

Nativity in Nothingness

As a husband and father currently living apart from his family due to economic situations semi-outside of his control, it becomes a substantial task to define the word "Home". for the first 10 years of my life I grew up in Suburban Milwaukee and the subsequent two thirds of my life was spent in an exurb about an hour away, and as such I cannot really ever use the phrase "born and raised in", or really claim to have a hometown, and for the last year of my life I've spent it split between two hour-away exurbs of the aforementioned Milwaukee. As such my children will also be in my predicament of never being able to claim a hometown. 

But is that really such a bad thing? One shouldn't be known by the identifying place of birth, not even the place one spent most of one's life. That should not define a person. 

But what is home?

When you're in my not-so-interesting predicament of having to decide between four plus cities to take up residence in, the question becomes muddled with very conflicting scenarios. These scenarios are further complicated by the fact that no two family units are alike, and what matters to one might not be so much a factor in another. One parent's job in one city, the other's in a different, children at school, parents and family in both, not really having a strong affinity for either city really...the difficulties mount. 

Through it all what I really want, aside from one roof, is some clarity. Direction. I want to know that whatever choice is made, it is what's best. The peace of "home" that some people take for granted, is everything I want right now. 

And not to have that makes me feel defeated. 

To not know what to do, to feel helpless in your current situation, to equate it with a hopeless cause, is one of the worst feelings. To struggle with it day after day is brutal. St. Jude pray for us. 

My life in recent years seems to be possible to parallel a plot line of Grey's Anatomy, complete with family drama from multiple sides, LVADs and heart transplants, deaths of family members, recently discovered family previously unknown, family secrets coming to light, diagnoses of autism, mental disorders, cardiomyopathy, on again off again platonic relationships, moving in and moving out, rushing around while life happens in the middle of it. For me, I identify closely with Meredith's coming to terms with her neuroses. I've learned a lot about myself over the past seven years, things I never realized about myself or had never taken the time to acknowledge. 

Home. 

The question quickly turns to "How quickly can I rectify my current situation" from "What's best for my family" and then becomes a dichotomy that my brain bounces back and forth between. But then...is it a false dichotomy, in that the two can overlap? Maybe it's not black and white. Maybe it's a gray of "What's best for my family IS to quickly rectify my current situation", that regardless of what locality we choose to base our particular family unit out of, we will truly be...home.

Easier said than done, because cognitive bias steps in to have its say, and soon you find yourself right back where you started from. And days, weeks, months pass, and nothing ever changes. 

To put it bluntly, a radical fire of change needs to be lit under my ass to get the ball rolling. But fire burns, and I don't like pain. But maybe it's a cathartic, purifying burn that will generate a Phoenix of loveliness that I, in my current situation and state of mind, cannot fathom. 

In Which I Dissect Living vs. Existing

I'm not having a good day.

I'm just going through a rough patch. 

Cliche? Perhaps. But you know what? That's okay. Mountain ranges are bordered by valleys. Plains even. And in the case of this country, the Great Plains seems to go on forever. Believe me I know, I've driven through Iowa and Nebraska. (Nothing against those particular states they are very lovely states) Flat, yes. But that's okay too. There's beauty everywhere if you open your eyes to see it. And you may ask yourself, "Well, how did I get here?" In the valleys of life we, or at least I, get pensive. It opens new perspectives. Granted, not being a perfect person I also get apprehensive and impatient and "grumpy af" in those valleys, but there is a time to be pensive in those valleys. This would happen to be one of those times.

Right now, if you were to ask me, in relation to the aforementioned Great Plains reference, where I am at this point, should I "find myself behind the wheel of a large automobile", I would say I am on I-80 just as you enter Colorado from Nebraska. I can see the Rocky Mountains in the distance, it's a ways off yet, but it's there, becoming more and more tangible the closer I get. Yet somehow...something seems to keep pushing me back eastward on the interstate, as it were.

And so the days go by, (insert subtle Talking Heads reference to Once in a Lifetime here), day after day equating hour after hour of driving through the flat plains states because you really just want to go to the mountains. You take a rest stop, see the World's Biggest Ball of Yarn, and that gives you a bit of excitement, you stop at a restaurant in Omaha that you've never heard of, and not one of those generic "Family Restaurants", I mean a greasy spoon truck stop where you leave almost wishing you hadn't eaten so much but it was so damn good you'd do it again. You stop at the Corn Palace if you happen to find yourself in South Dakota. Wall Drug even. You just do it.

There's beauty everywhere if you open your eyes to see it. Sometimes you have to force your eyes open and look, even if you don't want to look, because if you don't, you will be consumed by the valley. For the sake of one's sanity, one must tryto find the beauty. (I feel the need to apologize to Iowa and Nebraska again, for what could be inferred as you having to try to find beauty in those states. Again, they're very lovely states.)

