effluence

It's not what you think.

2008-11-19T21:46:00.002-05:00

What do you think depression is? Being blue? Feeling sad? Feeling down? Not wanting to get out of bed? All of these are part of it, but depression is so much more; or, really, less.

Imagine that you wake up one morning and you try to get up but nothing happens. You try harder and there's a twitch. You dedicate every ounce of will you have to the task and you sit up. Repeat the trying process with standing. Once standing you find that you aren't sure what to do next. And you find you don't care. But you realize what you're supposed to do, what you have to do, so you do it. As you're doing normal things like brushing your teeth, putting on your clothes and preparing your lunch, you find that things feel unfamiliar and you're doing them out of order, occasionally forgetting things and missing steps. Like putting on your shoes without your socks. Or pouring your coffee but forgetting to put it in your bag.

On the way to work, you hear a commercial about shaving gel or some TV show and you find you're crying for no apparent reason. You imagine this happening while you're at work, in a meeting or at lunch, and you don't really care. At your desk, you stare at all your projects and you don't know where to begin. So you start somewhere and find yourself flitting between projects, not really getting anything done. You realize you're making mistakes (when someone else points them out) even though you have given every ounce of your attention to every second of every task at hand, and checked and re-checked your work.

While you're working, everything distracts and annoys you. People typing. People talking. People chewing gum and walking, the light in the room. You have to re-type emails because you realize you're being testy and uncharitable. A feeling of wrongness and dread burbles and gurgles inside of you. It's always there. For no apparent reason, you feel like your co-workers are hiding things from you, trying to sabotage you. You can't make decisions. You can't think things through the way you are used to being able to. You can't be creative. You stumble unexpectedly in conversations. You can't think of normal, everyday words. You suddenly feel happy for no reason, and then vicious, and then nothing. You feel like everything needs to go away. Everything, including you.

When you get home at night, you feel like doing nothing. You sit in front of the TV because you can't really hold a conversation with the person you love. You think about things that you should be doing but you don't care. You don't feel hungry, but you eat. Eating feels good. It's the best feeling you've had all day. You feel like if you could just eat without stopping, you would be fine. You feel physically full, but you still want to eat. You realize this is ridiculous, but it's how you feel. You feel like going to bed every moment you are awake, but you don't want to go to bed because sleep will bring you closer to the following day.

You don't feel sad. You just feel less. It's like someone has accessed the fuse box of your brain and has started flipping switches at random. It is easier to feel sad than happy, and it's easier to feel any negative emotion than a positive one. But you don't know what's coming next. Yo udon't know how anything is going to make you feel. You feel like you can do anything. You feel like you are a failure. You feel nothing - an unaccustomed, screaming silence inside of you.

Go to bed, wake up and do it all again.

That begins to scratch the surface. But I believe that depression, like pregnancy or being quadriplegic, is something that must be experienced to be fully understood.

Tread Lightly

2006-11-15T22:41:00.000-05:00

Last Thursday, as I approached a corner of the small cube farm I work within, I heard my boss ask, "My God, the floor is shaking — who is doing that?" I announced cheerfully that it was I. She tried to recover by saying that it must be just the way I walk. And it could be true, if I were a small person. My boss has been known shake the floor with her intense strides — she only weighs about 120 lbs. To reiterate this experience, on Saturday, my wife and I ran into our downstairs neighbor as we left for our tiny trip to the beach. He asked us if we could try to walk a bit lighter, and said that the pounding was driving him insane and keeping him from sleeping. Merry thought it could be the cat, who jumps around a lot, but our neighbor described it thus: "I hear you walking and it sounds like you're lifting the couch and dropping it repeatedly."

Honestly, I don't walk heavily for someone my size. But now I tiptoe around the apartment and take small, slow steps at the office. But I'm about as adept at treading lightly physically as I am figuratively.

Scuse me while I stomp off to bed.

All Summer in a Day

2006-11-08T23:17:00.000-05:00

Rain - a two and a half hour drive to get to work. But thanks to the rain I finally found a short film that had been in the back of my head since I was single digits. Some blessed philanthropist had posted it on YouTube. I was going to watch it at work, but it was a bit long, so I sent myself a link to it. Google had taken it down when I got home. I was denied my chance at sunshine. I wonder if, when the owners of YouTube.com sold it to Google, they knew how much Google would ruin with its conscientiousness. I can't argue with Google - they're only doing the safe thing, the legal thing. But I've searched before. There is nowhere to get this film.

Ten years later

2006-08-16T22:47:00.000-04:00

Last night I threw away most of my notebooks from college. I flipped through
a few of them. It was like paging through someone else's photo album and
realizing that I was the one who took all the photos. I could see my
handiwork and my passion for learning and knowledge. The things I could do
and the stuff that I knew are all history. I'm glad that I have that history,
but the notebooks are bland-faced keepsakes filled with unintelligible
markings, so they are better gone. It's best not to be reminded of what I've
forgotten. The memories that survive are all that is necessary.

Systematic Theology

2006-07-04T21:24:00.000-04:00

Here's a new question: Why do things happen the way they do? Everybody wants to know how God works. Well, maybe not everybody. The atheists want to know how fate or the universe works. Whether it's God, the gods, nature, science, statistical probability, or some combination of these, everyone wants to find patterns and explanations. Yes, I've heard of existentialism. But let's not go there. I don't believe that anyone is truly an existentialist in the core of their being. Our brains are hardwired to find patterns, whether they're visual, auditory, or logical. So people look for patterns. We're logical. So what?

So this. I think that every aspect of human nature is flawed. Corrupt. There's bad code in our hardware, and it's pervasive. This means that we get sick, we get old, we die. Our desires and tendencies are broken - we want to do things that lead to bad consequences. Guess what else is flawed? Our reason and logic. People have made very logical decisions with horrible results. Genocide, for example, has been a logical decision to solve a problem by killing off a group of people who are, arguably, causing the problem. Genocide is a bad decision, however, ethically and practically. This serves only to illustrate that logic doesn't always lead to truth.

This is what I have so far: People want to know why things happen the way they happen, and logic is not infallible. So, logically, like everyone else, Christians should be careful when using logic. Yet Christian logicians abound. They're called theologians. What they practice is theology or systematic theology. They all use logic and reason, but they don't all come to the same conclusion. Forget what those conclusions are. The point is that they're different. Is this because some are more proficient at logic than others, or that some are smarter than others? It could be, but there are multiple practitioners of the divergent brands of theology, so I think that the playing field is fairly level.

Perhaps we need a big debate showdown to find the truth. Whoever is right will win the debate, right? I don't think so. Being better at logic, being a better public speaker, thinking more quickly on the feet, and knowing the Bible better in its original language do not guarantee getting closer to truth or to God. Even so, many Christians rely heavily on theology. Not only do Christians rely on theology, but I often sense pride in theology: a tendency to look down upon or immediately dismiss the ideas of Christians who have not studied systematic theology and don't know what terms like dispensationalism and hermeneutics mean.

Yes, I know that God gave us minds and we need to use them. I don't think that ignoring reason leads to wisdom and a closer relationship with God. I do think that intellect needs to be balanced by spirit and feeling, and all of these need to be led by scripture. I'm not good at this; I tend to fall out of balance all the time. I'm just so weary of Christians accusing other Christians of having a wrong understanding of God for esoteric theological reasons.

This isn’t the end of my train of thought on this issue, but I feel like I need to post this or it will never get posted. I’m starting a new job tomorrow, and I’m going to be continuing to do work for my business, so I’m going to be busy as hell for a while.

Talisker

2006-06-22T22:25:00.000-04:00

I've added a new favorite to my ever-growing of favorite scotches. Talisker. It is the smoke that I love so much in Johnny Walker Black, Gold, and Blue. It's smoky, but not caustic. It's sweet, but not self-aggrandizingly sweet like Laphroaig Quarter Cask. I think this is why it's taken me three months to finish a 750 mL bottle of the Quarter Cask. It's bursting with flavor, but it's too sweet, overly youthful, fanatic in its smokiness. I drink one glass, about a shot's worth, and I think, that's interesting, but I get it, and I don't need any more. Talisker, however, I drink and say, I've almost got it. Tell me again. I think I'm getting it - just one more time. It's disappearing way to quickly from the bottle.
Don Peris's new album, Go When the Morning Shineth, is fantastic in the most subdued way. I listen to it again and again. It's mostly instrumental, so his voice does not characterize the album. His duet with his wife, Karen, is a great song, however, and my favorite vocally-accompanied song.
Today I failed to get a car loan from the credit union that financed my dearly departed Civic. I have appealed to the loan director for reconsideration. I know that God will get me a car sometime in the next 12 days because I need one.
This evening I went for a walk. It's amazing how purifying a walk can be if it is long enough, and if there is enough undeveloped space along the path. The mindless fervency of vegetation, the greediness of flying insects, small fields of tigerlillies, dirt and vegetation encroaching upon cement and asphalt, drooping rooves and rusting vehicles step after step give a sense of the permanence - the reliability - of change.

And what better time for a walk than summer? When is the air closer? When are there more smells of living things? There's no other timefeeleel more a part of things, like I could plant myself and grow roots, like I could breathe out and out and become moist air. I left for my walk feeling defeated, afraid, ashamed, anxious, and worthless. I came back feeling hot and sweaty, slightly tired in my legs, unperturbed, and thoughtful. Almost peaceful. The other feelings were not gone, but they were made irrelevant, like a shin-high guardrail between me and a trail into the woods. Do I even think about stepping over it, or am I already beyond it before I've even lifted a foot?

now is slippery

2006-06-02T22:54:00.000-04:00

I've been trying to find a construction of words that can capture and display now — what's going on, what's going to happen — but I can't. I don't really understand what's happening now. Trying to focus on it ends up with me in an anxious state of catatonia, staring here, staring there. It's living in that instant just after you wake up... that instant that seems to stretch out and separate from the previous instant, so that nothing has happened in that instant, but everything prior to that instant occurred a long time ago.

Then I fall back into doing — doing the things that must be done, and I know that the now is pushing me along. Like Peter on the waves, as long as I don't look to hard at things and try to figure out what's going on, I don't sink. There are constant things... my marriage, God. God doesn't change, but everything else changes so much that my perspective shifts and God often looks different at different times. And God has placed me where I am in every now, and it is good. God knows what I need, and he has given me the best for me.

