I've had a sore on my left ankle now for several months that won't heal. For most of that time I didn't even notice it, but every now and then I'd see it and wonder, 'WTF... why hasn't that healed yet?' and then forget about it again. Then the other night it hit me... skin cancer. I did some net research and the images I found for a certain type of cancer, called basal cell carcinoma, look very much like the lesion on my ankle. From what I've gathered so far, 90% of these types of cases don't metastasize to other parts of the body, so I'm not too worried at the moment. The main concern seems to be removing it so it doesn't leave a scar. My mom works at a hospital, and she said I could come down and get it removed, and that the lab costs would be covered.
I suppose I'll have to make some time for that. I'll probably have to miss church one of these upcoming weekends.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Persistant visits to this blog
My blog has a stat counter that tracks visitor statistics by counting the number of visits each day, what page they visited, whether or not they're returning visitors, etc. I usually get about 5 hits a day from all over the world from people using Google searches, which shouldn't seem weird in and of itself... but what IS weird is that almost every single one of those visits to this blog is to one particular entry - my write up about the star of Bethlehem as an astronomical phenomenon. This page:
http://ashfansrejoice.blogspot.com/2010/02/star-of-bethlehem-astronomical.html
Every single day, almost every visit to my blog is to that page. Visits average about 5 a day, over the course of a month, and they go back 6 months, to when I first started watching the stat counter. Some days it's as many as 20 different page views of just that one page. My stat counter page is filled from top to bottom with visits to my star of Bethlehem blog entry. It's weird.
The stat counter even shows the Google search terms the visitors used - things like 'bright star of Bethlehem', 'Bethlehem night sky', 'shining star over the manger at Bethlehem', 'pictures of the night sky in Bethlehem', 'star of Bethlehem', 'Bible star', and 'Bethlehem supernova', to name a few. It's the only traffic my page gets, except for a few rare visits that don't show any referring Google searches.
http://ashfansrejoice.blogspot.com/2010/02/star-of-bethlehem-astronomical.html
Every single day, almost every visit to my blog is to that page. Visits average about 5 a day, over the course of a month, and they go back 6 months, to when I first started watching the stat counter. Some days it's as many as 20 different page views of just that one page. My stat counter page is filled from top to bottom with visits to my star of Bethlehem blog entry. It's weird.
The stat counter even shows the Google search terms the visitors used - things like 'bright star of Bethlehem', 'Bethlehem night sky', 'shining star over the manger at Bethlehem', 'pictures of the night sky in Bethlehem', 'star of Bethlehem', 'Bible star', and 'Bethlehem supernova', to name a few. It's the only traffic my page gets, except for a few rare visits that don't show any referring Google searches.
A letter to myself
I imagine that it's tiring to hear somebody complain about the same old thing over and over again, especially when it's a broken heart. I should have gotten over it already by now. I think I should have... I always have before. I'm tired of it, just tired and weary of it and ready for it to go away. I'm only saying this to you right now because so often I just feel like I need to say something to somebody, and I right now at this moment, alone and wide awake in the small hours, I appreciate you being someone in my life who I feel like I can push a few words toward without the immediacy of actually bothering you. I'm kind of cheating really, because I hate bothering people with my problems, and I loath the idea of being a burden and an annoyance and a nuisance because of the things in my life which are actually such petty little issues and items; things which shouldn't even be worth all of this fuss but for some reason insist on being so painful, and pain is a hard thing to ignore.
If only I knew how to just deal with life like a normal person... I say that, and I immediately realize the folly of that concept, because I'm aware, at least superficially, that I'm not unique, and that other people have problems, and that 'normal' isn't something that exists on the other side of a threshold which I'm barred from crossing. Somehow though, over the past 40 years, my perception has developed so that I'm blind to almost everything except for the idea of 'self'. And as a result of being so selfish and all about me and so oblivious of other people and lacking compassion and just being a selfish jerk, I feel the need to reach out when I'm feeling all of my own personal pain. And at a moment like this... the selfish action of pushing a few words in your direction will help to make things ok for a little while, I suppose.
But with all of that said, I still have an idea that a lot of this way of thinking that I'm describing shouldn't have to be the case, or isn't the case. Maybe I'm only being a jerk to myself. I don't know. I don't know much of anything about most things, and because of that I'm afraid of almost all of the things that have to do with any of those things, which is just about everything.
'Stink think', as you've put it, is second nature to me and has been for as long as I can remember, and it's a hard habit to break. I guess I had a crappy childhood and my brain was programmed pretty brutally back then. Poor me, right? But the result in my adult mind is that I see failure as the most likely result of any attempt to actually take part in life in a way that matters. I never noticed that before now... that is, before the last couple of years; before I met Leah and discovered Orthodoxy, because failure wasn't something I ever actually contemplated as a possible thing that resulted from an action. It was just something that WAS, and it was natural, and I didn't really know that, because I had never tried at anything before; not really, and not at anything that I really believed mattered. And this matters... all of this that I've become involved with. I realize now that nothing matters but this.
But constantly imagining myself in this new place, at church with normal people, and especially in the position of... doing something in front of the choir that other people kind of notice, and that might actually mean something to a lot of people, and make a difference in the quality of their experience at church... this seems debilitating to me most of the time, and when I push through that feeling and actually DO, it's almost painful enough that I want to yank myself back, like the reflex of jerking your hand away from a hot frying pan. And that reflex makes things even harder, because it's something I have to fight, and it makes every resulting action clumsy and sometimes ugly, and a lot of the time wrong, and the resulting chaos is hard to turn back into order. All because of that stupid reflex.
And the cause of that reflex... waking up, getting out of bed, focusing my consciousness towards the activity of getting ready and stepping out of the door and pointing myself towards the direction of the church and actually making my legs take those steps down that same familiar path that I've walked a hundred times, to face my fears head on - that seemed a lot easier when Leah was with me. Everything seemed easier then. Life was easier and more hopeful. Things that seem impossible now felt possible then. I felt like anything was possible then, back when things were good with us, for that short while throughout most of 2009. And I don't understand why that should be wrong, but now I feel like I was cheating back then, and that doesn't seem fair... that the only time in my entire life that I had ever felt hopeful about a secure and happy future, an unbelievably awesome fairy tale life where I'd actually found a way to believe in God, and it was all because of this beautiful woman who loved me, and that there was this life waiting for us together in the church, and maybe even a family... it didn't seem fair for all of that to turn out to be against the rules, moot, null and void. Cheating.
I think this problem I have, this persistent sadness, exists in direct relation to my persistence with the church. Surely there's a breaking point somewhere or at some point, that the sadness will have to give up, the fear and pain will burn up and turn to smoke and dissipate, and the new life will begin?
I think maybe that getting over Leah is so hard because... it's kind of, like... the admittance fee for salvation. I never would have known the church without Leah, and Leah was the reason why I started going to church. Then, when the church became 'just' important enough to me that I wouldn't fall away from it and collapse completely without Leah, she was taken away from me. That was the payment. That's a crude way to put it, and not altogether accurate... but it makes sense that I would have to give up one item of priceless value for another. However, the funny thing is that I don't even understand the value of what I got in return, and what a bargain it was... an actual CHANCE at Love and eternal life, vs. this selfish desire for the illusion of personal happiness for a few decades... maybe.
When I back up and try to look at myself objectively and not through a lens of self loathing, I marvel that I haven't given up yet. And sometimes, just occasionally... like right now... I realize that the even bigger marvel is that none of the credit for the persistence I've shown is even mine at all.