A moment of clarity, enlightenment even, and you can visualize the road you must take to get where you want to go. I know I've made map/driving references before, but I can just relate that way. You realize that you are on I-80. And before long you will be on I-76 heading down into Denver. The Rocky Mountains are within your grasp. You are heading in the right direction. You really just have to be patient as you coast across the plains (OK I REALLY HAVE TO STOP WITH THIS METAPHOR OR IOWA AND NEBRASKA ARE REALLY GOING TO THINK I HATE THEM SECRETLY).

Same as it ever was. Nothing's changed, nothing's changing, I'm not really living but merely existing...no matter how you say it, this is the time where if you allow yourself to dwell on those thoughts your car will simply stall out and you'll be in the middle of nowhere (literally). Not only will you feel lost, you'll be lost, in that you know where you are and where you're going, but simply cannot get to your destination. You have to turn your head back and notice how far you've come. You may not feel like you've made it far at all. But you've just driven for a frickin day and a half, man. Some people go their entire lives and never leave their home state. You're two or three states over. You'll get to the mountains.

Look for the beauty where you are. In those corn fields in Iowa, you'll never see fields so green. Look at how deeply green they are against the blue sky dotted with cotton ball clouds.

It's not so easy to do. But if it takes celebrating the small victories along the way, as in "Yay I made it through Omaha!", "Yay, I'm halfway through this state!", "Yay, I'm straddling the Platte River!"...whatever the case may be, by celebrating those small victories you are acknowledging that you are getting somewhere. You are far from your initial starting point where you went "Okay, here we go...two days of driving and we're off."..........not much excitement there. This obviously can lead to bouts of impatience, "When the f*** are we gonna get there?!??" ....but even that, when you look back at your initial starting point, is tangible evidence of just how far you've come.

Shaking Fists at the Teacher's Silence

So here we are, 2016. And amidst all the "New year, new me" nonsense, I find myself in the same doldrums as I was in 2015. I still don't have a roof of my own, rented or mortgaged. I still find myself a level 2 with the hope of getting a promotion to level 3 this month. I still only have 27 of 120 college credits with a total of 40 by the time I finish the assignments I've been rescheduling since October. And yet, there is hope. Patience still needs to be exercised, and yet it seems easier. Everything is still as up in the air as it was a week ago, but the outlook is not so dreary.

Let me just state that Facebook and Vine are thieves of time! Thinking about what I do with my evenings...all I can come up is Facebook and Vine. Then I think to myself no, that can't be it. And then I realize that yes, it really is. Why do I really not read much anymore? Why have I not done anything school related for a couple months? Well, Christmas is one reason. But other than that, Facebook and Vine. For that matter so is blogging but for one, I didn't do that very often but for two, it's different because I get to tell a story. So I'm not counting blogging. So okay, now my challenge is to work on spending less time on them.

The teacher is always silent during the test.

I'm trying to redirect my impatience into Hope. While my current situation leaves a lot to be desired, we've come a long way from where we were a year ago. Two years ago even. I tend to lose sight of that fact more often than I should. Lately I've been focusing on what is happening now versus how far we've come. And I've taken steps already three days into the new year to make some necessary changes to how I do things. I've started reading The Hunger Games, I've begun work on one of my overdue assignments, and I'm writing this blog post, as well as brainstorming ideas for my children's series. And really, why should I care about Facebook anyway? Nobody pays attention to my posts anymore, and I'm tiring of seeing all these dog posts anyways.

Time management has never been one of my strong suits. Neither has organization.

So I'll take it week by week. I'll set little weekly goals as long as my attention span allows. Then revisit on Sunday, reassess and reassign as needed. Why does something so obvious seem like the greatest idea no one ever came up with before? Duh moment. (Spoiler Alert - since writing that, I have put it into play, and it has truly worked wonders for me. Out of the 5 acheivable goals I've set for myself, I've already done 3 and it's only midweek.)

"Never be in a hurry; do everything quietly and in a calm spirit. Do not lose your inner peace for anything whatsoever, even if your whole world seems upset." St. Francis de Sales

So I'm talking to one of my best friends while walking on my lunch break, and mind you, he is a dairy farmer. So we're talking, and I can't even remember what it was about when all of a sudden I hear on the other end a noose, followed by him saying "Ugh, thanks for Crappin' in the foot bath, Wanda." That will now never not be a thing.

I've been told recently that I have an "elegant and sophisticated writing style"...on a college paper I wrote that I got back to make revisions on because it just wasn't quite ready to be considered "mastered". I believe I will share that in an upcoming blog post. It's one thing to hear from your friends and colleagues, but from a complete and total stranger who doesn't even know what I look like, it just blew me away.

And really here's some insight I've just now gathered regarding Facebook. I'll go through my "on this day" section and yeah for the most part it's a trip down memory lane right? Then you come to this far out post that you made years ago about something big at the time. My example, my getting-fired-slash-quitting the bank. One comment. You open it up and apparently that person has blocked you. Dafuq?! So you spend all this time creating this life--sometimes pseudo life--on Facebook when clearly who are you really out there to impress!? People don't give a shit as much as you think they do. You really want to diary your life? Make a blog or YouTube videos. For me, that's my scrapbook of My Life as I Know It. A video scrapbook is even better. A blog will capture your inner feelings, your true insights on life, way better than a stupid flash-in-the-pan-Facebook-post or share will ever do. A video brings that person to life, as if they're right beside you as you remember them.
That's what I'm going to focus on this year social media speaking. Thanks for crappin in my foot bath of life, Facebook. (Ironically enough I will share this post via Facebook.)