I often wish that I could just break down and fall apart. Throw off responsibility. I want these things like a diabetic wants a Butterfinger, or an alcoholic wants a beer. It's the kind of want I'll be glad I never got.

I hate technology

2006-04-01T23:02:00.000-05:00

For every victory there is a loss. Today I managed to bring up a Linux server that had been down for months. It was never set up correctly in the first place, and it only works half-assedly, but it's working almost as well today as it was before it decided that it wouldn't start up anymore, back in December of 2005.

At the same time, with the help of Norton Speed Disk, I managed to fubar my PowerBook. It will no longer boot into OS X, and it will not allow me to reinstall the system. This sucks for two reasons. First because I have been doing more and more in OS X, and much of my resume building and freelance work of late has been done in OS X. Second, because the Linux server will not allow Windows connections, and I was planning to use my PowerBook as a go-between to copy tens of gigabytes of music from my Windows machine to the Linux server.

I have wasted hours today trying to get the PowerBook up and running. And the Linux server, which is now running is useless until I succeed.

it's loud

2006-03-02T22:01:00.000-05:00

It was a good day. The job interview went well. Now the day is over and I'm not scrambling to get something done before bed. Suddenly there is a lull and I don't know what to do.

If I take a look, I hardly recognize my life. It's changed for the better, yes, but it's not comfortable and familiar like my old life. And some things are still just promising to change; they haven't changed yet. Hopefully there will be more lulls during which I can sort things out. I believe that enjoying life doesn't really happen while life is happening. It happens during those rare moments when life takes a break. Right now I don't feel like doing anything, even enjoying. I don't think there's anything wrong with that.

I am thankful for my father

2005-12-08T10:39:00.000-05:00

Last night I opened up the ceramic coin bank that my Aunt made for me when I was two and sorted the coins I had put in it over the years. In it were 23 half-dollars (some of which marked the bicentennial), some bicentennial quarters, German marks and pfennigs, Italian Lire, Canadian coins (why did I save those???), a few pesos, and a number of wheat pennies dating from 1919 to 1958. I opened the ceramic bank because all of the money in my bank account (and then some) is spoken for. This morning was my weekly breakfast with my dad, it was my turn to pay, and I didn't want to come empty-handed. We eat at Lyon's Pharmacy, which has breakfast and lunch like an oldstyle pharmacy.

This morning I came with physical needs and my dad gave me spiritual food. I love my dad. I would love him even if he weren't who he is. Like many fathers he has made mistakes during his fatherhood. But he has changed so much over the years and I am truly grateful for who he is today. It is the work of the Lord. My dad can't give me any money; he and my mother are quite poor. Yes, he can tell me not to make certain mistakes and this is valuable advice. It's not the earthly advice that I value so highly, however. It's the fact that I have seen him rely on God when he had no earthly reason to do so, the fact that his hope is in Christ and that his treasure is in heaven; his ability to bring scripture into any conversation -- it is for these reasons that I respect my father so much and that I listen to what he has to say.

He told me that believers have been dealing with hard times ever since the first sin, and to turn to the book of Psalms and read these. He talked about the Trinity hymnal and how many of the hymns are very poetic and uplifting. He mentioned Psalm 74, in which the psalmist cries out -- why do the wicked prosper while the faithful are downcast. He talked about the end times and the book of Revelation, and that one day we will see God and we will be able to praise him free from our sins. He reminded me of Ephesians 5 -- be thankful at all times; speak to one another in psalms and spiritual songs; take charge of the spiritual well-being of my home. He also admonished me that I should never let money difficulties form a rift between me and my wife.

These things all seem plain and obvious in written form, but there is power in truth that is spoken by a righteous person. My father's righteousness comes from Christ, as does all righteousness. Thank you, God, for my father.

does drinking qualify as a hobby?

2005-09-25T22:55:00.000-04:00

Well, I've discovered that scotch is my favorite liquid on the planet next to water, and that is only because I am addicted to water. If it weren't so easily available, maybe I'd be able to kick that habit.

Back to scotch. I've found that I enjoy all of the regional variations of scotch. I love the tarry, peaty malts of Islay as much as the honeyed, heathery malts of the highlands. I also enjoy blended scotch as well as single-malt scotch. I don't really understand why some folks look down so on blended scotch. Seriously, from what I've read, most of the distillers of single-malt scotches sell a portion of their products for the intent of blending. If they're not against blending, why should you who enjoy their single-malt be against it?

I've also discovered that adding just a tiny bit of water to scotch tends to open up the flavor, particularly in complicated scotches. Islay malts in particular seem to benefit from this because their flavors often feel like they are wound up so tightly that they are inert and difficult to appreciate. But add just a teaspoon or so of water, and boom, the flavors open up and dance around in my mouth. Why? I don't know. It's not as if there's no water in there in the first place. There must be an actual chemical change that occurs when the water is mixed in.

There are a number of books that I must have on scotch, including Michael Jackson's Complete Guide to Single Malt Scotch. I've included others on my Amazon wish list as well.

So far the best cheapest scotch that I've had so far is Bowmore Legend. I paid $22 for my 750ml bottle. It doesn't have the fullness or complexity of Arbeg (which was $37), but it's a nice Islay scotch, if you can appreciate the finish. It reminded me a bit of Numzit, that stuff that your mom put in your mouth when you were teething. It's got the sea in its nose, and it tastes of peat, oak, and light sweet vanilla. The finish is salty iodine. On the highlands side of things is Speyburn, which is under $20 a bottle and it has that honey graham cracker flavor that I've come to associate with highland malts. I like it more than blends that are similarly-priced. It actually reminds me a bit of Chivas Regal, though the Chivas is a bit more complex.

Every time I go to the local liquor store I'm tempted to pick up the bottle of Johnny Walker Green Label they've got there. They're selling it for only $47. Most places are selling it for $60, and some for as much as $80. I've had the black label, which is fine, but not worth its price ($28 a bottle) in my opinion. I've had the blue, at $200 a bottle, is a bit more than I'd ever pay for a bottle of liquor, how ever amazing it is. I'm hoping that the Green Label is has some of the fine qualities of the Blue Label, though. I wish there were someone nearby who would split a bottle with me.

I've decided to try some whiskies other than scotch. I bought a bottle of Jim Beam and I hate it. There's some nice oak and vanilla in there, but there's something really nasty underlying it all. I think it might be nice mixed in Coke, but I very rarely drink soda, and I never have any at home. I have had Irish whisky in the past, but the only one I've had since I was blessed with my new palatte is Tyrconnell, which was enjoyable, but felt like it was missing something. I'd like to try Bushmill's Black Bush. The descriptions I've read sound good, and it's aged in sherry butts, so it should have that nice woody sweetness such aging imparts. If I ever went out to bars, I'd try the whiskies there. Expensive, yes, but cheaper than buying them by the bottle only to find that I hate them.

So, does drinking count as a hobby? Or is it just a distraction and a waste of money? Perhaps I'll ponder this over a glass of scotch.

Movement and Surrender

2005-08-28T22:00:00.000-04:00

Today was a good day. Actually, this was a good weekend. Friday night I spent with my sweet and enjoyed some very nice oloroso. Saturday I relaxed a bit, did a ton of cleaning and straightnening, did some shopping, cleaned out and vacuumed my car, and hung out with a lifelong friend in the evening. We listened to music and talked about getting old. I finished my Balvenie Doublewood, which is unfortunate because it's some of the tasiest scotch I've ever enjoyed. I'm trying some less expensive scotch now: Bowmore Legend, which has a fascinating mix of flavors, including peat, smoke, oak, and something salty like seaweed. It has a slightly medicinal finish, which I'm not crazy about (reminds me of Numzit), but I love the peatiness, and it's certainly a steal for half the price of the Balvenie. I think I'm going to ask people to get me scotch for my birthday and Christmas this year. I love the stuff, and I'm actually drinking less than I used to before I re-discovered my love for hard liquor.

I'ts been ten years since I damaged myself. I thought that I'd never be able to enjoy whisky, gin, brandy, or vodka again. Ever since that ill-fated night in Ocean City MD I've been afflicted with a visceral revulsion to anything over 50 proof. But this past January, with a little help from my friend who introduced me to Johnnie Walker (Blue Label -- yum), I discovered that I could once again drink and enjoy good whisky. Thank you, Lord: I am healed. That's not sarcastic. I'm earnestly grateful, and I won't make that same mistake again. I'm well aware that I'm not invincible, and I will keep the alcohol consumption to a reasonable level. So far I've had Johnnie Walker (blend), Aberlour, Dalmore, and Balvenie (all single Highland malts), and now the Bowmore (single Islay Malt). Next time, unless I come into some money, I think it will be Johnnie Walker Black Label. If I do come into some money, it will be Johnnie Walker Green Label or Glenmorangie (another single Highland malt). There are some other Islay and Speyside malts I'd like to try that have a lot of character, but they're all pretty expensive. I think I need to find something cheap to keep on hand to enjoy without financial guilt, however.

So, back to today... Today was church, and I'm glad that I went. During Sunday services, I am often filled with a spirit of repentence, contrition, and need. There is always joy -- sometimes more joy than I can handle. Today I was given the spirit of decisiveness. When one of the ministers gave a call to receive prayer after worship, he said, "If you have been feeling like you have not found a place in the church, come and receive prayer for the Lord's guidance that the Lord will lead you to a church, this one or another, where your gifts can be used and where you can be fruitful." I felt like it was simple obedience to come forward. I went and received prayer, and was told that I need to look to my own abilities and ideas rather than other people's ideas about me in order to find my place in the body of Christ. This is similar to words I've heard from others over the course of the past month or so. I will prayerfully consider this and seek the Lord's guidance through scripture.

The message was about baptism. This topic is difficult for me. I grew up in the reformed faith. I believe that, in some ways, covenantal theology is hardwired into the synapses of my brain. I have never given up the belief that baptism is a sign of the covenant between God and man, and not a sign of salvation or a means of salvation. This covenant relationship is between God and families. This is why there are biblical cases of entire families being baptized. Children who are not able to make a faith decision are nonetheless part of God's covenant with them. This is all very rational and logical. It's systematic. It's virtually bulletproof.