If only I knew how to just deal with life like a normal person... I say that, and I immediately realize the folly of that concept, because I'm aware, at least superficially, that I'm not unique, and that other people have problems, and that 'normal' isn't something that exists on the other side of a threshold which I'm barred from crossing. Somehow though, over the past 40 years, my perception has developed so that I'm blind to almost everything except for the idea of 'self'. And as a result of being so selfish and all about me and so oblivious of other people and lacking compassion and just being a selfish jerk, I feel the need to reach out when I'm feeling all of my own personal pain. And at a moment like this... the selfish action of pushing a few words in your direction will help to make things ok for a little while, I suppose.
But with all of that said, I still have an idea that a lot of this way of thinking that I'm describing shouldn't have to be the case, or isn't the case. Maybe I'm only being a jerk to myself. I don't know. I don't know much of anything about most things, and because of that I'm afraid of almost all of the things that have to do with any of those things, which is just about everything.
'Stink think', as you've put it, is second nature to me and has been for as long as I can remember, and it's a hard habit to break. I guess I had a crappy childhood and my brain was programmed pretty brutally back then. Poor me, right? But the result in my adult mind is that I see failure as the most likely result of any attempt to actually take part in life in a way that matters. I never noticed that before now... that is, before the last couple of years; before I met Leah and discovered Orthodoxy, because failure wasn't something I ever actually contemplated as a possible thing that resulted from an action. It was just something that WAS, and it was natural, and I didn't really know that, because I had never tried at anything before; not really, and not at anything that I really believed mattered. And this matters... all of this that I've become involved with. I realize now that nothing matters but this.
But constantly imagining myself in this new place, at church with normal people, and especially in the position of... doing something in front of the choir that other people kind of notice, and that might actually mean something to a lot of people, and make a difference in the quality of their experience at church... this seems debilitating to me most of the time, and when I push through that feeling and actually DO, it's almost painful enough that I want to yank myself back, like the reflex of jerking your hand away from a hot frying pan. And that reflex makes things even harder, because it's something I have to fight, and it makes every resulting action clumsy and sometimes ugly, and a lot of the time wrong, and the resulting chaos is hard to turn back into order. All because of that stupid reflex.
And the cause of that reflex... waking up, getting out of bed, focusing my consciousness towards the activity of getting ready and stepping out of the door and pointing myself towards the direction of the church and actually making my legs take those steps down that same familiar path that I've walked a hundred times, to face my fears head on - that seemed a lot easier when Leah was with me. Everything seemed easier then. Life was easier and more hopeful. Things that seem impossible now felt possible then. I felt like anything was possible then, back when things were good with us, for that short while throughout most of 2009. And I don't understand why that should be wrong, but now I feel like I was cheating back then, and that doesn't seem fair... that the only time in my entire life that I had ever felt hopeful about a secure and happy future, an unbelievably awesome fairy tale life where I'd actually found a way to believe in God, and it was all because of this beautiful woman who loved me, and that there was this life waiting for us together in the church, and maybe even a family... it didn't seem fair for all of that to turn out to be against the rules, moot, null and void. Cheating.
I think this problem I have, this persistent sadness, exists in direct relation to my persistence with the church. Surely there's a breaking point somewhere or at some point, that the sadness will have to give up, the fear and pain will burn up and turn to smoke and dissipate, and the new life will begin?
I think maybe that getting over Leah is so hard because... it's kind of, like... the admittance fee for salvation. I never would have known the church without Leah, and Leah was the reason why I started going to church. Then, when the church became 'just' important enough to me that I wouldn't fall away from it and collapse completely without Leah, she was taken away from me. That was the payment. That's a crude way to put it, and not altogether accurate... but it makes sense that I would have to give up one item of priceless value for another. However, the funny thing is that I don't even understand the value of what I got in return, and what a bargain it was... an actual CHANCE at Love and eternal life, vs. this selfish desire for the illusion of personal happiness for a few decades... maybe.
When I back up and try to look at myself objectively and not through a lens of self loathing, I marvel that I haven't given up yet. And sometimes, just occasionally... like right now... I realize that the even bigger marvel is that none of the credit for the persistence I've shown is even mine at all.
Friday, December 16, 2011
An odd thing that happened the other night.
The other night after work I was looking for my flashlight so I could walk around and read, per my modus operandi. After several minutes of fitful searching, I couldn't find it. The only other possibility I could think of was that I had left it at work, so I walked to the store to see if it would turn up. Stephen and Saqib and I searched all around the registers, and I searched the cooler because I use it in there when I'm counting in inventory in preparation for ordering, but it was nowhere to be found. I finally decided to give it up as lost and to head on home. On my way out I stopped to shoot the breeze with Stephen and Saqib for a few minutes, and as I was standing there near the counter, a couple of regular customers - a guy and a chick - stumbled in, whoo-hooing and laughing, obviously somewhat drunk. Upon espying us, the two of them immediately tottered over and greeted us loudly and with celebratory enthusiasm. Then the girl - I think her name is Theresa - turned to her friend, and this is what happened:
Girl - Oh! Well, now's my chance... I've always wanted to do this, and now I think I'm just drunk enough to actually do it!
Friend - What's that?
Girl - I gotta run my fingers through his hair!
Stephen and I exchanged a kind of WTF look. Both of us have long hair, but I'm sure that neither of us knew who she was talking about.
Me - Who's hair, mine or his (referring to Stephen)?
Girl - (She turns to me) So, can I? Can I run my fingers through your hair?
Without waiting for my permission or any kind of response, she immediately started to luxuriously stroke my ponytail with her palms, and to slowly run her fingers through the length of it. As she was doing this, she emitted little sighs of pleasure and squeals of glee. I was a too surprised and shocked to do anything else except to just stand there as this girl 'oohed' and aahed' while stroking and petting my hair, like it was some kind of royal fabric of utmost quality. Finally she stopped and performed a wobbly little pirouette while laughing out loud delightedly, and threw her arms around me. She hung onto me for an inordinately long time, until finally she unlocked her arms from around my neck, slid them slowly across my shoulders as she pulled away, and gave me a very light push against the chest with the palms of her hands to complete the separation. Then she laughed again and turned away from me quickly, possibly a little bit embarrassed. After buying some beers, she and her friend left, laughing loudly and cutting up on the way out.
I have to admit to having been taken completely by surprise there. I'd been seeing that particular girl come into the store for years, and although we had chatted a little and exchanged a few pleasantries, we'd never actually 'talked' to any real extent, and I'd never interacted with her in any way other than as a customer. To me she was just another face, albeit a quite pretty one, who I recognized as one of the regular customers at the 7-Eleven where I work. Turns out that all this time she was harboring this secret desire to run her fingers through my hair. Huh. Just... huh.
Girl - Oh! Well, now's my chance... I've always wanted to do this, and now I think I'm just drunk enough to actually do it!
Friend - What's that?
Girl - I gotta run my fingers through his hair!
Stephen and I exchanged a kind of WTF look. Both of us have long hair, but I'm sure that neither of us knew who she was talking about.
Me - Who's hair, mine or his (referring to Stephen)?
Girl - (She turns to me) So, can I? Can I run my fingers through your hair?
Without waiting for my permission or any kind of response, she immediately started to luxuriously stroke my ponytail with her palms, and to slowly run her fingers through the length of it. As she was doing this, she emitted little sighs of pleasure and squeals of glee. I was a too surprised and shocked to do anything else except to just stand there as this girl 'oohed' and aahed' while stroking and petting my hair, like it was some kind of royal fabric of utmost quality. Finally she stopped and performed a wobbly little pirouette while laughing out loud delightedly, and threw her arms around me. She hung onto me for an inordinately long time, until finally she unlocked her arms from around my neck, slid them slowly across my shoulders as she pulled away, and gave me a very light push against the chest with the palms of her hands to complete the separation. Then she laughed again and turned away from me quickly, possibly a little bit embarrassed. After buying some beers, she and her friend left, laughing loudly and cutting up on the way out.
