The geeks shall unite.
tomorrow, nerdy and proud.
Motown, here we come!
The geeks shall unite.
The geeks shall unite.
tomorrow, nerdy and proud.
Motown, here we come!
Before addressing what will be the meat of my year’s end blog, I want to briefly rant that a previously unfinished blog, with a word count of 1200+ has been lost to the innumerable corners of the internet. Following the discovery and my failed attempts to recover the piece, I began fuming over the loss, consciously feeling my brain start down an all too familiar path.
Per one of my goals for the next year, however, I stopped myself and entered a brief period of meditation. The meditation’s purpose is to calm myself in moments of mental crisis and talking myself out of them. Crazily, I hold actual conversations with myself, questioning whether or not this irritation or anger is a good thing or will it help me in anyway? Most often I find myself saying “no, it will not.”
Okay, onward and upward, right? It’s time for my reader’s digest version of 2013, much of what I honestly have no recollection. It’s as if I entered a drug filled haze of marijuana and booze for much of it, though I only say that because I recall very few specific moments of it. Consequently, from 2013 I will address what I consider themost pertinent and briefly touch on my approach to 2014.
2013 in a nutshell
My quantifiable achievements are few, as my shortsighted self observes. Pounds were shed, overall physical fitness was improved upon, the requirements for an associate’s degree in arts and an associate’s degree in science were completed, and my general disposition towards life has improved. Likely there was more for which I ought to be very thankful, but right off the top of my noggin’, nothing comes to mind. I could list to you the very negative things, but that’s something I really want to avoid doing, having made too strong a pattern of it.
Cutting into my consciousness, a friend spoke the words, “I can hardly recognize you,” after observing a not-so-old photo of me. Very aware that I my midriff had thickened considerably the previous few years, I was still crushed to hear a beloved friend say such a thing. The salt in the wound was my finding a photo of myself working out with my bare torso glistening for the world to see. The homoerotic desire to travel back in time to seduce myself was momentary; the stark awareness that I had allowed myself to fall into such a poor state of health was more lasting.
Not wanting to wait for the New Year to make the change, I began moving my body more regularly in December of 2012. A couple times a week gave way to a higher frequency of workouts. With repeated soreness and cramp inducing efforts, I gradually found the strength to run, with increasing duration. I shift my efforts from strict cardio to weight training and cardio. My clothing loosened, musculature became more apparent, and I began to turn myself on again. There are measurable changes, but I haven’t really paid attention to them. Instead, I’ve evaluated my progress by how I felt in clothing, and, eventually, out of clothing. Already a fan of being naked as often as I can manage, it became pleasant to see less jiggling in the areas no one appreciates jiggling.
Most pleasing, however, is the improvements in physical capability. From the word “go,” I could barely run for 30 seconds before doubling over. I’ve gone from running to less than a 1/10 of a mile to 5+ miles. At last count, I was able to perform 50 pushups nonstop, initially struggling with a mere 10. Mentioning to a friend, it’s the ability to do more that pushes me to keep at it. Granted, I enjoy looking better, but, when the time comes, I want to haul that backpack and my own arse over the mountainside when the time comes. Heaven forbid, if a zombie breakout ushers in the end of mankind, I’d like, at the very least, to not be one of the first to fall prey to the hordes of brain-devouring undead.
By now, many people, myself included, thought I’d have been a murse for a couple years. Unfortunately, such was not that path laid out for me by the powers that be, and I find myself only recently having finished my final class at Jackson Community College. It’s bittersweet to finally be done, though it’s more sweet than bitter, depending on the mood. The bitterness dulls with time and distance.
As it stands, announcements will be made in the coming months. I’ve thrown my name in the hats of a couple different universities and I await the final word one of them. Course of study is still undecided, no longer sure nursing is the life for me, but I plan to utilize my ability to craft messages, write papers, and my penchant for communicating in what career I eventually embrace. Others might not be as thrilled with my ability as a wordsmith, but it’s clear many have been. I seek to explore this aptitude further in the hopes of….well, I’ll come back to this in a minute or more.
It has been said, “he who is a master of words, is a master of men.” This is a quote I take to heart, though not out of any desire to claim the one ring and exert my will over the hearts of all living things dwelling upon middle Earth. I want to influence others to do better. I want others to read things that will dance upon the cockles of their hearts. I want others to come to know me from my words, and from my words, come to embrace the world with arms wide open.
Looking ahead to 2014
The year ahead has many things in store: continued work for Starr Commonwealth, an eventual transfer to a new school, opportunities to connect through disconnection*, an improved state of mind, progression of the relationship with my Special Lady Friend, and much more. Wanting to expanding further on each, I’ll hold off for now. Keeping this to a bare minimum sounds prudent, since this is as much for myself as it is others, and I feel like I’m boring myself with my rambling.