God is no bullet. God is more powerful, more wise, and can pierce me more deeply than any bullet of reason. Am I a double-minded man who is not sure of what he believes? No. This is what I believe: I believe in Christ and him resurrected. I believe that I need to submit myself and my life to God fully. I feel agreement in my spirit with the Holy Spirit that I should be baptized as an adult, as a sign of my repentence, my death to sin, and my new life in Christ. Logic? The wisdom of men is foolishness to God. I believe very strongly that God wants me to be baptized. I am excited abou this decision. I will be baptized next Sunday.

So begins another week. Things are changing with the business. Things are changing in my life. I feel profoundly grateful and excited to be alive.

stillness

2005-08-21T22:00:00.000-04:00

Does this happen to anyone else? Do you find yourself remarkably busy during the week, wishing that you had time to write your thoughts down, and then when you finally do have the time, the thoughts are all gone? This happens to me repeatedly. When my life is roiling and thrashing, there is plenty to say, but when it finally settles for a few moments and I can sit down at the computer, all I want to do is sleep. And to drink some scotch. Mmm...

Hello, but not really.

2005-07-12T16:37:00.000-04:00

This is me not actually updating my blog, yet in a self-concious manner. I'm busy as hell and just as much broke. That's all I got for you. Oh, and the Bible verse I received via email this morning reads, "Do not weep; for she is not dead but sleeping." -Luke 8:52.

the thick of it

2005-06-30T21:59:00.000-04:00

Today I tried to get into my apartment with my office key. I arrived home early, at about 9pm, and it's funny how 9 can feel like an early day afteer working until midnight for three days. I've worked 60 hours and it's only Thursday. I couldn't make myself sit still, and even now after an hour, taking apart a decade-old computer and replacing the hard drive and CD-ROM, half-hour of Ghost in the Shell SAC, and two fingers of Scotch, I am having trouble sitting here.

One week of intense work is not all that bad, you might think, even if I have ben pulling 55-hour weeks for most of the past month. Like the taste of bubblegum can take you back to your childhood, a week of late nights can take me back to that time about a year and a half ago during which I did 60+ hour weeks for over a year. During this time I did little more than work, smoke, drink, mess with my stereo, and watch anime. I had to cancel my trip to Cincinnati that had been planned for months. I still have tons of work to do, but I am less stressed knowing that I have tomorrow to do some of it. I feel as if my personality has atrophied and shrunk, and that I am less of a person now than I was a month ago.

I hate this feeling. But I do not want to be a boo-hoo blogger, so I will say that I am glad to have an early night tonight. I am glad that it is summer, and that the earth is bursting with green, and that the air is dripping with moisture to the point that I feel like I will be dissolved. I am glad that my good friends in Cincinnati understand why I cannot come to visit them this weekend. I am glad that I will get to see some friends nearby this weekend. I am looking forward to some vigorous drinking. I am looking forward to hopping off the quit-smoking wagon this weekend. I am especially looking forward to seeing the woman I love tomorrow.

On a slightly differnt topic, I find it fascinating that Christians are often most passionate about things they disagree on. There is a Christian-populated discussion board that I participate in (though I haven't as much lately, since my home computer crapped out). Activity has been slow there for the past month or so (which leads me to believe that I am not the only one whose life has gone utterly nutso lately), but just a couple days ago someone posted regarding possession, and the discussion quickly turned to spiritual gifts and tongues and the thread has grown more quickly than any other thread there in recent history.

I think that this is because Christians are insane about truth. We believe in ideas that are culled from scripture, from our own studies, from what we learn in church, and from what we learn from other Christians. Because faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we cannot see, we hold to these ideas like our lives depend on it and call them truth. None of us wants to be wrong about that which we have placed our faith in. This makes me pause. In what have we placed our faith? In our understanding of scripture? In our theologies? In our own rational minds? In our feelings and hunches? What does it mean to have faith in God in this context? Is it possible to believe in God without holding to a system of theology and belief that is not plain in scripture, but ratheer extrapolated from scripture? Is it true that you must have a nearly inexhaustable understanding of the historical, national, cultural, and social context in which each word of scripture was written in its original language in order to truly know God? Or does knowing God come not through studying and rationalizing, but from reading scripture, from communion, prayer, and conversation with God, from leaning on him when we cannot see him, and from speaking honestly to those around us about our relationship with him?

What it comes down to for me is that it is not the case that the owner of truth is the one who can most powerfully present his or her case for their system of belief. What it comes down to for me is that there are many believers in the Lord Jesus' death and bodily resurrection who hold to vastly different views of theology, and yet all of whom bear plentiful fruit for the kingdom of God. This says to me that it does not matter whether you believe that tongues are of God or of Satan. It does not matter whether you are dispensational or covenantal in your theology. It does not matter whether you were baptised as a baby, as a child, or as an adult. It does not matter that you believe in a literal millenium or in a figurative millenium. It does not matter that you believe that you chose God or that God chose you. None of these beliefs will make you any more or less effective for Christ. What will make you more or less effective for Christ is whether or not you act out what you believe in your heart of hearts; whether or not you exhibit the fruit of the spirit; whether or not you love your neighbor; whether or not you confess Christ openly.

I think that some of the most beautiful words in the English language are, "You might be right." How much misunderstanding, anger, hurt, and loss could be avoided between people if we simply admitted more often that the othere person might be right? Is it truly weakness to admit that you don't know for sure? I don't believe that we do know most things for sure. I could be wrong, but I believe that too much certainty is like a handle for the sin of pride. Let us, as Christians, focus on what we believe together, not on what we disagree on. This is easier said than done. I know.

There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in.

2005-06-09T22:08:00.000-04:00

It has ben quite some time since I have posted, and it isn't because I have nothing to say. I've been working like crazy since the week before Memorial Day, including nights, some on the weekends, and Memorial Day itself. My home computer also essentially died, meaning that the ethenet interface has failed, so I can't access the web. And a computer without web access today is like an airplane without wings. I'm on my work laptop right now.

Over the past few weeks, the thoughts have come and gone, and I've wanted to write so much, but I've had no time even to take notes when the thoughts arrived. Now that I do have a few minutes, the thoughts are gone, and I feel unmoored. The pattern of working constantly is so deplorable, yet easy to slide into. When I'm not working, I look at the mess of my apartment and everything I need to attend to, and it means nothing. Tonight I cut my hair because I know that is something I can do.

News today: Apple is switching to Intel microprocessors: http://www.apple.com/pr/library/2005/jun/06intel.html
This means that not only do we at my company have to migrate to a new operating system with all new software before too long, but shortly after that, we will have to migrate to new hardware and new software. This is truly frustrating. It's almost enough to make me want to leave Apple forever.

In other news, I received a notice from my health insurance company that they are going to cover $50 of my wisdom tooth extraction, saying that the surgeon charged more than they consider allowable. This leaves me with over $900 to pay. Come on. Who would cut out two impacted wisdom teeth, one infected, for $50? I don't think I could get that rate in Mexico. I just got a new car complete with monthly payments. I owe $500 in taxes. WTF? Must I consider a life of crime? Do I even have the skills necessary to profit in crime?

My parents are trying to invoke the disability clause in their mortgage. My father got a statement of disability from his doctor. If they can invoke this clause, then they will not have to pay their mortgage for at least a year. In that time period, maybe my mom can get a job. Who knows. God's got something good in store for them, right?

I have been happy lately. It is truly wonderful to be loved, and this makes the difficulties in my life seem weak and ineffective to harm me. Thank you, Merry. Thank you, God.

The moon

2005-05-22T22:44:00.000-04:00

Tonight the full moon does its thing in full view or behind the intermittent clouds. Today I had my car towed unjustly, missed church, paid a mere (yet painful) $40 to get it back, did four loads of laundry, had dinner with my parents, and saw The Revenge of the Sith. People have been driving crazily today; this seems to happen with every full moon. I left the movie at about 8:30 feeling oddly unsettled, like I had skipped class on the day of a test or I had forgotten the birthday of somebody close. Now that feeling hangs on by the skin of its teeth, though I have beaten it largely away with Celis Grand Cru. Right now my CD player is hanging on a song, trying to play it and failing. Damn you, full moon.

Yesterday, however, was a fabulous day. I awoke at 8:30, made myself pancakes and coffee, chatted a bit online, cleaned and straightened my apartment, and then went to Fair Hill with Merry for a lovely walk through the woods, water, and fields. This included the removal of shoes and socks and wading in a stream, and the examination of a bizarre, vaguely Easter-themed shrine built into a shallow cave. The shrine boasted a cross, a stuffed bunny, a stuffed cat, and number of odd little items whose nature I cannot recall. Our hunger was slaked at Los Caporales, and our entertainment needs fulfilled by Blade Runner and Arvo Pärt (in succession), accompanied by Aecht Schlenkerla Rauchbier and Lindemans Framboise Lambic. I'll give you one guess who drank which.

Merry is truly the greatest blessing in my life in quite some time.The story begins out of order, at the end of this past March. Some close friends of mine concocted a scheme to bring Merry and I together. If you allow me to back up again, this time about fifteen years, you will learn that the first time that Merry and I met was through Merry's sister, who at the time was dating one of my (still, even today) best friends. At that time Merry and I talked a bit, but she was thirteen when I was sixteen, and I cannot say that we were close. Ten years ago was the last time that Merry and I spoke before this past March, when we resume the story, this time in proper order. My aforementioned friends presented their idea that I should meet Meredith, and though I hadn't spoken to her in ten years, and I was not feeling particularly disposed to the idea of dating, something within my spirit said, "That sounds like a great idea." My mouth said the same.

Now, after nearly two months that have passed in the blink of an eye, and which have included dates, shooting stars, church, Spongebob, a broken-down car, a little road trip, and a concert, I can say that I have found a remarkable companion. We share quite a bit, though we have plenty of differences to keep things interesting. Just this past Wednesday, as we lay on a blanket beneath the moon, Merry said to me, "We don't have a lot in common," and I laughed because we do have a lot in common, including our views on church, God, relationships, honesty, music, movies, and foods we like. Our differences lie in areas that are mostly tangental, such as how we categorize favorites, whether or not we have best friends, whether hiking is fun or is an utter drag, and whether spiders are cute or scary.