I have to admit to having been taken completely by surprise there. I'd been seeing that particular girl come into the store for years, and although we had chatted a little and exchanged a few pleasantries, we'd never actually 'talked' to any real extent, and I'd never interacted with her in any way other than as a customer. To me she was just another face, albeit a quite pretty one, who I recognized as one of the regular customers at the 7-Eleven where I work. Turns out that all this time she was harboring this secret desire to run her fingers through my hair. Huh. Just... huh.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
There's a brighter side to this...
Turn away don't be a fool,
I'm a wreck when I look mighty.
In euphoria I'm bruised,
When I'm confused I strike like lightning.
In complacence I am small,
Through oblivion I'm charged.
Turn away I'm not the one,
When bathed in sunlight I'm under duress.
I seem all polish and reward,
But when I'm confidant I'm hopeless.
I'm just like everybody else,
Right before they fall apart.
So follow my way,
when I'm not leading anyone.
I'm open and frayed,
When you can see that I'm undone.
Out on my way,
I'm only pure when I get lost.
And I'm only needing I'm finding that you're not.
So follow my my way,
when I am useless to your cause.
When I derail,
I'm calm in the patience of remorse.
I've lost my way,
Out on my empty open nerves.
When all I know is that I don't know where we are.
When all I know is that I don't know,
Through oblivion I charge.
I'm a wreck when I look mighty.
In euphoria I'm bruised,
When I'm confused I strike like lightning.
In complacence I am small,
Through oblivion I'm charged.
Turn away I'm not the one,
When bathed in sunlight I'm under duress.
I seem all polish and reward,
But when I'm confidant I'm hopeless.
I'm just like everybody else,
Right before they fall apart.
So follow my way,
when I'm not leading anyone.
I'm open and frayed,
When you can see that I'm undone.
Out on my way,
I'm only pure when I get lost.
And I'm only needing I'm finding that you're not.
So follow my my way,
when I am useless to your cause.
When I derail,
I'm calm in the patience of remorse.
I've lost my way,
Out on my empty open nerves.
When all I know is that I don't know where we are.
When all I know is that I don't know,
Through oblivion I charge.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Random encounter
I was walking to the church last night at about 7:00 to meet up with Dax to discuss the intricacies of choir directing, and I had my flashlight and e-book, reading, as usual. It was dark, and a car passed me and turned on the intersecting street, then turned around, and I heard this:
"Hey, are you the guy who works at 7 Eleven?"
"Yeah."
"You're awesome!"
What? I looked into the car, and there was a young girl driving, with a guy in the passenger seat. She looked vaguely familiar. I approached.
"Uh... thanks."
"I go there a lot, but you might not recognize me. I'm brunette now."
"Oh, no... yeah. I recognize you."
"So what are you doing?"
I almost said that I was on my way to the church and all that, but I've found that when I'm honest like that, about church and all, that it puts people off. So I said that I was just out doing my thing, walking and reading, like I always do.
"Oh, that's cool." She smiled real big. "What's your name?"
Without hesitating, I said, "Elias..." and then I regretted it.
"Oh yeah? Cool. How'd you get that name?"
Shit. I'll have to lie now. "I dunno... my mom liked the name Eli, so Elias it was, I guess."
"Cool! My name's..." and damned if I forgot her name. The guy introduced himself, and I forgot his name too.
"Ok, nice metting ya'll, and thanks."
She smiled real big. "Yeah, see ya!" and drove off.
I felt like complete shit after that.
"Hey, are you the guy who works at 7 Eleven?"
"Yeah."
"You're awesome!"
What? I looked into the car, and there was a young girl driving, with a guy in the passenger seat. She looked vaguely familiar. I approached.
"Uh... thanks."
"I go there a lot, but you might not recognize me. I'm brunette now."
"Oh, no... yeah. I recognize you."
"So what are you doing?"
I almost said that I was on my way to the church and all that, but I've found that when I'm honest like that, about church and all, that it puts people off. So I said that I was just out doing my thing, walking and reading, like I always do.
"Oh, that's cool." She smiled real big. "What's your name?"
Without hesitating, I said, "Elias..." and then I regretted it.
"Oh yeah? Cool. How'd you get that name?"
Shit. I'll have to lie now. "I dunno... my mom liked the name Eli, so Elias it was, I guess."
"Cool! My name's..." and damned if I forgot her name. The guy introduced himself, and I forgot his name too.
"Ok, nice metting ya'll, and thanks."
She smiled real big. "Yeah, see ya!" and drove off.
I felt like complete shit after that.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Figuring this out
It's amazing how much I miss her. I'm amazed at it - the empty feeling I get when I think of her. The pain is fading; has been for a good long while, as pain always does with these things... but as the pain diminishes, the feeling of missing her grows. I don't know if this is a good or a bad thing. If I were to stop going to church, forget about being Orthodox, and just pretend that the last two years never happened, I'm sure all of these feelings concerning her would fade pretty quickly. It's funny how all of this is tied to the church. It's like, that's why this is important, or something. Figuring this out. Because of the church.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Rats in the mattress
This morning at about 6:30 I awoke to something brushing against my fingertips. The mattress I sleep on is shoved up next to the wall, and my fingers were kind of hanging down in the little crack between the wall and the mattress. I sat up quickly, sure it was another one of those 'waterbugs', as my brother calls them, but to me they're just giant roaches. They attack me sometimes when I sleep, but since it's been cold, they've been inactive. I know - horrible, gross, filthy, creepy, crawly - but I'm used to 'em. Anywho, I sat up and saw, in the dim light, what had to be the biggest roach I'd ever seen. At least four inches long. But it was dark, and only a little morning light was coming through the windows, and what I'd first thought was an enormous bug LEAPED from the little crevice, landing behind this little drawered block I use for a night stand. I stared for about a minute, and suddenly, WHOOSH, the thing shot across the floor and into the closet. I jumped up and turned on the light and looked in the closet, but it had high tailed it to some other cranny or crevice. I'm pretty sure it was a mouse now, and not a giant roach. Fun, huh?
When I went back to sleep, I dreamed that I lifted up my mattress and there was a hole chewed in the side, and that it was infested with rats. I followed a trail of mattress fluff to a hole in the wall. Then I heard a voice saying, 'rats in the mattress,' over and over. More fun, yeah?
When I went back to sleep, I dreamed that I lifted up my mattress and there was a hole chewed in the side, and that it was infested with rats. I followed a trail of mattress fluff to a hole in the wall. Then I heard a voice saying, 'rats in the mattress,' over and over. More fun, yeah?
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Probably
I'm fairly sure I'll have to go live at a monastery before I can bring myself under control. I don't think I'm strong enough to be Orthodox in an uncontrolled environment; relying only on myself. I don't know how to give control to God. Maybe the way to do that is in a monastery.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Stuff lately
Where do I start? I always feel like I need to say a million things before I blog - everything that I've experienced or thought within the last few days or weeks that are my life. Why do I feel this urge to say it all? If not to say it out loud, then to put it somewhere in a form that can be communicated? I don't know, but it's a natural urge. I want other people to feel what I feel, I guess. I suppose it's part of not wanting to be alone. Is that normal?