No But Seriously...

Patience. 

Every time I say or think the word I think of the Guns 'n Roses song. It is one of the hardest things to do. Be patient. Wait. It's one lesson that for the past few years has been driven down my throat from Above. And not just for me either. Everything involves waiting. Waiting in line, waiting for payday, waiting for job opportunities, waiting for promotions, waiting for credit to heal, waiting for a baby to be born, Waiting to find out whether it'll be a boy or a girl. Waiting on a transplant list, waiting to hear results fr a test determining whether or not you have cancer, Waiting for a job interview while going about day by day at a job you hate that barely pays the bills. Waiting for summer. Waiting for a vacation. Waiting for the ratchet girl in front of you to turn her damn car.  Need I say more?

We are creatures that want answers and we want them now. Unfortunately there are just some things that Google can't answer, though how much would we love to just type it into the search bar anyway?

The situation can be likened to a road map (one of my favorite things). Because we can't see the future, we are zoomed into a neighborhood of a city. We can see the local streets but we can't see the principal arterials and highways that take us out of that city. We know what we want, or where we want to go, but how to get there is the big question. And the more patient we are, the more the map will zoom out so we can see it. Kinda like using internet explorer as your browser...and when the time is right, the map will zoom out far enough that we can see the highway to get out of where we are and begin the journey to where we want to be.

And so we wait. While we feel like the wait will physically kill us, we know that it is just a test. We are being tossed into the crucible to be tried by fire and we know we will come out of it a better person, and the lessons we learn during the wait will last going forward and afford us a greater level of patience and understanding. The circle turns, the hourglass fills up, and we sit hands folded in our laps (remember computers class, 90s kids?)

And if we don't get the answer we want, or have to wait longer...take heart. Yes there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run, there's still time to change the road you're on (apologies to Led Zeppelin). A new day will dawn for those who stand long and the forests will echo with laughter.

And it makes me wonder...

On Self-Therapy

People make bucket lists. I actually came across mine the other day. I have it saved to my email, of course...my email has become my dumping ground for any and all of my latest ideas, wish-lists, recipes to try, whatever I seem to be obsessed with that day or that week that I don't want to forget...and then end up forgetting because well that ticker keeps going in my brain and then a squirrel comes by...you fellow ADD Tribe Members know what I'm talking about...

Let me paint a visual for you. You watch the news, and they have a little Ticker Tape going on, on the bottom of the screen, and they're giving you the news while this is scrolling across your TV like a Severe Weather Bulletin. For someone with ADD, add about three or four tickers on top of that, all scrolling different information, on top of the news anchors delivering you even more information. Welcome to a day in the life of me.

Co-morbid with the ADD is a touch of OCD and also Asperger Syndrome. I've learned to love it because I get to obsess about a different thing each day, sometimes in cycles for instance Family History. I'll go through spurts of about 2 weeks at a crack where I'll be hard core "Let's get a subscription to ancestry.com and research the crap out of our families!!" and then two weeks later it's onto the next obsession. Hence, a subscription would probably NOT be a good idea. But if any of you out there are willing to search for me...Just kidding. That would be boring for you.

I've learned through a short stint in therapy that writing my blog and doing my YouTube Videos is actually a good form of self-therapy for me…which is great because around the time my son Jax was born, I legitimately forgot to attend my therapy appointments. You must know though at the time, my mother was having Emergency Surgery to place an LVAD into her heart which she could have died from, although she did die twice in the ambulance from here to Milwaukee. Needless to say I had a LOT on my mind. My point—though my therapy sessions were working wonders for me, due to my missing (I believe) three in a row, my therapist subsequently dropped me from his care. Bummer.

SO...now you, the reader, can get a taste of life behind the veil of "someone on the spectrum"...I know I'm not the only Aspie to write a blog. I'm not trying to glorify it, or use it as a crutch, or make people feel sorry for me. I love me. I love learning new characteristics about me. And I'm blessed because I have people who know my quirks yet love me anyway. It's the epitome of the phrase "Those who matter don't mind, those who mind don't matter." 

You know, I started this entry talking about bucket lists and coming across mine...another case in point for an ADD Tribe Member...

I dare to dream. I like to think I dream big. I say this because there are those who when I say my dream either immediately try to shoot it down or lead me to believe "he's shooting for the moon, there's no way he can do that."...

I feel like I've blogged about that before. Here's to dreaming big.

I consider myself an empathic person. That tends to wear a person out. It's great to be an empathic person, because in my opinion the world needs more empaths...but at the same time, one gets so wrapped up in taking on others' problems that their own needs oftentimes get neglected. It's a fine line to walk being an empath.