So what makes Merry a remarkable companion? I could say that it is difficult to know where to begin, but really it is not. It is more difficult to know where to end. Merry is a kind person, not in the sense of simply expressing kind things, but rather that her expression is always honest, and that honest expression shows a great deal of kindness. She has definite feelings about people she likes or does not like, but she does not make unduly fast judgments. She does not let an innocently mislaid comment, an unfortunate circumstance, or a simple mistake sway her judgment. The judgments she makes are built over time and are made with thought and heart. Her heart is powerful, and those she loves, she loves fervently. She has definite opinions, but is not afraid of ideas that may conflict with or complicate those opinions.

I think that one of my favorite things about Merry is that she does not disguise herself in order to make an impression. She is who she is at all times, and this allows me to also be myself. I don't often have a hard time saying things about myself, but I tend to sculpt my behavior to the situation I am in. I often feel like people make judgments based on signs and indicators, and this makes me afraid to be myself, as if I might accidentally do something or say something that would lead to an imperturbable conclusion. With Merry, I feel that I can simply be myself spontaneously, and I do not need to screen myself. I just allow my self to flow naturally from me, and there it is, and she still likes me.

Writing about Merry feels like writing about the strokes in a painting. I am a dissector, one who breaks things down into their components in order to describe them and understand them, but with her I cannot do ths. Well, honestly, maybe I could, given a few days of free time. But I don't feel like that is necessary. I will paint in broad strokes and leave the details up to the future.

The Damn Music Thing

2005-05-22T21:51:00.000-04:00

So, as you have read below, sha passed me the music baton. It is amazing both the convergence and divergence of musical tastes between people who may share things in common. Friday night I spent two hours doing one of my favorite things -- just listening to music and doing nothing else. There is so much music that I love, and so much more that I need to hear. Anyway, here goes...

Total volume of music on my shit-ass computer: 29 GB. This does not include the music on my work machine, which is about 5 GB, and the music on the server at work, which is about 30 GB. There is some overlap between the three.

The last CD I bought: Jim Bianco, Handsome Devil.
The last legal download: Kitchens of Distinction, Capsule
The last (possibly) illegal download: Ryan Adams, everything beyond Heartbreaker, which I obtained legally.

Song I'm playing right now: Kitchens of Distinction, Polaroids

Five songs I listen to a lot, or that mean a lot to me:
1. Te Deum, Arvo Pärt.
2. Every Hour Here, The Innocence Mission
3. Naked As We Came, Iron and Wine
4. Downtown Train (or any number of other songs), Tom Waits
5. Lullabye 6000, The Czars
6. Everywhere You Turn, The Bad Plus
7. Winter Came Early This Year, Andrew Peterson
8. Summer Wind, Cotton Dress, Richard Shindell
9. Anna Begins, Counting Crows
10. Closer To the Sun, Denison Witmer

That's not five? Well, yes it is. It's at least five.

Five people I choose to pass the baton to:
Everyone I know who blogs has already received the baton.
Well, there's one, but her blog is private. (Hi, Merry!)

convergence

2005-05-09T22:16:00.000-04:00

So, last week I signed away the next five years of my life to a car. Not that I can really afford car payments, but my old car began a quick downward spiral and I had to get something reliable quickly. I ended up with a 2000 Honda Civic SI. It's nice and zippy, and hopefully as reliable as any Honda. I drove it to Brooklyn this past weekend and it did great. The old Altima barely made it to the dealerships last Tuesday. The clutch pedal was about an inch off the floor and getting the car into gear required near dislocation of my shoulder.

Now that I definitely have no money, I have been afflicted with severe pain from an impacted wisdom tooth. It built over the weekend, and I couldn't eat anything solid all day today. Slmifast is utter shit. I feel hungrier after a Slimfast than I do beforehand. I finally had an english muffin a couple hours ago and survived. It was tasty. So Wednesday morning I am getting both of my impacted wisdom teeth yanked out. It would be nice if I could get some nitrous oxide to help make the cutting and pulling experience less annoying, but it is absurdly expensive, so alert and awake I will be. I wish I had a larger mouth. Can lips be stretched out? I imagine so. If I had been anticipating this, I would have been performing such stretches. I'd get the two good wisdom teeth out as well, but I'm trying to minimize cost, so I will keep them in my mouth so I have more extractions to look forward to. They make brushing and flossing an adventure!

Hopefully I will be well enough for the Echo and the Bunnymen show on Friday at the Chameleon Club in Lancaster, PA. I like this venue immensely. It's smallish and has a balcony, which provides tons of decent vantage points. I've also seen The Vigilantes of Love, The Innocence Mission, and Denison Witmer there. Then on Sunday, I'm going to the Peter Murphy show at the 930 Club in DC. This is a medium-size venue, also with a balcony and lots of good standing spots. I've seen The Human League, Siouxie and the Banshees, Blur, and The Cocteau Twins there. I am thankful for my friend Brian, without whom I would miss so many re-emerging 80s bands. I am also thankful that he buys the tickets and lets me owe him.

Now I will read a bit and then sleep. Crossing to Safety is a beautiful book, steeped in liturature, and I would like to someday write about a few of the many ideas that sparkle on its pages. Who am I kidding? These ideas will pass through the sieve of my memory like a million other ideas have. I've even written a few things down. This means nothing.

some quick thoughts

2005-05-01T22:39:00.000-04:00

Today the pastor talked about scripture as spiritual food and the difference between spiritual milk and spirtual solid food (or meat). This was good to hear, and I definitely do want to spend more time in scripture particularly because I've regained my faith in the Bible as the Word of God. The thoughts that were running through the back of my mind during the message, however, revolved around spiritual milk and spiritual meat.

First, I find it interesting the tendency in Christendom to transide neatly from spiritual milk to spiritual cheese without much further progression. Some examples of what I consider spiritual cheese include ideas such as, "Let go and let God," "God said it, I believe it, and that settles it," and about 75% of the merchandise at any Christian bookstore. I would like to explore this concept further, but not now.

Second, I considered my training and upbringing. I feel that I got a lot of meat without ever getting the milk, and I did not know properly how to process the meat, so it did not make me healthy. Before I gained a basic understanding of God's love, I understood concepts such as original sin; justification, sanctification, and glorification; the imputation of our sins to Christ and the corresponding imputation of Christ's righteousness to us; the difference between covenental theology and dispensational theology; Arminianism and Calvinism; etc. I swallowed all of this eagerly, but did not process it fully. Because of this, I did not grow correctly, and God had to dig in deep and tear away what I had become until all that was left was a very fundamental faith. The image of Eustace and Aslan in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader comes to mind.

I think that it takes the heart of a child to grasp the basic purity of God's love both for the world and for me as an individual. I have always felt old, ever since I was a child. But now I feel like a babe in Christ. I hunger for that spiritual milk, and even as I fill myself with it, I find myself hungering for spiritual meat. God give me wisdom, patience, and perserverence.

oops, but not really

2005-04-28T21:29:00.000-04:00

I just discovered today that the wedding elk that I so thoroughly lambasted in an earlier post was created by someone I know. Yes, someone from the presbyterian church that I attended in Newark for twenty-some years (fifteen of those years as a member) created this beast, and this artist is a friend of my parents'. I even sang with her and her husband in the choir for a number of years.

Even so, I meant what I said, and I neither can nor will recant.

This creature continues to makes me cringe.

I photographed three more beasties as I walked to work on Tuesday this week, and there remain two that I have neither seen nor photographed yet. I will eventually post photos.

Director's cuts

2005-04-24T23:43:00.000-04:00

Listening to the commentary for the Director's Cut of Donnie Darko today, I came to the conclusion that the director's cuts of movies are roughly analogous to the pheonomenon of band members switching instruments just for fun. You know: the bassist plays guitar, the guitarist plays drums, etc. It's cute if you're a fan, but that's about it. Directors should direct (with some exceptions). Let the editors do their fricking job. Extended editions that more involve the whole team are a different story.

People

2005-04-24T23:33:00.000-04:00

Today on the way to church at 11:00 (yes, I was late) I saw a man on a riding lawnmower. He had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. With one hand he was driving and with the other he was holding his toddling son on his lap. I wished that I had my camera. That is all.

2005-04-21T21:37:00.000-04:00

Laying on my back on the hood of my car in a park that is closed because of the moon. Half-full, surrounded by an egg-shaped ring, it bends the clouds around itself. The stars also seem to bow to the moon, even though it is tiny and it has no light of its own.

Elkton revisited

2005-04-17T21:55:00.000-04:00

Today I got home from church, heated up my lunch and endured the band outside my window covering Simon and Garfunkel and James Taylor. I then headed for the laundromat to do three weeks' worth of laundry. Now it is done, and I am so glad because I was down to my least favorite underewear, and everyone knows that you can't have a fantastic day if you're not wearing good underwear. Upon returning, I discovered that two new statues had been installed on Main St., one just outside my apartment, in front of the Elkton Association building, and another in front of the court just 100 yards down the street. Nothing says, "Elkton" better than these photos.

In the second photograph, you can see the bottom edge of my apartment windows.

I do not mean to be cruel. I understand that the good folks of Elkton are trying, but I find the wedding elk to be remarkably white trash, particularly with the beer cans tied to its ass. I found the cloying odor of the Washington hawthorn that you see in the background to be quite appropriate.

The elk with the yearbook photos all over its back looks much like it has been partially skinned to reveal the faces of a thousand high school students.

I find these expressions to be entirely arbitrary, much like a high school art project. Is there no better way to express the identity of our town? Must we be entirely literal? I suppose that if I really cared, I would join the Cecil County Arts Council. Perhaps I shall. But more likely, I will not, and I will always feel like a visitor here.

Last Sunday, the 10th, I took a walk through Elkton and got some photos. I'll post those in my next entry.

spring?

2005-04-04T22:49:00.000-04:00

Yes, today seemed to be the first real day of spring. A bit late, but all the more beautiful for its tardiness. Mid-sixties. Breezy. The sky was the kind of blue that makes you ask yourself, "Did I ever realize before today that the sky is blue?" This afternoon I ran a series of errands with the windows down and the sunroof open. I reluctantly returned to the office with my hair a mess.