Anywho. A month now without electricity. Water got cut off next, and most recently; gas. Now my abode provides shelter and nothing else. Well, that's not quite true... it provides the whole 'home' thing. It's the place where I go to sleep and feel secure; the place that isn't a concrete bed or a ceiling made out of a metal drainage grate. It's where the doggies are, and the candles, and the chair where I curl up and read my e-book at night with my pen light, wrapped up in a sleeping bag, with a beer on the lamp table. It's my cave, and my cave provides the bare necessities of shelter and security. That's all I ever wanted, really.
Tonight after work I needed water. The doggies needed water, the commode needed water for flushing, the cup needed water for teeth brushing, and the jug on the counter needed water; just because. Don't even ask me about showering. So, I walked around the neighborhood, shining my flashlight on the houses as I passed, trying to spot a convenient outside faucet. I finally came upon one a couple of blocks up the road. I know Matt would have balked at the idea of just walking up and filling the gallon jugs at somebody else's outside faucet; but heck, is that really stealing? I guess; technically... but I don't think the idea of stealing would be the real issue. It's the idea of invading somebody's personal space; of creeping up on their personal property and just taking liberty with it. And water is a pretty personal thing, I guess...
Anywho, Matt has been gone for about a week now; working in Oklahoma, so as long as I'm alone, I get to break the rules. It took me two trips, walking up and down a few blocks, to acquire four gallons of illicit water. I didn't get caught, the commode got flushed, the doggies got a drink, I can brush my teeth tomorrow, and the gallon jug got filled and is now sitting on the counter. All is well.
Let's see, what else... oh yeah. I fell flat on my face the other night. No, I wasn't walking with my face buried in my e-book; I was actually carrying groceries home. It was night time, I was taking a shortcut, and a branch was lying in the middle of the path. I hit that thing and went from 90 degrees to FLAT in about a half a second. It hurt. Oh boy, did it hurt. Nothing hurts worse than surprise, unexpected, undeserved pain. My gallon jug of water that I had just bought (yeah, I actually bought that one) popped its lid, and about a third of it spilled out before I could gather myself and set it upright again. My Arizona Tea and my 16 oz Budweiser went rolling in two different directions, but luckily they didn't bust open... but I had a short, scrambly time finding them in the dark and brambles. My sesame tofu flew open and about half of the rice spilled out, but that's ok because I usually give most of the rice to the dogs. Well... it was ok for me, I guess... but the dogs probably would have begged to differ. The loaf of bread didn't really break my fall at all; it just got squashed under my chest. It was my fist that did most of the squashing, actually; as I had been gripping the bag, and when I fell, my chest landed on my fist, which landed on the bread I'd been carrying, which squashed the heck out of it. It made a nice imprint of my fist, though. I was actually inspired by that to buy some Sculpee the next day, to try and sculpt something. I bought some, but I haven't sculpted anything yet.
So. Everything was salvageable, but my hand hurt like a mother for a couple of days after. And it still hurts, actually. Ow. And so does my back, come to think of it. Do those Doans backache pills really work? Why are they only for the back, anyway? Tylenol ain't just for the back. What is it about Doans? I've always wondered.
Anywho... let's see, what else? I've gone through a gazillion candles during the last month. I'm about to walk to Wal-Mart to buy some more, as a matter of fact, as soon as I'm finished with this blog post. The big thick short ones last the longest, but the tall thin ones are brighter, and cheaper. I bought two oil lanterns at the dollar store the other day, but when I light them, they sputter and go crazy, until they finally go out after about ten minutes - like they've just died after a prolonged heart attack. I'm fairly perturbed about it; having wasted the money on them... but I think I'll look for some of the regular lamps tonight. You know; the kind with the glass chimneys that don't have the handles. The kind that are stationary and aren't made out of tin. I'ma get one or two tonight. I won 50 bucks on a scratch off at work today, so I have some extra money. Not enough to make a dent in the bills situation, but enough to get an oil lamp and maybe get some fast friendly food for the fast that started today. Tortillas and bananas, and peanut butter and... hummus. And tomorrow some kind of frozen food by Amy's from the Drug Emporium. They always have that Amy's brand, which is awesome and good for fasting. And some sesame tofu tomorrow too, maybe, from Mr. Chopstix.
Anything else? Hmmm. I know there's a crapload of things I want to say, but I can't think of them now, and I don't blog so much anymore, so It's like... I have to think of everything all at once when I do decide to blog, and I can never remember everything I wanted to blog about. Oh well. I guess the only other thing I felt like observing that I can think of right this minute is how I feel really close to strangers sometimes, when I'm out walking at night with my book and flashlight and happen to pass them by, as they're sitting on their front porches or walking on the other side of the road. I'll think about how they are completely encapsulated in their own skulls, just like me, and how they're looking out on the world, all alone in their own heads, just like me, and how there are about 7 billion of us, all on this planet together, but all so alone, and it makes me feel less alone somehow; knowing that we're all in this together.
Anywho. A month now without electricity. Water got cut off next, and most recently; gas. Now my abode provides shelter and nothing else. Well, that's not quite true... it provides the whole 'home' thing. It's the place where I go to sleep and feel secure; the place that isn't a concrete bed or a ceiling made out of a metal drainage grate. It's where the doggies are, and the candles, and the chair where I curl up and read my e-book at night with my pen light, wrapped up in a sleeping bag, with a beer on the lamp table. It's my cave, and my cave provides the bare necessities of shelter and security. That's all I ever wanted, really.
Tonight after work I needed water. The doggies needed water, the commode needed water for flushing, the cup needed water for teeth brushing, and the jug on the counter needed water; just because. Don't even ask me about showering. So, I walked around the neighborhood, shining my flashlight on the houses as I passed, trying to spot a convenient outside faucet. I finally came upon one a couple of blocks up the road. I know Matt would have balked at the idea of just walking up and filling the gallon jugs at somebody else's outside faucet; but heck, is that really stealing? I guess; technically... but I don't think the idea of stealing would be the real issue. It's the idea of invading somebody's personal space; of creeping up on their personal property and just taking liberty with it. And water is a pretty personal thing, I guess...
Anywho, Matt has been gone for about a week now; working in Oklahoma, so as long as I'm alone, I get to break the rules. It took me two trips, walking up and down a few blocks, to acquire four gallons of illicit water. I didn't get caught, the commode got flushed, the doggies got a drink, I can brush my teeth tomorrow, and the gallon jug got filled and is now sitting on the counter. All is well.
Let's see, what else... oh yeah. I fell flat on my face the other night. No, I wasn't walking with my face buried in my e-book; I was actually carrying groceries home. It was night time, I was taking a shortcut, and a branch was lying in the middle of the path. I hit that thing and went from 90 degrees to FLAT in about a half a second. It hurt. Oh boy, did it hurt. Nothing hurts worse than surprise, unexpected, undeserved pain. My gallon jug of water that I had just bought (yeah, I actually bought that one) popped its lid, and about a third of it spilled out before I could gather myself and set it upright again. My Arizona Tea and my 16 oz Budweiser went rolling in two different directions, but luckily they didn't bust open... but I had a short, scrambly time finding them in the dark and brambles. My sesame tofu flew open and about half of the rice spilled out, but that's ok because I usually give most of the rice to the dogs. Well... it was ok for me, I guess... but the dogs probably would have begged to differ. The loaf of bread didn't really break my fall at all; it just got squashed under my chest. It was my fist that did most of the squashing, actually; as I had been gripping the bag, and when I fell, my chest landed on my fist, which landed on the bread I'd been carrying, which squashed the heck out of it. It made a nice imprint of my fist, though. I was actually inspired by that to buy some Sculpee the next day, to try and sculpt something. I bought some, but I haven't sculpted anything yet.
