Friday, May 20, 2016

Additional Peril! (Perhaps)

Howdy! I had to look into developing a wordpress site for work and suddenly I had this:

It's pretty much the same as this blog but on wordpress.

So, I don't know. It's not like WP is more convenient or anything. We'll see how it goes. Maybe I'll find the division in some experimentation and exploration of what each blog means to me.


Thursday, April 7, 2016

Brand New Song

It's the middle of April.

Okay, so it's the beginning of April. Whatever. It FEELS like the middle of April, in any case. The days are packed with work and meetings and deadlines and suddenly WOOSH! the weekend is here and gone and we start all over again. I have this time management problem where I have problems managing my time. The struggle is real Thankfully, my incredible girlfriend is pretty darn great at it and is helping me pick up some skills in the last two months. Now, that is not to say that my TMP is gone, by any stretch of the imagination. Oh god, no. What I have now is slightly organized chaos where I remember that I've forgotten to do something a day before I completely forget it is due. So, that's better - for sure. But the TIME... it just goes way too fast. Even trying to stop and enjoy some moments is difficult. Sure, time slows down at points, but then it does a double fast ramp up to fuck with you! Think of it like how skipping commercials used to be. You'd pause the TV and then fast-forward through the commercials. Such is life. You pause a moment and then suddenly HOURS have gone by in a flash. I'm convinced that the snooze button is the ultimate culprit of this phenomenon.

I'm not exactly sure why I titled this entry "Brand New Song," to be honest. Sometimes, I start out with a VERY specific thought in my head and then it's gone within the first sentence. Completely.

So now, for the last few minutes, I've been staring at my hands and picking at a very old scab on my right index finger. A cut. Right in the middle of the top knuckle. It's not bleeding - completely healed, actually. I don't know.

I have a Heritage Day meeting in about 45 minutes. I'm currently the Logistics Chair. Man. I really don't know what I'm doing here. I need to get me to a shrink and get some meds before I start taking on any more responsibility because the is no way I'm going to sanely make it through this year with the amount of things I've agreed to deliver. Seriously, though. I don't know what I would do if it weren't for the gf. She's keeping me grounded and being, like, a superhero level of supportive. It's incredible, really. I guess I do have a brand new song after all...

Tuesday, March 8, 2016

DANGER: There is one hour left

There is one hour left in the work day for me, currently. One full hour. Sixty minutes of the seconds passing by like molasses at the North Pole. It's a funny thing, isn't it? The perception of time. An old trope, I know, but always relevant to your life. The idea that life is passing us by because we're spinning in a circle around a circle around a circle is so strange. We try so hard to understand the concept that we have to give it physicality, right? Time PASSES us. Time HEALS us. Time STOPS or STARTS. Time begins and ends. Time runs out. Time is very active. We are always fighting against time - or we're trying to speed it up. The push and pull that everyone feels every day is very visceral. That sharp, slender, red arm of the school clock just punishing you. DEMANDING that you watch it.

Why was it designed that way? Why not make the hour and minute hand red? Why draw attention directly to the one thing that is the most distracting and frustrating. Yes, one minute is ONLY sixty seconds, but, if you've used mouth wash, sixty seconds can be more than you can bear. Or get in the plank position for your work out for sixty seconds. If you've never done these things, you're missing out. What I'm getting at here is that now, right now, I've been typing for nine minutes. NINE. That's is. Okay, now ten. Anyway, my goal here was to write, as consistently as possible for a full sixty minutes. Yup. I don't know if it's going to happen at this point, but we'll see. I mean, I really didn't have a plan going into this except for that I wanted to see if I could do it. I think I can. I'm pretty stubborn.

It's so beautiful outside right now. THAT certainly doesn't help the matter. The sun is streaming in the office windows. The temperature is about 73*F right now. And here I am. Sitting. Staring. I simply CANNOT wait to go for a walk this evening. Cannot wait. I need to be outside more. I need to get my stupid feet back in my stupid running shoes and run my winter stupid off and embrace the freedom of the run. I really don't want to go through another Winter like this last one. The lethargy enveloped me. Seasonal Affective Disorder it's called, I think. The days get dark. You don't get that wonderful warmth and sunlight that your body so desperately needs. I need to get out and run. I need to get rid of these cigarettes. I know I need to quit. Why can't I? I want to quit and then I talk myself out of it with just one more. Addiction. Fuck.

[Phone call: 3 minutes]

I'm so fidgety right now. I want to get out. I need to get out and this desk is restraining me.

Refining my diet is going to be very good for me as well. Get rid of eating out so much and drinking so much. Yellowstone in just a few short months and I need to get ready to kick its trail butt.

[Eats some cashews: 1 minute]
[Checks Facebook: 2 minutes]

OH. MY. GOD. It has been LESS than thirty minutes since I started this. I'm dying. Well, we all are. Weird and dark way to look at it really. We're not ACTUALLY dying, right? That's, like, just your opinion, man. We're really just in a state of awareness that can literally be cut off at any point in time and without warning BUT you can't LIVE like that, right? You can have, really, either extreme - literally living every day like it might be your last, OR being scared of every day like it might be your last. It's an untenable situation. So we are stuck to muddle in the middle. Swaying, ever so slightly, to one side or the other.