Elkton in brief

2005-04-04T22:04:00.000-04:00

I could try to characterize the town of Elkton, Maryland historically (It was originally called Head of Elk, through which Washington and Rochambeau passed in 1781 on their way from New England to Baltimore. The currently indigenous people are for the greater part descended from Scotch-Irish criminal indentured servants who first arrived in Virginia and were then blah blah blah...), but I think that the following examples of signage in Elkton do the job much more adeptly.

Sign at Burger King for the past month:
"ENJOY A ENORMOUS OMLET SANDWICH."

Sign across the street at Wendy's for six months:
"EXPANDING MANAGERS NEEDED."

Town slogan: "Elkton: Where Memories Are Made... Forever."

The last bit refers to the historical fact that Cecil County, Maryland used to boast a relatively low legal age of marital consent -- 16 years of age. For this reason, little chapels sprung up along Rt. 40 along with a healthy spattering of little motels. Most of the chapels are gone today, though there is one across Main Street from me that sees regular use. Many of the old motels are still around. I bet memories are made at Boyds, what with its Low Weekly Rates and Color TV.

Oh, and did I mention the Cecil County Detention Center is just a mile down the road? They're hiring, by the way. Oh, oh, and in looking for information about the prison, I found this recent article.

At least we have a nice, big Walmart's and they're building an even bigger one.

The Station Agent

2005-04-03T21:54:00.000-04:00

I must admit, I don't have as much to say about this film as I would have if I had written last week directly after watching it. I can still say that it is quite a good film, and the odd subject matter does not draw attention to itself, but is well-blended into the flavor of the story. In brief, the story is about a misanthropic train fanatic with dwarfism whose only friend dies, leaving him a small plot of land with an old train depot on it in a rural area, where he goes to live and hopefully be alone. Wow, I fit it all into one sentence! But the story is much bigger than one sentence.

Finbar, the main character, is perfectly content to be alone all of the time. He's tired of ridicule, being hurt, and people in general. His hobby is easy to enjoy alone, and it would seem that a tiny, secluded, abandoned train depot would be ideal for his solitary tendencies. He is surprised, however, by friends who care about him and people whom he can help. It's really a story about healing wrapped in an unusual situation and seasoned with characters that are both quirky and easy to relate to. I plan to buy the disc. Oh, and Peter Dinklage has a fantastic voice. I wish he did audiobooks. Patricia Clarkson is also fantastic. She was great in Pieces of April, and All the Real Girls is next in my Netflix queue.

wind

2005-04-03T20:59:00.000-04:00

Tonight, feeling restless, I hit the streets of Elkton, hoping my rhythmic footsteps would shake the rubble in my head into some sort of order. It is a windy evening, 42 degrees, clouds orange and blue, streets empty. I love the wind. It is fingers in my hair, hands upon my face and clothing; it is intimate and unaffected, passionate and unreasoned, giving and self-sufficient. The wind in my hair takes me back to high school when my hair was long and girls would french braid it. It is truly wonderful to be touched. My gritty anxiety is blown away. My fear of ruining everything good in my life is lulled to sleep.

Poor Man's House

2005-03-29T00:35:00.000-05:00

This evening I had a Counting Crows song in my head, the name of which I could not remember, and which mentally morphed into the Patty Griffin's song, "Not Alone." So I popped in her CD, Living with Ghosts. It's been some time since I've listened to this CD; it's one of those recordings that I absolutely love, but which I cannot listen to repeatedly. So I was sitting in my living room, listening to the album and writing in a notebook some things I intended to add to this blog, while my computer was chugging away on some doomed-to-crash task, when the song, "Poor Man's House" came on.

The first line that caught my ear was,

You know you've prayed enough when you don't ask any more.

I felt something resonating in my heart and my pencil stopped moving. I took a long swallow of the wine I was drinking and gave my attention to the song.

Nothing is louder to God's ears than a poor man's sorrow.

Conflicting feelings and thoughts arose at this. My thoughts turned to my own parents, my father in particular.

Daddy's been working too much for days and days he doesn't eat
he never says much but I think this time it's got him beat
It isn't that he isn't strong or kind or clever
Your dady's poor and he will be poor forever

I remember as a child of four, five, six, and so on getting up at five in the morning to see my dad off to work and waiting up until eleven or midnight, for him to come home. This was not easy for a youngster my age, and I fell asleep more than a few times. My father worked very hard.

Hey that's the poor man's house
Those kids are living in a poor man's house
They walk to school with the soles of their shoes worn out
And come home in the evening to the poor man's house

I remember my childhood: the powdered milk we drank, the shoes with patched holes and soles that were held together by Shoe Goo, the hand-me-down clothes from family, friends, and church, my father driving my mother, my sister, and I to my grandmother's for "vacation," and then returning to Delaware so he could work. My parents literally bankrupted themselvs to send my sisters and me to a private, Christian school.

Life wasn't always incredibly difficult, and I never went hungry, but I had peanut butter and jelly for lunch for years. We had a TV most of the time, and we even had cable here and there. There was never plenty, let alone abundance, but there was sufficiency. Going out to eat meant going to McDonalds, or on rare occasions, Naples Pizzaria, the only true New York style pizzaria ever to exist in Newark, Delaware. It succumbed to Pizza Hut and Dominos sometime in the mid-eighties.

What is the point of all of this? The point is that my parents haven't had it easy (they gave everyghing for their children), and there's no sign of it getting any easier. Every Sunday I visit the house I grew up in from the age of three and a half to the age of twenty-one, and I see it falling apart with broken cars in the broken driveway (which my father and I poured ourselves when I was 12), missing asbestos shingles, paint flaking off, wood rotting, roof in need of replacement. Though my father is 60 and can't work anymore, there's no retirement. My mother, also 60, is looking for work again now that her bout of clinical deprssion is abating. I don't know what they're going to do, but I feel their pain of being mostly poor their adult lives and now, when they're supposed to be relaxing, being unable to. My father cannot relax because of pain and illness (without which he would be working), and my mother cannot relax because of the need for income.

Of course my parents always wanted things to be a little bit easier. Of course there are plenty of people in the nation and in the world who are worse off than my parents. God has kept my parents safe thus far. They've always been able to get by somehow, and they have always given 25 to 30 percent of what they make or are given back to God. This irks the hell out of my dad's mother, who has given my parents money a few times. My parents look forward, primarily, to their eternal life in the presence God. New bodies! No more sin, need, or corruption!

I don't know why Patty wrote this song, but it serves as catharsis for me. (I recall my senior year high school English teacher and how she adored the concept of catharsis, which is thus imprinted within me forever.) I'm not complaining about my childhood here. I'm not even complaining about my parents' difficult life; I am, however, saying that this is something that's on my mind often. We all want good things for those we love. I'm still praying for my parents, and my question to God is not, "Why, Lord?" but, "When, Lord?" Ultiimately, their treasure is in the next life, I just wish they could catch a break in this one.

Hopefully I will write about The Station Agent in my next entry. A wonderful film.

weakness

2005-03-22T22:20:00.000-05:00

I cannot help people. I cannot help anyone. When I try, I fail. God can help, I believe. God please help those I cannot.

peace

2005-03-21T22:44:00.000-05:00

It seems that lately most of my posts have been rather down and distressed. I just wanted to let everyone know who is reading that I am alright.

My faith is living, growing, changing. I am attending church regularly. I am exercising regularly. I have not had a cigarette in over three weeks. I am meeting and getting to know new people both in person and virtually. I am exploring options for getting finances under control. My romantic life is still nonexistent, but where one prospect has given way to friendship, another has already been provided, and I am maintaining an active and positive mindset.

At work today those of us who are believers gathered together and prayed because of a slew of technical and client-related difficulties that hit us today. Our attitude was definietely improved, and the afternoon went more smoothly as a result.

This past Saturday I had the opportunity to help with a Freedom Outreach in which somewhere between 60 and 100 kids from inner-city Wilmington were brought down to VCF (The Barn) and given lunch and an afternoon of fun events and activities. I don't feel particularly called to children's ministry, but I truly enjoyed this, even though it ate up my Saturday, wore me out, and I got kicked in the nose by one kid who threw a three-and-a-half-hour temper tantrum. Even he had a little bit of fun, despite himself. These kids are hungry for attention and affection. They all have different situations, but most of them seem to live with different people throughout the week -- aunts & uncles, single parents, grandparents, siblings. Some of them are allowed to come to church every week, and I am sure that the love that they experience there and at these events sponsored by Freedom Outreeach will have a positive impact on them.

Though my emotional state varies wildly, I am doing well, and I am grateful for all of my friends, for my family, my faith, and for my church and the opportunities I have to serve through it. I'm also grateful for fun. The Interpol show is this Thursday, and this is the beer I'm drinking right now.

Snapshot

2005-03-20T20:38:00.000-05:00

Today the family, minus one of my two sisters, dined at Bennigan's for lunch to celebrate my mom's 60th birthday, which was Thursday. Though it's not surprising, it is unsettling when familial interactions become defined by the bitchiest element of the family, which in this case is my youngest sister. We as a group don't have much to talk about. I dole out little pieces of my life to generate conversation here and there, and we actually had a conversation about children, attachment, and abuse because I mentioned one of the children in my group yesterday at the Freedom Outreach event yesterday. Here is an example of my sister at work in the car on the way to Bennigan's:

Dad: "I was filling up the car with gas yesterday, and I overheard an interesting conversation. A man was asking for directions to the Elkton Walmart. Another guy gave him these directions that were incredibly complicated. He had the guy going through developments, and turning at this road and that road. Then a woman at the neighboring pump said, 'That's too tough. It's really easy. You just go down this road for a while, and you'll come to a big intersection. Make a right there, then a left at the next big intersection. You'll go through one more big intersection, and then you'll see the Walmart.'
My sister: "Wow, dad, that's an amazing statement on what you think of women."
My dad: "I just think it's interesting the different ways that men and women give directions, and I thought this conversation was a good example."
Silence. We're pulling into the parking lot.
My dad: "Here's a parking place."
My sister mumbles something unintelligible that begins, "You should...."
My dad hesitates at the parking place and drives around to the front of the restaurant and says that we should just get out here and he'll find a parking place.
As my mom, my sister, and I approach the restaurant entrance, my sister says, "Dad thinks women are so stupid. He's the one who can't follow directions."
Me: "D, I couldn't understand what you were saying either. I don't think Dad was saying anything bad about women."
Silence.