So. Everything was salvageable, but my hand hurt like a mother for a couple of days after. And it still hurts, actually. Ow. And so does my back, come to think of it. Do those Doans backache pills really work? Why are they only for the back, anyway? Tylenol ain't just for the back. What is it about Doans? I've always wondered.
Anywho... let's see, what else? I've gone through a gazillion candles during the last month. I'm about to walk to Wal-Mart to buy some more, as a matter of fact, as soon as I'm finished with this blog post. The big thick short ones last the longest, but the tall thin ones are brighter, and cheaper. I bought two oil lanterns at the dollar store the other day, but when I light them, they sputter and go crazy, until they finally go out after about ten minutes - like they've just died after a prolonged heart attack. I'm fairly perturbed about it; having wasted the money on them... but I think I'll look for some of the regular lamps tonight. You know; the kind with the glass chimneys that don't have the handles. The kind that are stationary and aren't made out of tin. I'ma get one or two tonight. I won 50 bucks on a scratch off at work today, so I have some extra money. Not enough to make a dent in the bills situation, but enough to get an oil lamp and maybe get some fast friendly food for the fast that started today. Tortillas and bananas, and peanut butter and... hummus. And tomorrow some kind of frozen food by Amy's from the Drug Emporium. They always have that Amy's brand, which is awesome and good for fasting. And some sesame tofu tomorrow too, maybe, from Mr. Chopstix.
Anything else? Hmmm. I know there's a crapload of things I want to say, but I can't think of them now, and I don't blog so much anymore, so It's like... I have to think of everything all at once when I do decide to blog, and I can never remember everything I wanted to blog about. Oh well. I guess the only other thing I felt like observing that I can think of right this minute is how I feel really close to strangers sometimes, when I'm out walking at night with my book and flashlight and happen to pass them by, as they're sitting on their front porches or walking on the other side of the road. I'll think about how they are completely encapsulated in their own skulls, just like me, and how they're looking out on the world, all alone in their own heads, just like me, and how there are about 7 billion of us, all on this planet together, but all so alone, and it makes me feel less alone somehow; knowing that we're all in this together.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
It's like, you know... stuff.
It's like, you know... this thing I've been trying to like, you know... do, for the past two years and stuff, is like... way hard and stuff, and like... you know, it's this God thing, this... you know, religion thing, and I'm not, like... you know, used to it and stuff, and like... I'm not very, like... good at it yet and stuff, and... you know, I don't, like... do what I'm supposed to do so that, like, I can be a good person and stuff, and so I'm kind of, like... you know, sort of bad at it and stuff, but it's like... still, though... it seems like I always, like... have this music going through my head and stuff, of like... the liturgy and stuff, and I, like... hear all of this music in my head all the time now, like... this church music that we sing, and these prayers, and these parts of the Bible, like... Psalms and stuff, and things that are becoming recognizable to me when I read the Bible, and I'm like... WHOA! That's what we sing at church! And it's like... it's starting to become ingrained into my thought patterns, so that a lot of the time, you know... when I actually consciously take notice, I'll realize that the song going through my head is Psalm 103 by Kedrov Jr., or the Trisagion prayer, or the 'Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal' before the Epistle reading. I've, like... sort of... hmmm.
I've noticed lately that I'll wake up with these prayers already going through my head, and that they're a background hum that constantly runs through my mind, comparable to the sound of my fan at night, which soothes me to sleep. For almost three years now I've been going to church at St. Maximus, and I've been singing in the choir for two years, and I've been baptized for a year and a half. Has all that time really gone by? Am I really this invested in Orthodoxy? Is this really, like... you know, REAL? Sometimes I wonder, because every now and then in seems as if all of this which has happened to me is a dream. It's like the sort of dream you have when you're actually sleeping, and also like the kind of dream which means the good things that you imagine might be possible if everything went your way. You know, hopes and dreams. Two types of dreams... the abstract and unreal, mixed with the longing for what is possible... and both are happening at the same time.
Then the reality of being awake and realizing that time is inexorably continuing to pass by slaps me around, which is enough to cause me considerable despair when I confront myself and realize that, in all truthfulness, I've only been going through the motions for the past three years and I haven't even begun to repent, and that when I call myself an Orthodox Christian it's out of pride, and that I'm such a sham and a faker and a self serving creature, unworthy of anything, ANYTHING good in this life, or after. However, even so... I believe, tentatively, that these prayers of the past three years are becoming a natural part of my subconscious activity... I hope. I hope that this is just the beginning, and not the end. That it starts with a change in my thoughts at a subconscious level, and that a change in my actions will follow. Because I'm such a wretched sinner, and it really sucks to think that I'll always be this way. But maybe it just takes time to become somebody different, and to repent. Maybe a change in thought is required first in order for right action to follow, and when that happens, maybe... eventually... maybe I won't fall so short of the mark anymore. At least, not as much. I think that's about the most that I can hope for.
I've noticed lately that I'll wake up with these prayers already going through my head, and that they're a background hum that constantly runs through my mind, comparable to the sound of my fan at night, which soothes me to sleep. For almost three years now I've been going to church at St. Maximus, and I've been singing in the choir for two years, and I've been baptized for a year and a half. Has all that time really gone by? Am I really this invested in Orthodoxy? Is this really, like... you know, REAL? Sometimes I wonder, because every now and then in seems as if all of this which has happened to me is a dream. It's like the sort of dream you have when you're actually sleeping, and also like the kind of dream which means the good things that you imagine might be possible if everything went your way. You know, hopes and dreams. Two types of dreams... the abstract and unreal, mixed with the longing for what is possible... and both are happening at the same time.
Then the reality of being awake and realizing that time is inexorably continuing to pass by slaps me around, which is enough to cause me considerable despair when I confront myself and realize that, in all truthfulness, I've only been going through the motions for the past three years and I haven't even begun to repent, and that when I call myself an Orthodox Christian it's out of pride, and that I'm such a sham and a faker and a self serving creature, unworthy of anything, ANYTHING good in this life, or after. However, even so... I believe, tentatively, that these prayers of the past three years are becoming a natural part of my subconscious activity... I hope. I hope that this is just the beginning, and not the end. That it starts with a change in my thoughts at a subconscious level, and that a change in my actions will follow. Because I'm such a wretched sinner, and it really sucks to think that I'll always be this way. But maybe it just takes time to become somebody different, and to repent. Maybe a change in thought is required first in order for right action to follow, and when that happens, maybe... eventually... maybe I won't fall so short of the mark anymore. At least, not as much. I think that's about the most that I can hope for.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Stomach pain... again
I was sick with the stabbing pains in the stomach again Tuesday. Then I was ok Wednesday, and today I felt sick and nauseous. Maybe it was the redline energy drink. But I puked up blood, and that worried me a little. I don't have an ulcer, so I don't know why I'd be puking up blood.
My dad is in the hospital because of complications due to diverticulitus, which he has had to deal with for most of his adult life. I've always assumed that the stomach pains I get sometimes are also due to diverticulitus, but I've never had it confirmed. I don't think puking up blood is a side effect.
I guess I'll just see what happens. I feel ok now.
My dad is in the hospital because of complications due to diverticulitus, which he has had to deal with for most of his adult life. I've always assumed that the stomach pains I get sometimes are also due to diverticulitus, but I've never had it confirmed. I don't think puking up blood is a side effect.