[Steals a piece of chocolate from Work Kate's desk: 1 minute]
[Okay, it was two pieces: still just 1 minute]

I'm going to get to travel quite a bit this year and I'm quite excited about it.

Then there's the idea of wasting time. Like we all start out with the same amount or that we know some given quantity. How can you waste time when the supply is limitless. In fact, if we're going to get all semantics on this piece here, you can't waste anything because of that pesky Conservation of Mass... theory?

[Researches Conservation of Mass: 30 seconds]

NOPE! It's a law. That makes more sense. But yeah, as I was saying: you can't waste anything, so how can you waste something that in intangible? This is... this is really going no where and I'm grasping at straws just to keep typing. Typing. Typing. Typing. Typing. Typing. Okay. That's enough of that tomfoolery. I love words. They are so much fun to play with. The way you can feel them form and then roll off your tongue when used properly... Oh man. Delicious. Truly. Now, I'm not purporting to have a mastery of the language at all. I mess up sentence structure and use the wrong words every so often. I'm not going to speak in absolutes. I've come to really dislike that. No. You don't read "all the time." That is impossible. I think, though, in the romantic sense, absolutes are elegant and heady, like a full-bodied red wine.

"Forever" takes on a whole new meaning. "Always."

And we're back at time. We need it, I suppose. We need it to make sense of the world around us and to write poetry and watch stars and be together.

[Check Facebook again: 3 minutes]

Well, we're in the home stretch. Stretch. I should stand up and type.
[Stands up to type]
This is really uncomfortable and awkward.
[Sits back down to type]
[Shit. The phone is ringing and it's 5:54: 3 minute phone call]
Okay. I hope that doesn't happen again. These end-of-the-day phone calls KILL me. I just stay strong. I cannot falter. It's been almost an hour and I can taste victory as I watch those damned seconds tick by... 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Friday, February 12, 2016

DANGER: Thought Bubble

I had a thought here... be forewarned: This may stray from any usual, ummm... well, whatever it is you think happens here. There are words, sure. But what follows? I can't even predict that.

See, I was going to write about humility and friends. How the wonderful and amazing people that are around me have no idea how wonderful and amazing they truly are. And I had this outline kinda banging around in my head for a week or so. I had really great examples for you and I felt that this would be a really nice, "feel good" kinda entry in to this litany of weird/angry/random/rambling posts. But now that I'm here? I don't know. It's not that I don't want to write about my friends! I do. And I love them dearly. It's just that, well, I guess I should have written it then and there. But no. I wanted to wait to get to an ACTUAL keyboard (see previous post on fingerslapping a flat screen) and in that time... a lot of stuff happened. I'm going to be slightly elusive here, because what happened was not just one thing that I could adequately capture in the few paragraphs that I'm gonna lay down here. Ya know? It's just...

I'm tired. I'm tired and worn but, at the same time, I don't think I've ever been happier. The juxtaposition of these clashing emotional and physical feelings makes for some interesting times inside Steve's old noggin.

Take a break from this train of thought.
Go outside. Smoke a cigarette.
Look out into the dark and feel the cold creep through your jacket.
Stare at the single streetlight and walk a little down the road.
Try to figure out the hows, the whys.
And laugh out loud to yourself and the night.
Better let the heart burn - no use in the fight.

1 hour later

Watched a David Bowie retrospective. I don't think you could call it a documentary.

1 hour laterer

It's funny, you know? Those moments when you are so entirely exhausted but you can't sleep. Like your body is fighting you to stay up? And you just stare at the ceiling. Or the wall. Or monitor.And your thoughts float there. Nothing really formed but alive, somehow. You're awake and sleeping at the same time. Eyes focus and un-focus on the same spot in the middle distance of your room. Everything is so heavy now. Memories drop like lead balloons in the back of your mind. Lungs take in not enough or too much air and shakes the body. Waking up or trying to sleep? Which is it? Close your eyes and let the sun wake you up.

Wednesday, February 3, 2016

Always something new

I feel like I'm always writing. Not here (that's painfully obvious) or even in one of my 90 (I counted this evening) notebooks that I have in my room — though I'm trying to get better at that in respect to both mediums. I don't know. I write a lot in my head. Not just talking to myself. That I REALLY do all the time. But, I see the words in my head flow out and across a page that never ends. And I craft and erase and go back and rewrite and review and it looks gorgeous. Then I set out to write it down... That's when things fall apart. The words become strange. The sentences no longer make sense and they are coming out awkwardly and in a stutter step. I can't catch the rhythm that was just fucking there! It was there! I saw it. I felt it. It MEANT something to me and as soon as I try to actualize it? Poof. And this is when I finally carve out some time to DO this. The angst and frustration that pulse through my fingers down to the point of the pencil are actualized in the deep scores that race across the page as the words start to bleed together as the lead frantically tries to to pour out every notion before its lost again. Again. And again. And again. 

And this. Smashing thumbs against a smooth glass screen is just... It's not the same. You don't get that satisfaction of CLOSING something real at the end. You don't see the details in the handwriting. The emotions that they carry. You don't get that. I feel like there's a danger in that, you know? We call this "writing" because we don't have a better term for what THIS is. We "write" comments or emails or text messages with a lackadaisical malaise because there is no effort in it. It's just plastic keys that can convey nothing but what the reader infers. 

Shit. This got dark. Better take a break and come back to this later.