Later, back at the house, my mom makes some coffee. My parents like good, strong coffee, and really like their new coffee maker's setting that allows the hot water to spend more time passing through the grinds to get the most out of the grinds. My sister and I get some coffee, and I take a sip.

Me: "Did you use tap water or filtered water in this coffee."
Mom: "Tap water. How can you tell?"
Me: "I can tell by the taste. Tap water doesn't get the most out of the coffe. You'll enjoy your coffee more if you make it with filtered water."
Mom: "Really? I never noticed the difference."
My sister pats my shoulder, chuckles, and says, "Wow, Mike, you're just a well-oiled criticism machine."
Me: "Thanks, D."

This is the first thing I've said in a long time that could even be construed as pointlessly critical. My sister is constantly making sweeping judgmental statements abou tmy parents (my dad in particular), their decisions, and how she told them so. She cannot see this.

These are just two examples. I don't really care what my sister thinks anymore. I've tried to talk to her about this to no avail. She cannot see how judgmental she is, and how her attitude is not helpful to anyone in the family. My parents don't really listen to her either at this point. If she becomes extremely confrontational, they will not let her get away with false statements and accusations, but generally they just ignore her constant negative assessments of everything they say and do.

I feel bad making this unhappy post about my family. My family used to be so normal. We ate together, went to church together, watched movies together, had family devotions together. But at this point, I feel like the family has fallen apart. My parents are broken. My youngest sister is bipolar and is a different person from the one I knew a few years ago. My other sister is married and lives far away. I wish that I could help them more, but there is not much I can do, except try to be an encouragement to my parents and my sister. I'm hoping that as I become closer to God I will have more of God's love to share with them.

I want a cigarette

2005-03-17T21:39:00.000-05:00

No tobacco for me, though.

Tonight I feel small legs around my neck, tiny feet inside my chest, hands inside my head. I see motion out of the corner of my eyes. Earlier I watched my mother cry while eating dinner. It is her 60th birthday today, but I had little joy to give her; what I had, I did. My parents are out of money, and neither of them has a job. My mother may be well enough to start looking again; she's trying. My father's trying to get on social security for his disabilities, and has enlisted the assistance of a prominent social security law firm. I cannot help them. If I knew why this is happening to them, it wouldn't help them either.

I feel as if a cushion of air that has been flying me above obsidian stones has vanished. I feel as if I've lost something I never had. I feel like an idiot. I cycle through feeling nothing and feeling crushed, feeling only for myself, then feeling everything but myself, and then nothing at all.

This post is almost entirely pointless, nothing more than steam from a pressure gauge, but I'm posting it because I must be reminded how ridiculous my feelings can be, and how I cannot rely on them.

2005-03-13T07:37:00.000-05:00

I feel like a large dog has me in its jaws and is shaking me, pausing, shaking me harder, pausing again, and so on. I do not know what is going to break or how, but I am beginning to feel at my limits. I am contending with upheaval in areas of work, money, family, romance, and the spiritual. I do not know what God wants me to learn through all of this. Obviously, to rely on him. Hopefully there's something not so obvious in there as well.

Just one thing that's been troubling me: I have been feeling pressured to reconsider my views on scripture, yet again. Lately I've been wondering if I've thrown the baby out with the bathwater, and a conversation I had last night has me chewing the cud again on this topic. It would be so much easier if I could just believe again that the Bible is the word of God. But I cannot force myself to re-believe, and arguments may penetrate my mind, but they cannot take the place of a genuine belief. So this is in God's hands. I mentioned before that God has whittled me down spiritually to only the most basic faith. Perhaps the revisiting of this issue is a part of the rebuilding process. I hope so. I'm tired of being viewed as a substandard Christian because of this.

Today I do not want to go to church because there are many things I need to do. But I can't concentrate on these things in order to get them done. I can't sit still for more than a few minutes. So I will go.

2005-03-09T23:17:00.000-05:00

Communication Part 1: Thoughts, Feelings, and Beliefs

I love communication. Exchanging ideas with other people is extremely rewarding, but communication is limited. Language, our primary means of communication, is a convention, and no two people have an identical set of convention paramaters within their minds. Translating thoughts, feelings, and beliefs into words is no mean feat, and I think it's fair to say that everyone runs into hitches and snags here and there. We add vocal inflections, noises, and body language to verbal communication in order to enhance the meaning and impact of our words, but this adds an additional layer of complexity that can both help and hinder. This is an enormous topic, and I have no idea how many books, lectures, discussions, and knock-down, drag-out brawls have been dedicated to it. With this in mind, I'm not going to try to tackle the entire beast, but rather to hit some strategic points in hopes of taming it just a little. In this rather unprocessed essay, I will use myself as an example a lot. You might get the impression that I am deeply disturbed, but I'm using myself for simplicity's sake, not as an actual example. I'm also going to talk a lot about hurt because I see hurt as one of the primary dangers of communication problems.

The ideas that we communicate can be broken down into three categories: Thoughts, feelings, and beliefs. By thoughts I mean ideas that are based on rationality, syllogisms, experiences, cause and effect, etc. By feelings, I mean intuitions, emotions, and other senses that extend beyond the five physical senses. By beliefs, I mean things that we hold to be true, regardless of physical, empirical, or logical evidence. I consider many communication problems to be a result of confusing these categories.

Sometimes feelings are confused with beliefs. This is easy to do because both feelings and beliefs have qualities that extend beyond the intellect and the senses. Sometimes it's difficult to distinguish between the two. So what is the harm in confusing the two? Let's consider the qualities of feelings in contrast to the qualities of beliefs. To some extent, everything that we know and experience is founded upon beliefs. We believe that our senses are communicating in actuality what is happening around us. We believe that we exist. We believe that things that happen have causes. We believe that God does or does not exist. Beliefs are strong and they do not change readily because they govern our thoughts and actions. When beliefs change, there is often a paradigm change as well that leads to a change in behavior. For this reason, we guard our beliefs carefully as a natural part of self-preservation.

Feelings, however, change because emotions change, situations change, and intuitions change. One minute I might feel like everyone loves me. The next I might feel like the lowest of the low, despicable. If I regard my feelings as beliefs, then I will end up making false assertions or false accusations toward people. If I am feeling unloved, it becomes easy to interpret someone's actions through my own feelings and come to the conclusion that someone's actions were intended to hurt me. When I regard my feelings as simply feelings, and I later feel differently, however, I may realize that the other person meant me no ill will. If, however, I take those feelings and elevate them to the status of a belief, then later, when my feelings have calmed, my belief in that other person's ill will will not dissipate. I am building a belief system of persecution. The result is an inability to address the real issue, leading to perplexing arguments that cannot easily be resolved, and deepened hurt within both me and the other person, which strengthens this errant belief system.

When beliefs are regarded as feelings, often the result is a seemingly fickle attitude, confusing changes of mind, and guilt. For example, if I believe that some behavior is ethically wrong, yet I discount this belief as a feeling, and I am involved in some type of relationship with someone who engages in this behavior, then the result will likely be an outward expression of not minding that other person's actions, while inside I will find myself experiencing extreme disapproval, anger, guilt, and possibly hurt as a result. The discussions and arguments that result from this will be tainted by my beliefs regarding this person's behavior, but because I think that I should be okay with the other person's behavior, I cannot say what I really believe. Once again, the issue at hand will be mistaken, and the arguments will become perplexing and unresolvable.

Other times, feelings and thoughts are confused. This type of situation seems more straightforward to me. Thoughts are rational and have reasons behind them. Feelings are as valuable as thoughts, but when feelings are treated as thoughts, miscommunication ensues. Though the result is similar to the result of confusing feelings and beliefs, I find the confusing of thoughts and feelings to be more insidious because this type of error can result in a skewed memory. If, once again, I feel hurt by someone, it becomes easy to misremember their actions and words in light of the way that I felt at the time. So when the actions and words in question come up again, I am contending with an entirely different impression of the situation than the other person. What ensues are discussions of who said exactly what and did exactly what when, with two different versions of the story in conflict. Similarly, if I feel righteous in my position, then the discussion can become skewed in my memory by this feeling. This is extremely difficult to deal with because, once again, as time goes on, the issue at hand is not addressed in my communication with the other person. The only solution I am aware of is to maintain consciousness of my own feelings and to keep those separate from deep emotions I may be feeling at the time. Awareness of the other person's feelings is also essential. When someone seems irrational or otherwise behaves in a perplexing way, it is often because of underlying feelings that may or may not be related to the situation at hand.

When I feel hurt, I desire vindication. Admitting that I am mistaken when I feel hurt is doubly wounding. I think that this is fairly universal, and it is important to recognize that when someone is hurt, I don't necessarily want to win an argument or come out on top in a discussion. Rather, the more important thing is to address the feelings and situation around the hurt. As an analytical person, it is difficult to let go of the intellectual side of a discussion in order to explore the feelings and beliefs behind someone else's assertions, but it is often necessary. I want to drive straight to the heart of a matter and determine whether or not I am being reasonable, or if I will discover problems in the other person's stance. Truth is always my ultimate goal, but love, understanding, and kindness should not be sacrificed for the sake of truth. Feelings exist for reasons and must be addressed and contended with, both for myself and others, so I must often drive a crooked road to the heart of the discussion. Sometimes the destination changes. Sometimes the journey can be significantly shortened by getting at the feelings and beliefs that are in play.

More to come...

coming clean

2005-03-06T23:13:00.000-05:00

Yesterday morning walking along the green waters of the Susquehanna with the sun on my back, the mud and snow beneath my feet, and the blue sky deep and cool overhead, I felt my scattered thoughts and emotions converge for a small space in time. As I leaned against a leaning tree and took in the loveliness of the scenery, for a moment, the low sun hit the water at just the right time and angle, dazzling my eyes and making me smile unconsciously. The simple beauty of the moment struck me as romantic.