I guess I'll just see what happens. I feel ok now.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
A dream - a triptych
She had a baby in her lap and she was flying a plane down the highway. I don't know who they were, if they were actually anyone at all, but my love for them gave them substance and made them real, and I wanted them to escape. I sat there with them, quietly urging them on, but I was a ghost and they knew I was really very far away from them. Then the others came and told her to stop, to land the plane, to quit running, and to give up. She said that he had told her to keep flying, no matter what, and to stick low to the road, and that everything would be ok. The others were persistent though, and they said that if she wouldn't stop, they meant to make her stop. I shouted silently at her to go, go go! Pull up! And she pulled up, but she didn't give it any throttle, and the plane jerked up abruptly, and blue sky dominated the front windshield. The plane stalled and the nose began to drop, and I told her to let off of the throttle and when the ground was visible again, to give it half throttle and to pull up gently on the yoke until the plane leveled out, and then to gently increase the throttle until it was full. The ground rushed up and she gave it too much throttle and yanked back on the yoke, and we rocketed towards the sky, climbing higher and higher, until I knew that we would stall again and this time we wouldn't be able to recover. When we finally lost all lift, the plane floated for a few seconds in mid-air, and for a while there was no weight, and it was quiet and peaceful. Then we fell and began to spin violently, and the doors blew open and we were sucked out and we were all falling, falling, and we could see the plane tumbling below us. I thought, they have to get back on the plane and do like I said, half throttle and gently pull up... but I knew it was impossible, and that they would keep falling and when they hit the ground everything I loved would die. I watched as they fell, and I saw a parachute erupt, and she had the baby wrapped tightly in her arms, and I thanked God. As they floated down I prayed... don't let go of her, don't let go of her, please, just don't let go, keep her in your arms and you'll both be ok, and they disappeared into fog.
When my thoughts congealed again I was sitting at the breakfast table with Kathy in the thin fog. "So, are you ever going to speak with my daughter again?" she asked me. "Speak with who?" I replied. "I don't understand. What did you say?" The fog made everything indistinct and seemed to take the 'oomph' out of the moment. It soaked into everything, diluting reality, leaving behind an essence of absurdity with only vague outlines to describe objects and people and the passing of time. I thought the effect was funny, and I laughed because I didn't know why. I looked at Emma, and she said, "You two are silly. You love each other, but you're both too silly to understand what that means. Stop being so silly. You're not playing a game, and love isn't a prize you can win." I couldn't help it though. I knew that if I opened a dictionary, the definition of every word I looked up would be 'absurd'. I laughed because there wasn't anything else to do, and then I looked up, and through the fog I could dimly see Leah sitting across from me on a tall stool, and her legs were covered with tattoos, and she was looking down on me with this nonchalant grin. Then things didn't seem funny anymore, and I suddenly understood what sadness meant.
After that I wanted to go home to my apartment. Ed drove me there, and I got out of the truck, and on the way up the stairs, Nick confronted me. He stood before me and he laughed at me and pushed me, and said that he wanted to fight. I tried to go around him, but he wouldn't let me. I ran away from him, and he kept jumping in front of me, and pushing me, and trying to get me to fight him. I sort of remembered that we had once been friends... it was a dim memory, but I grabbed onto it, and I tried to tell him that we were friends, but he just laughed and pushed me again. He wouldn't let me go. He wanted to fight. He pushed me and wouldn't let me go and wanted to fight. He pushed and he wouldn't and he wanted, and I became afraid when I realized that it would never end.
When my thoughts congealed again I was sitting at the breakfast table with Kathy in the thin fog. "So, are you ever going to speak with my daughter again?" she asked me. "Speak with who?" I replied. "I don't understand. What did you say?" The fog made everything indistinct and seemed to take the 'oomph' out of the moment. It soaked into everything, diluting reality, leaving behind an essence of absurdity with only vague outlines to describe objects and people and the passing of time. I thought the effect was funny, and I laughed because I didn't know why. I looked at Emma, and she said, "You two are silly. You love each other, but you're both too silly to understand what that means. Stop being so silly. You're not playing a game, and love isn't a prize you can win." I couldn't help it though. I knew that if I opened a dictionary, the definition of every word I looked up would be 'absurd'. I laughed because there wasn't anything else to do, and then I looked up, and through the fog I could dimly see Leah sitting across from me on a tall stool, and her legs were covered with tattoos, and she was looking down on me with this nonchalant grin. Then things didn't seem funny anymore, and I suddenly understood what sadness meant.
After that I wanted to go home to my apartment. Ed drove me there, and I got out of the truck, and on the way up the stairs, Nick confronted me. He stood before me and he laughed at me and pushed me, and said that he wanted to fight. I tried to go around him, but he wouldn't let me. I ran away from him, and he kept jumping in front of me, and pushing me, and trying to get me to fight him. I sort of remembered that we had once been friends... it was a dim memory, but I grabbed onto it, and I tried to tell him that we were friends, but he just laughed and pushed me again. He wouldn't let me go. He wanted to fight. He pushed me and wouldn't let me go and wanted to fight. He pushed and he wouldn't and he wanted, and I became afraid when I realized that it would never end.
Sometimes I wonder if people are surprised that I'm still going to church at St. Maximus, after everything. I wonder what they think of this strange creature that got dragged into their church that continues to linger long after the fact. I wonder what people think. It's weird... I'm still there, and I'm alone and I'm afraid, but that's who I am. I wonder what's going to happen. I wonder about a lot of things. I wish I could fast forward my life sometimes, so I could hurry up and see where things lead. I had a dream last night that made me very sad.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
A front and a back, with lots of stuff in the middle.
I didn't go to that rock-n-roll party a couple of weekends ago that Matt and Olivia and Stephen invited me to. The car needs to be inspected, and I didn't want to drive it all the way to Argyle and risk getting pulled over. They offered to come get me, but I didn't want anyone to have to hassle with driving me home later. I hear there was a lot of drinking, so that worked out for the best.
Plus, I'm a homebody now. I think that my party days pretty much happened all throughout my 20's. It's funny though, I don't feel 'old'... I look at other people who are my age, and they seem like grown ups to me. Middle aged. Like my dad when I was a kid. When I look at myself, both in the mirror and when I'm reflecting on my life, I still see a 20 year old kid who doesn't know jack shit and who never really grew up. It's weird how I'm constantly comparing myself to everyone... it seems like they all have done more with their lives than I have. That gets me down sometimes, that I don't have a lot to show for almost half a century of existence; according to the standards and norms set by society, anyway. But then I think about how corporeal life on Earth is so short and fleeting - and compared to eternity, it's practically nonexistent - and I wonder why I place any importance at all in what is expected of me in western society. Still, it's hard to avoid recognizing the standards of success we were brought up believing to be important. For instance - in order to support a family in this day and age, certain things are required - such as a degree, a high paying job, good credit, a permanent place to live, reliable transportation, etc. Otherwise, it's just kind of impossible to be a provider for a family. Take transportation, for instance. The concept of the car. I don't want it. It's expensive and risky and just another thing to worry about that makes my head and stomach hurt and it sucks. Walking is much healthier, and there's so much more time to read. And if it's too far to walk, there's the bus. You can read on the bus too, you know. A book makes getting from point A to point B so much more pleasant. The car is more of a status symbol than a necessity, I think, but even so... for some reason it matters a lot to just about everybody that a means for transporting the family from point A to point B in a mechanical and expensive fashion, which negates the possility of reading at the same time, should be provided. Oh, and the idea that a woman could provide any or all of these necessities is just out of the question, retard. Why? I don't frikin know why! That's just the way it is. Don't ask stupid questions.