Keep your eye on the horizon from further word, or don’t. I’ll write when I can, though I hope it’s more frequent that I put thoughts to form. If for no other reason, I hope I find the will to write for my own reflection, to help collect my thoughts and have a record of things. My memory isn’t the best in recent years, being too often lost in places contrived to shield myself from certain painful realities.
My girlfriend looks down,
as I lift up the gown.
Her eyes and mouth agape,
hardly believing I manscape.
With my rear in the air,
at my hands I do stare.
Highly dreading the rip,
of the cooling wax on the strip.
Body shaking from fear,
I know the pain draws near.
Breathe she tells me,
you’ll soon be hair-free!
Another year gone,
no closer to knowing what,
or where I travel.
Failure filled life,
good intentions gone awry.
doubt lined future.
Too afraid to act.
uncertainty my ally,
anchoring my growth.
Is she the right choice,
can she mend a broken mind?
Help me know my path?
Will she wait for me?
It seems unfair to ask;
share my spirit’s hell.
Months have passed,
my hands have forgotten their purpose.
My Brow furrows,
trying desperately to remember.
Perhaps too long,
nary a spark of imagination.
My very will,
my purest desire struggles in searching.
My gaze lifts,
jealous of the productivity abound.
Eyes watching others,
jealously wondering what they’re accomplishing.
Left to right,
I see eyes consume words of a hand worn book.
The pupils dilate,
in what might be excitement known only to them.
A palette drops,
noise startling all but the artist.
Stretching her back,
her eyes assess her hands’ labor.
The musician continues,
fingers strumming with practiced comfort.
His voice reaches,
song gently touching the ears of all present.
All minds calmed,
save for my own restless mind.
Exercising my consciousness,
mining the depths for precious jewels of creativity.
An ember grows,
a smile appears in sought after contentment.
Joining the din,
the tapping of keys answer the gentle fervor of fingers at work.
Tapping translates to letters,
the letters begin forming words.
Hiatus coming to an end,
the words begin to accumulate…
…filling in page after page after page…
Inspiration ignored is but a wisp of a memory.
Though the pleasant emotion remains like a depressed shadow,
close your eyes and remember.
Remember the taste of a favorite candy,
the aroma of a place and time long gone,
the voice of a relative having moved on.
Reach for lost inspiration.
Sensation so vivid, a moment lost.
When it chooses, inspiration makes a grand entrance.
Opening the doors unannounced,
making itself comfortable,
giving our creativity cause to dance,
challenging us to grow.
It is the force behind rediscovered writing devices.
It dares us to stretch a new canvas over a wood frame,
pick up a cold instrument and strike a tune.
The heart swells and mind becomes restless.
Fickle at best, inspiration leaves us as hurriedly,
sooner still if the welcome cold and uninviting.
Desiring a comfortable seat, it begs to be entertained.
Offer all that is required.
Read and write, write and read.
Draw, erase, and draw more.
Fear not the splatters and smudges of paints.
Embrace the mistakes,
learn and forge ahead.
Pause only to consider what direction your actions should take.
This isn’t really happening.
Eyes not daring to leave the corner of the street,
I wait for the school bus to bring them to me.
Waiting to hear the faint sound of the motor,
the familiar sound of brakes sighing,
dying to see the red stop sign reach out to protect the children as they exit the bus.
My heart constricts in familiar anticipation,
dying to see their bright, shining faces.
That won’t happen, not today.
What purpose did this serve?
Only a monster could have done this.
A monster takes their life with a finger twitch.
Steal from them their hopes and dreams;
remove from me my hopes and dreams.
Never again to see them at play,
to hold them when they hurt.
Never know what sort of adult they would become,
nor know what sort of parents they’d become.
Never to cry with their child,
or to wipe the tears from their face.
Name your price, oh Lord!
The now empty home, I’d give up.
Everything I have is yours to give away,
just give them back, please.
Take my home, my career, and even my own life.
All of the time I have left alive, I offer.
Take me, oh Lord. Take me and give back to them.
Our home a mausoleum,
filled with cold relics and memories.
Empty of it’s greatest treasure.
No laughter to be heard.
No voices to echo through the cold halls.
Dust gathered on forgotten belongings.
Toys no longer in use.
A puppy sick without a center to it’s universe.
Arms that ache to feel the warm pressure of a hug.
Dry shoulders longing to feel the moist sting of tears.
A room empty, but full of pain;
a reflection of my heart.