Though romance has many meanings, I think of it as a certain rightness, a consummation of feelings and ideas that cannot be forced, a harmony of separate entities that speaks to an underlying connection of truth. As the water danced with the sun's light, it occurred to me that that was nothing special in and of itself. It needed context. What made it romantic was the larger picture -- the trees, the sky, the rough and the calm portions of the river, the sky, the time of day, and the solitude. Without a meaningful context, romance becomes a veneer, just a nice decoration. Furthermore, what created the romantic situation was not the addition of something nice to a dull place, but rather a convergence of the aspects of the place that worked together harmoniously because of the way that they had grown. Similarly, in a romantic relationship, it is the harmony of the disparate parts that provides fertile soil for romance to grow naturally. Romance is not added to a relationship like a spice, but rather it grows from and through the relationship because of what was sewn into the relationship.

Romance, relationship, marriage, and purpose have been on my mind a lot lately. It's as if I've experienced a revelation that has brought me to understand that God has brought me through long periods of being alone to show me that I am not meant to be alone.

There are a lot of negative associations packaged with the notion of needing someone. If I'm a Christian, I'm only supposed to need God. But I don't think God was talking shit when he said that it is not good for the man to be alone. This was before sin entered the picture. I definitely have learned the hard way that I am no good alone. I believe that the unification of a man and a woman is truly a catalyst for bringing the two closer to God. It is not impossible to draw near to God as a single person, but it is much more difficult. (Yes, there are people who are exceptions, but these are not the rule, and I am not one of them.)

Though some might say that I shouldn't need anyone other than myself (or God), I have come to realize how good it would be to be married to a woman who will support me when I need to persevere, who will rebuke me when I lose sight of truth, who will challenge me when I am uncertain, and who will generally complement me in areas of strength and weakness. I feel within me the potential for qualities that cannot be realized while I am alone. The issue of need is an issue of goals -- I don't need anyone else to live; heck, I could muddle my way through life without knowing God, just as millions of others have, but if it is my goal to grow close to God and to reach my potential within the kingdom of God, then I believe that I need someone with me to achieve that goal.

Everyone I know who has gotten married and started a family has been changed through it. It is true that I could go through life as a loner, living for myself with only regard for how my actions affect myself, but I know in my heart of hearts that I will never be fulfilled through this life. It is frightening to me to consider being united for life with another person because I do so value time to myself, but I believe that if I find the woman who fits the description above, I will be able to experience a paradigm shift in the idea of "me-time" and also to have what time I do still need to myself. I also know that having a family changes a person's priorities and desires. I want to grow and change. This is only an example of one area that I know will be affected.

As a loner, I've never had a desire to be married, per se. But, having been involved in a number of serious relationships, I've found that when I am with someone I love, the desire to be married is intrinsic. My mistake has been that I have not been with the right person in these relationships. I will never get married simply for the sake of getting married; I do not believe that this will bear the fruit that I hope for. She must be the right person.

Why am I making my thoughts on this subject public? Because I feel that it is the responsible thing to do. These thoughts have been rattling around within me in an unstructured fashion for some time, but I have never made these thoughts public, and it becomes easy to just sort of think about things, say, "Hmmm," and leave it at that.

Pride in self-sufficiency be damned. I need a good woman.

Edit: This is not a personals ad. I am not on the prowl, scoping out every single Christian woman with childbearing hips. I don't really see my modus operandi changing, but rather my goals in life and my attitudes toward marriage and manhood.

caught up

2005-03-01T22:06:00.000-05:00

when i was a kid, i would ride my bike to the shopping center not far from home for no pressing reason. this shopping center was L-shaped, and in the crook of the L, tiny tornados would pick up the dust, supermarket circulars, receipts, gumwrappers, and empty cigarette packs, and whirl them around fantastically. i tried to jump into the little swirls to feel the wind spinning around me, but never really got it. what i did get as i watched, however, was an impression of the helplessness of the little shreds of detritus whose existence was governed by the wind. i wondered where they came from, how they got to this shopping center, and where they would go after this. i imagined them being stepped on, driven over, thrown into trash cans, and worn away to dust. i wondered what it was like to have no control over what happened to me, and i was glad that i didn't have to live my life in such a helpless fashion. of course, i knew that the trash that spun in the tiny tornado didn't know that it had no control. (i had an odd affection for inanimate objects as a child -- i would rescue items from the trash that my parents threw away.)

what i didn't know was that my own life was much like the tiny tornado. i didn't know how little control i had over my life, because of the enormity of the world and the forces that move upon it, my own smallness, and because of the activeness of God in life. yes, i had and have some decision-making power, and when i look back on my life i can see how the decisions i've made have, in part, brought me to where i am today. but every now and then, i catch a glimpse of the tornado again from the inside, and feel myself being spun, apparently out of control, now dipping close to the concrete, now spiraling toward the sun. this is where faith realizes that the pieces of me are all in God's hands, that he will not dash me against the ground meaninglessly, nor will he allow me to randomly collide with other children in this melee -- he holds them as well.

so why the whirlwind? why the seeming randomness? maybe it builds faith. probably, like a tornado, it isn't truly random. it's just too complex for my childish mind to decipher. God, i'm going to close my eyes now. i'm going to fix my thoughts, my hopes, and my fears upon you. help me not to worry, but to hear only your voice. help me to sleep.

inside out

2005-02-21T22:52:00.000-05:00

Today my thoughts roll like marbles from past to future, through seasons and ages to now. Tonight after 12.5 hours at the office I drove home in the cold drizzle longing for a summer rain that I could let drench and melt me. I was taken back to wanderings in rain through streets, cemetaries, and woods to lie down already soaked and dirty, becoming similar to the ground beneath me, flowing with the water from my body, big drops falling into my blind, open eyes, then pouring out and down my face into grass and dirt. Later I was reminded of the bright fervency of summer, in which I've moved among trees while energized by the filligre and dappling of sunshine upon me as it shoved through hot, thick air. I walked and walked paths I did not know through lustful greenery that was humming with life, drunk on sunlight, certain it would take over the world. The smell of dirt, sap, pollen, leaves and bark diffused through my lungs outward to my fingertips and through my skin inward to my heart. This solitude always feels so pure and inviolable. Truth stands there untouched, uninterpreted. In being alone there is no danger of hurting anyone or being hurt myself. There are no needs beyond the moment. I struggle to maintain balance between introspection and outward focus. I wish that I could live only for myself. I wish that I could live only for other people. Finding balance seems like finding the spot at which a steel ball hovers between two magnets, and I am so impatient.

the source, part two

2005-02-16T07:22:00.000-05:00

I woke up an hour early this morning, so after laying around a while uselessly trying to go back to sleep I got up and did my workout.

I thought I should clarify what I wrote last night, which was really just an emotional deluge. Becoming involved in a church has been, for me, a bit like becoming involved in a romantic relationship. There are enormous amounts of passion, trust, commitment, and vulnerability that go into such a relationship. In the past I have become involved with churches only to discover that it was not a good fit. Troubling differences, little signs, and pressures that felt wrong have showed me that those churches were not the ones I belonged with. I have never felt quite the sense of rightness with any other church than I feel with VCF. I go there hungry for the Spirit, for teaching, and for guidance, and I am filled. So when I say that I am pouring myself out, it is not that I am giving so generously of myself, but rather that I am emptying and opening up places within me that I have held closed and guarded for some time. It's frightening, but this is what I must do if I am to be used by God for people.

the source

2005-02-15T23:44:00.000-05:00

On Sunday, I received prayer for feelings of unworthiness. The person who prayed over me said that the word he was getting was, "God is your true source." I felt that this is true, and I am pouring myself out, relying on God to be my source. Whenever I feel like I'm doing the right thing, I struggle with pride. So far, trivialities aside, this has been a good week, but I am waiting for Satan to come with his accusations and lies, as he always does. I am waiting to be sifted like wheat. That is the true test. I will trust in God.

Monday

2005-02-14T21:20:00.000-05:00

Monday and Valentine's Day combined today for a terrific effect. It started out, as usual, with the alarm clock, but my first bleary thoughts were, "This must be a joke." It wasn't. It was rainy and in the 40s all day long. I made some mistakes at work that caused problems and stressed me and others out. I still managed to get some work done, and now I'm drinking cheap wine.

It's been a while since I've posted. Or rather, it's been a while since I allowed a post to transide from the draft stage to the post stage because I've been struggling with allowing thoughts that are too personal to creep into my blog. So far, I haven't let them. I think this is for the best.

Though most of my weekend was spent doing nothing productive aside from chatting with friends online, Sunday was fantastic. There's something I've been meaning to do for the past month, which is to inquire with the church I attend, known as "The Barn" regarding ministries that I could potentially become involved in. The pastor paused for a second and told me that I should listen to the message. The message turned out to be partly about spiritual gifts but mostly about a new plan to develop new ministries and expand existing ministries at VCF. There is a spiritual gifts course starting tomorrow night, and I'm definitely going to attend. This is the most excited I've been about something spiritual in a long time. I truly believe that Christians are most filled with life (read: happy) and productive when we are making use of our spiritual gifts in the capacity of serving others.

Tonight I am anxious about a number of things. The wine helps, but I wish that I had some cash to go out and get some smokes. There's nothing like the calm pensivity of smoking. I went through my entire apartment over the weekend but couldn't find my pipe bag. It's been over a year since I've seen it, but I loved that pipe, and it wasn't cheap. Hopefully it will turn up.

Today my emusic subscription rolled over, so I was able to download the latest Innocence Mission album, some Earlimart, and some Denison Witmer.

not the weather

2005-02-03T21:17:00.000-05:00

These are days that do not know themselves. Every morning is uncertain; many evenings are confused. The sky may be empty and simple, overflowing with blue and brightness. It may be flat and inscrutable. Or it may be variegated and complex, strewn with color, torn and mended. It is never the same from moment to moment. The air surprises with its stillness, its movement forward, backward or around. It caresses and thrashes, fluctuating wildly between warm and cold, never predictable, never settling. There are buds and pale green shoots uncurling where seeds were planted or where seeds were strewn by chance. These tender lives do not know if they look forward to sunshine or frost, yet they come because it is what they do — they have no choice. There is rain that drenches and snow that sticks.

Worship

2005-01-30T23:25:00.000-05:00

Last night I wasn't sure I was going to make it to church today. There was snow to consider, I was very tired, and I wasn't really feeling like going to church and being social. I decided that if I woke up in time, I would go. Having gone to bed at two, I woke up at 3:30, 4:something, 6:30, 7:50, 8:30, and 9. This was enough of an answer to me, so I got up and made it to church about fifteen minutes late.