So here's the gist. In this society, starting a family is most likely out of the question. That kind of sucks; that money and social status are the prerequisites for propogating your genes responsibly. Since there isn't enough intrinsic value in the things I do have to offer, the whole enterprise would be destined to end in tears for everybody. It is funny, though... how at one time it had seemed as if none of that mattered, and that love was the only thing that was needed for anything to be possible. I wonder. I actually think that might be true, but it's hard to get people to believe in that kind of truth. Kind of like... it's hard to get people to believe in God. So even though a thing might be true, the truth isn't always enough.
And think of the kids I'm so dead set on bringing into this world if I had my way. Think of the kids, man! The tears of the children. My own tears as a child... huh. I remember now why I never cared about starting a family before. When I think back on my childhood, I remember a drunken father, a crying mother, a broken home and a shattered life. Granted, there isn't a lot of life to shatter when you're only eleven years old, but to an eleven year old, not a lot of life happens to be all the life you've ever lived, ever. I remember always being scared and uncertain and unhappy when I was a child. I remember feeling like I would never see my mother again simply because she had gone to work. I remember being afraid to make any noise when I peed because it might wake my dad and rouse his wrath. I remember the constant threat of getting the shit slapped out of me, and as a result, growing up thinking that 'slap' was a cuss word. I remember freezing in bed because we lived in such a ramshackle house with just the one wood burning stove in the living room, and my mom layering me with coats on top of my covers so that I would be warm. I remember lying awake with insomnia when I was eleven because of my constant state of anxiety and fear and uncertainty, and taking aspirin, hoping and praying that it would put me to sleep. I remember being so shy that I felt I was unable to know anybody, ever. I remember thinking that I was sick and defective, and that I needed a cure for being me. Finally, I remember realizing one day that an injustice had occurred, and that I'd been robbed of a normal childhood, and that I would be a good father some day, and that I would never put my kids through what I'd been through.
And finally, I remember considering all of those things and thinking to myself, 'Why would I want to even risk creating a new life and putting it through all of that, and damaging it and hurting it and ruining it?' And I realize now that it's not just an accident that my life happens to be what it is. Growing up after my mom and dad divorced, I swore that I would never be responsible for putting another round of innocent children through the meat grinder. As a result of that pledge, I've been following a subconscious directive ever since then. I now realize that I've set myself up for all of this so that I could make damn sure that a wife and kids would never be a possibility for me, thus sparing the innocent.
It's actually kind of funny, in a morbid, ironic way. For most of my adolescent and adult life, the idea of family - mom, dad, kids, brothers, sisters - was an ugly, painful, cancerous thing, and my childhood was it's abortion. I spent most of my time as an adult just not giving a shit at all about anything regarding myself. I was resigned to, if not exactly content with, the fact that I would never be anything that mattered to anyone, other than my immediate family. And we all share a certain dysfunction, so we can't really do any damage to each other that hasn't already been done. But to introduce a new life into the mix? An innocent life? The idea was unacceptable. It was too risky, and I couldn't be responsible for infecting a new round of helpless children with the virus of my unhappy childhood. So, I resigned myself to simply continuing to exist until my body ran out of life, and I had accepted that, and I never really thought about it overly much, until recently.
So why would I want things to be different now? Just because I became Orthodox? Why should that matter, considering my original reasons for not wanting to start a family? Do I not care now if I bring children into the world, and that they would be made to suffer? Somehow, by becoming Orthodox, I must have also become more selfish. I'm only thinking of myself and my own loneliness. Who's gonna take care of Ash when he's a lonely old drooling retard? No, that's not the reason why I want a family. I deserve to be a lonely old drooling retard, and that's just fine with me. So maybe continuity has something to do with it? The Davis line will end if I don't continue it. It's up to me, and me alone, to provide the progeny. My brother had his chance when he was married, and he didn't do it then. My sister? No... I think she's not able to have kids. Something got damaged in her when she was fifteen. I don't know what, but I remember her being in agony because of it, so I don't think she's able to have kids anyway... and besides, her kids wouldn't be named Davis. So, is that it? the continuity of the Davis line? Hmmm... well, that's part of it, admittedly, but it doesn't seem like the entire thing. I think that it probably just comes down to plain old selfishness. I want to be normal. I want to fit in at church. I want something in my life that matters. I want, I want, I want! Me me me! But why? Why do I want? What is it about becoming Orthodox that makes me want anything more in my life now than the bare minimum required for sustained existence? Why do I want more now? What do I get out of starting a family? What reason is there for wanting this thing now, when I never did before, and at the possible expense of and detriment to others, which is what I was trying to avoid to begin with by NOT wanting it? There are so many possible reasons...
Maybe it's not as complicated as I'm making it. Maybe it's not so much about being just a selfish bastard. Maybe it's simply because now I actually care about things in a way that I don't quite understand yet. All in all, I think whatever the outcome happens to be, that the ongoing process of all this leans more towards hope than despair.
Wow, I really digressed there. I think my original intent when I started writing was merely to say that last Saturday evening I went to The Main Event in Lewisville with Matt and Olivia. It's an arcade/bowling alley/pool hall/bar/restaurant. We had a couple of beers and played video games, and the thing where you roll the ball up the slope to land it in a hole, and the basketball thing where you try to make hoops, and target shooting, and air hockey, and pool. At one point I had set my phone down on a drink table to play Galaga, and when I was finished, I turned around to pick it up and the damn thing was gone and that was that. Since then I'd pretty much given it up on any possibility of ever getting it back, but then I found out yesterday that someone had turned it in to the front desk. Yeesh... why won't people just leave other peoples' shit alone? Why does everybody feel compelled to pick up stuff that doesn't belong to them in public places, regardless of whether it's to turn it in to a central location or something, or to just flat out muck it? If Mr. Rogers had just kept his grubby little do-gooder hands off of my phone, I would have picked it up from the same place I'd set it down ten minutes before, and as a result I would have my phone right now. Instead, Mr. and Mrs. Joe Schmoe felt it was their personal responsibility as good citizens to insert themselves into my life and create a situation which thusly formed a royal pain in my ass. Olivia did point out that if whoever-the-heck hadn't picked up my phone and turned it in, that somebody might have actually stolen it. Ok, she has a point, and I suppose I should take that into account as their motivation... however, unless somebody just wanted to be randomly vicious for the thrill of it, nobody in their right mind would want to steal my phone, because it's a turd. However, it's my turd, and I'd appreciate it if people would just let my turds be and leave them lie where they lay.
Anyway. Then we came back to Denton, and on the way back, I found a bottle of Sky Vodka in the back seat. I announced this find to Olivia and Matt, and they were befuddled as to where it came from. This surprised me. How was it that there was a bottle of Sky Vodka in the back seat, but nobody knew about it? I don't know, and neither did they. So, I took a giant swig out of it.
Plus, I'm a homebody now. I think that my party days pretty much happened all throughout my 20's. It's funny though, I don't feel 'old'... I look at other people who are my age, and they seem like grown ups to me. Middle aged. Like my dad when I was a kid. When I look at myself, both in the mirror and when I'm reflecting on my life, I still see a 20 year old kid who doesn't know jack shit and who never really grew up. It's weird how I'm constantly comparing myself to everyone... it seems like they all have done more with their lives than I have. That gets me down sometimes, that I don't have a lot to show for almost half a century of existence; according to the standards and norms set by society, anyway. But then I think about how corporeal life on Earth is so short and fleeting - and compared to eternity, it's practically nonexistent - and I wonder why I place any importance at all in what is expected of me in western society. Still, it's hard to avoid recognizing the standards of success we were brought up believing to be important. For instance - in order to support a family in this day and age, certain things are required - such as a degree, a high paying job, good credit, a permanent place to live, reliable transportation, etc. Otherwise, it's just kind of impossible to be a provider for a family. Take transportation, for instance. The concept of the car. I don't want it. It's expensive and risky and just another thing to worry about that makes my head and stomach hurt and it sucks. Walking is much healthier, and there's so much more time to read. And if it's too far to walk, there's the bus. You can read on the bus too, you know. A book makes getting from point A to point B so much more pleasant. The car is more of a status symbol than a necessity, I think, but even so... for some reason it matters a lot to just about everybody that a means for transporting the family from point A to point B in a mechanical and expensive fashion, which negates the possility of reading at the same time, should be provided. Oh, and the idea that a woman could provide any or all of these necessities is just out of the question, retard. Why? I don't frikin know why! That's just the way it is. Don't ask stupid questions.
So here's the gist. In this society, starting a family is most likely out of the question. That kind of sucks; that money and social status are the prerequisites for propogating your genes responsibly. Since there isn't enough intrinsic value in the things I do have to offer, the whole enterprise would be destined to end in tears for everybody. It is funny, though... how at one time it had seemed as if none of that mattered, and that love was the only thing that was needed for anything to be possible. I wonder. I actually think that might be true, but it's hard to get people to believe in that kind of truth. Kind of like... it's hard to get people to believe in God. So even though a thing might be true, the truth isn't always enough.
And think of the kids I'm so dead set on bringing into this world if I had my way. Think of the kids, man! The tears of the children. My own tears as a child... huh. I remember now why I never cared about starting a family before. When I think back on my childhood, I remember a drunken father, a crying mother, a broken home and a shattered life. Granted, there isn't a lot of life to shatter when you're only eleven years old, but to an eleven year old, not a lot of life happens to be all the life you've ever lived, ever. I remember always being scared and uncertain and unhappy when I was a child. I remember feeling like I would never see my mother again simply because she had gone to work. I remember being afraid to make any noise when I peed because it might wake my dad and rouse his wrath. I remember the constant threat of getting the shit slapped out of me, and as a result, growing up thinking that 'slap' was a cuss word. I remember freezing in bed because we lived in such a ramshackle house with just the one wood burning stove in the living room, and my mom layering me with coats on top of my covers so that I would be warm. I remember lying awake with insomnia when I was eleven because of my constant state of anxiety and fear and uncertainty, and taking aspirin, hoping and praying that it would put me to sleep. I remember being so shy that I felt I was unable to know anybody, ever. I remember thinking that I was sick and defective, and that I needed a cure for being me. Finally, I remember realizing one day that an injustice had occurred, and that I'd been robbed of a normal childhood, and that I would be a good father some day, and that I would never put my kids through what I'd been through.
And finally, I remember considering all of those things and thinking to myself, 'Why would I want to even risk creating a new life and putting it through all of that, and damaging it and hurting it and ruining it?' And I realize now that it's not just an accident that my life happens to be what it is. Growing up after my mom and dad divorced, I swore that I would never be responsible for putting another round of innocent children through the meat grinder. As a result of that pledge, I've been following a subconscious directive ever since then. I now realize that I've set myself up for all of this so that I could make damn sure that a wife and kids would never be a possibility for me, thus sparing the innocent.
It's actually kind of funny, in a morbid, ironic way. For most of my adolescent and adult life, the idea of family - mom, dad, kids, brothers, sisters - was an ugly, painful, cancerous thing, and my childhood was it's abortion. I spent most of my time as an adult just not giving a shit at all about anything regarding myself. I was resigned to, if not exactly content with, the fact that I would never be anything that mattered to anyone, other than my immediate family. And we all share a certain dysfunction, so we can't really do any damage to each other that hasn't already been done. But to introduce a new life into the mix? An innocent life? The idea was unacceptable. It was too risky, and I couldn't be responsible for infecting a new round of helpless children with the virus of my unhappy childhood. So, I resigned myself to simply continuing to exist until my body ran out of life, and I had accepted that, and I never really thought about it overly much, until recently.
So why would I want things to be different now? Just because I became Orthodox? Why should that matter, considering my original reasons for not wanting to start a family? Do I not care now if I bring children into the world, and that they would be made to suffer? Somehow, by becoming Orthodox, I must have also become more selfish. I'm only thinking of myself and my own loneliness. Who's gonna take care of Ash when he's a lonely old drooling retard? No, that's not the reason why I want a family. I deserve to be a lonely old drooling retard, and that's just fine with me. So maybe continuity has something to do with it? The Davis line will end if I don't continue it. It's up to me, and me alone, to provide the progeny. My brother had his chance when he was married, and he didn't do it then. My sister? No... I think she's not able to have kids. Something got damaged in her when she was fifteen. I don't know what, but I remember her being in agony because of it, so I don't think she's able to have kids anyway... and besides, her kids wouldn't be named Davis. So, is that it? the continuity of the Davis line? Hmmm... well, that's part of it, admittedly, but it doesn't seem like the entire thing. I think that it probably just comes down to plain old selfishness. I want to be normal. I want to fit in at church. I want something in my life that matters. I want, I want, I want! Me me me! But why? Why do I want? What is it about becoming Orthodox that makes me want anything more in my life now than the bare minimum required for sustained existence? Why do I want more now? What do I get out of starting a family? What reason is there for wanting this thing now, when I never did before, and at the possible expense of and detriment to others, which is what I was trying to avoid to begin with by NOT wanting it? There are so many possible reasons...
Maybe it's not as complicated as I'm making it. Maybe it's not so much about being just a selfish bastard. Maybe it's simply because now I actually care about things in a way that I don't quite understand yet. All in all, I think whatever the outcome happens to be, that the ongoing process of all this leans more towards hope than despair.
Wow, I really digressed there. I think my original intent when I started writing was merely to say that last Saturday evening I went to The Main Event in Lewisville with Matt and Olivia. It's an arcade/bowling alley/pool hall/bar/restaurant. We had a couple of beers and played video games, and the thing where you roll the ball up the slope to land it in a hole, and the basketball thing where you try to make hoops, and target shooting, and air hockey, and pool. At one point I had set my phone down on a drink table to play Galaga, and when I was finished, I turned around to pick it up and the damn thing was gone and that was that. Since then I'd pretty much given it up on any possibility of ever getting it back, but then I found out yesterday that someone had turned it in to the front desk. Yeesh... why won't people just leave other peoples' shit alone? Why does everybody feel compelled to pick up stuff that doesn't belong to them in public places, regardless of whether it's to turn it in to a central location or something, or to just flat out muck it? If Mr. Rogers had just kept his grubby little do-gooder hands off of my phone, I would have picked it up from the same place I'd set it down ten minutes before, and as a result I would have my phone right now. Instead, Mr. and Mrs. Joe Schmoe felt it was their personal responsibility as good citizens to insert themselves into my life and create a situation which thusly formed a royal pain in my ass. Olivia did point out that if whoever-the-heck hadn't picked up my phone and turned it in, that somebody might have actually stolen it. Ok, she has a point, and I suppose I should take that into account as their motivation... however, unless somebody just wanted to be randomly vicious for the thrill of it, nobody in their right mind would want to steal my phone, because it's a turd. However, it's my turd, and I'd appreciate it if people would just let my turds be and leave them lie where they lay.
Anyway. Then we came back to Denton, and on the way back, I found a bottle of Sky Vodka in the back seat. I announced this find to Olivia and Matt, and they were befuddled as to where it came from. This surprised me. How was it that there was a bottle of Sky Vodka in the back seat, but nobody knew about it? I don't know, and neither did they. So, I took a giant swig out of it.
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