The worship was truly amazing. I only caught the second half of it, but I was completely drawn into the movement of the spirit. Everyone was singing with all of their hearts, some standing, some sitting, others dancing. I cried and cried with joy. Oddly enough, after worship, during the meet-and-greet time, I felt as if I was invisible. I couldn't get anyone's attention for an introduction or a greeting, so after some awkward wandering about and a few attempted hellos, I just returned to where I had been sitting. Then one of the pastors, who has known me for years, came up, said hello, and asked if I was with the woman sitting two seats down making some adjustments to her child's clothing. I was truly puzzled. How can a group of people that seemed so unified a few minutes before feel so foriegn and strange? Even so, I was glad that I went. We worship because God tells us to, and because we were made to do so. I believe that the worshipers are truly the beneficiaries, however.

Snow

2005-01-19T21:26:00.000-05:00

I pulled out a journal that dates back to eleven years ago with the intent of reading a bit and then destroying it. I used to write. I used to write a lot. I never intended to write poetry; I just wrote what came out and it took the form that it wanted. Now writing is like pulling teeth -- my own teeth.

Here's what I wrote on January 7, 1996. I stood on a picnic table at one in the morning and allowed myself to fall backward into the snow. Then, the snow was two feet deep; now, it's three inches deep.

a fall of faith
somehow i passed through
without breaking
the surface and it
loved me
more the faster i ran i wanted
to go down
beneath the snow
because looking up
from down there,
the sky moves so quickly

Bombay Hook

2005-01-16T05:41:00.000-05:00

Today, for a little while, I immersed myself in the beauty of desolation. In the last hours of daylight, under a complex sky falling quickly, I passed among bare trees and snarls of dormant bushes and vines, and amidst fingers and bodies of water. The air was quiet as only winter air can be, except for ducks and geese, whose corporate launch into flight echoed thunderously as I trod nearby. As I drove home from Bombay Hook, the sunset held onto the day tencaciously, and well after sunset, reds and oranges continued to touch the deepening dusk. During such times I feel most myself. These are times when thought, feeling, and environment begin to merge, and the earth seems to move with me while unconcerned for me. I then wish that everyone I loved were there with me to experience this uneventful consummation; or, rather, I wish I could lead them there individually and then disappear so they can experience without the distraction of me. There are subtleties to being alone that cannot be shared. There are stories that have no words -- only color and emotion that tumble together. There is brokenness that cannot be fixed, but must be left alone, to hopefully be healed in its own time.

from the observation tower

shearness pool

Bull's Blood

2005-01-11T22:22:00.000-05:00

Tonight I stopped by the local liquor store to pick up some cheap red wine because I wanted to drink something, and I'm trying to cut back on the beer. I noticed that they had in stock a number of bottles of Bull's Blood, a Hungarian wine from Egar. It's decent, though not complicated, and it's cheap — $5.49 a bottle, so I bought two. As I opened it, I discovered that the cork was dry, and it crumbled as I removed it. The wine turned out to be musty and corky. This happens to a lot of wines, as I understand, so I don't blame the wine, but it's still a bit of a disappointment. So far 2005 has started out this way.

The year opened seemingly well — I decided to set certain goals for myself, and I'm sticking to them, but there are some impurities that I need to contend with.

First, there's the troubling situation of my mother's depression, which has robbed her of her job and has filled her with concerns that she can't work her way through on her own. With the help of a friend I've provided her with some recommendations for counseling; she's already begun medication. As someone who generally keeps her less than happy feelings to herself, she doesn't want counseling, but my sister, my father, and I have convinced her to give it a shot. I'm praying for her release from this condition so that she can become herself again and get on with life.

Second, there's the death of my business partner's father, which has shaken him and his family up, and has inevetably caused some problems with work. This provided me with the opportunity to see my ex-girlfriend, his sister, for the first time since before we broke up roughly two years ago. Though this went smoothly, it's difficult to see her after so long, and it brings back feelings and nonspecific memories of our time together. She said while we were together that she could never be my friend if we broke up, so I have little hope to be her friend, but I'd like to be in touch with her and know whether or not she's doing well. I'll try.

Then there are my personal demons who sit on me and tell me lies, like the kid down the street used to when I was young. There's nothing quite like being unable to trust my own feelings, to have to puzzle every moment and every response out, and try to catch glimpses of truth. Feelings of being broken and empty, like a beer bottle tossed on the roadside, mingle with fear of hope and with unreasonable hopes and desires. I want nothing more than to drink and forget about it all for a while, to feel silly happiness bubble up within me, to indulge in those false hopes, and to sleep. At night I dream of debris-laden water that carries me wherever it wants, which is nowhere in particular. Right now, all of my feeling seems to have leeched out of me so I cannot continue writing.

There will be better days, when I am not so focused on myself, and I am doing good things.

New?

2005-01-02T02:20:00.000-05:00

No year arrives without the question of relolutions arrising. Generally, knowing that they're statistically bound to be broken, I make no such resolutions. I have made some -- two years ago I quit smoking on new year's day. This resolution was decimated five months later by a breakup and a trip to Atlantic City for a dual-bachelor party.

This year I will make no resolutions. I will , however, try to set a goal for myself. Yes, just one goal. I figure that simplicity is the best path to success. After obliterating my thoughts last night, I've managed to cultivate a few new ones today. It wasn't the 68-degree, sunny weather on this fine new year's day that inspired me. Rather, it was the movie I watched in my weary repose earlier this evening.

In the Lord of the Rings Trilogy, Sam dedicates his life to helping his friend Frodo accomplish an important goal. While Frodo was the one who had to carry the burden, Sam's assistance truly made it possible for Frodo to accomplish his mission. I feel that this is my lot in life -- to be a helper. I returned from Cincinnati over three years ago with the goal of helping my parents. I joined my business partner in the business he was building in order to help him do this. I feel that such is my spiritual gift, and I should be spending more of my free time helping people.

When I try to live for myself, I fuck up my life royally. I have no wife and children to whom to dedicate my life. I have difficulties with the church and with figuring out how to live as a Christian. The author of the book of James says that religion that is acceptable to God is taking care of widows and orphans, whom I take to mean people who need help in this life. My goal this year is to find a way that I can give time to helping people. This may be through the church, or it may not. I haven't yet found a church in which I feel I belong, but this goal may help.

My thinking is that it's not easy to simply live life as I ought. Resolving to do so would most likely end unsuccessfully. I need more specific goals, goals that will place me in a position to live a useful and valuable life. These thoughts aren't actually new to me, but deciding how to address them is. So here's to a new year with a new sense of purpose.

My First Grease Fire

2004-12-26T10:51:00.000-05:00

While I'm still enamored with my new blog, I decided I might as well take advantage of that fact.

I have a gas stove. I have a nice big, round skillet pan. The problem is that it is so large in diameter that, when centered over the burner, it gets very hot in the middle, and the middle of the pan is becoming brownish and overused. I noticed that the pan is actually wide enough to span two burners, though barely wide enough to cover both flames. I thought I'd try a little experiment.

With the pan spread across two burners, the bacon was cooking nicely, and the heat seemed to be distributed evenly. I'm so smart. Wow, that bacon sure is sizzly. Poof — an orange flame leapt into the pan and started dancing around. My first instinct, of course, was to move the pan away from the burners, which was enough air motion to extinguish the flame. It lasted all of about three seconds, and everything turned out mighty tasty.

So, the lesson is, when cooking bacon on a gas stove using one skillet spanning two burners, keep the sizzly bacon away from the edge of the pan.

Christmas

2004-12-26T00:40:00.000-05:00

Christmas has always been a day with a very pensive undercurrent for me. Whenever the day begins to slow down, usually in the afternoon, thoughts swell in the deep of the holiday and push to the surface. This feeling is amplified as it echoes through the empty streets, and it seems to resonate through the restlessness of pets left outside and birds in the woods.

This pensive wave lifts me and takes me into the streets I've plodded through since early childhood. The many similarities between the neighborhood then and now push the differences into relief: Trees were much shorter and could be easily climbed; houses have had additions made, or have had siding added; there is new pavement, or new cracks in the old pavement.

And then there is the forbidden area behind Scottfield, toward which my pensive walks frequently lead. I make may way down to the end of Dougfield, turn right onto Broadfield, and look left, through a wide area between two houses. The thorns and weeds have overgrown the entry point, but they are sufficiently trampled to allow passage into a mini wasteland that stretches to the edge of I-95. It is the domain of high-tension electrical wires, ATVs, random vegetation, and an ever-encroaching industrial park.

In my leather shoes, jeans, and clean jacket, I step carefully through the growth, moving parallel to a gulley that is fed by the street drains of Scottfield. Down an eroded bank, over a dirty rivulet, and back up, a little further, down and up again, and I survey the desolation that was once my favorite childhood getaway. Dirt has replaced most of the grass and random vegetation. Pond-like puddles and half-melted icy mud stretch across the scene. The tracks of the ATVs are everywhere, giving the appearance of intention to piles of trash (car bodies, water heaters, unrecognizables) strewn about. A chunk of worn wood pokes through the sandy soil near my feet, the last holdout of railroad tracks that crossed this spot 20-plus years ago. High-tension wire poles, once pristine, now rusty, stand silently, as if their presence is merely a formality. In front of me is a depression in which water from the gulley pools on its way to nowhere. Some of the kids used to swim in it, and they would always find pollywogs and tadpoles there in the summer. The water today is the color of rust.

As I explore, slipping now and then on mud that appears as solid ground, I imagine the transformation of this space in time-lapse. Watching it pass from green and wild to used and wasted, my sense of loss is tinged with resignation. Who will remember this? Even my own memories are disintegrating. There's no way back. My thoughts turn inward, and my own life spreads across the mini-wilderness as an overlay. Occasionally, I think I could return to the inherent optimism and simple beliefs of childhood. But doing that would be a step into the mud. Things seen cannot be unseen. Things done cannot be undone. Random childhood exploration must become intentional adult trailblazing. Some things must be destroyed in order to make something new.

So, where to from here? What can I make out of this wasteland life? Honestly, I'm not sure. Hopefully something that won't be forgotten. Perhaps it will even be a place where children come and play.