Wow It's Been A While

At a conference, I took a class about self-efficacy and another about self-advocacy. The main component of both classes focused on the human soul; not in a religious manner but rather in a balanced perspective of healthy body/healthy mind. When one or both are out of whack, it creates a void that we seek to have filled with any number of things. This is pretty boilerplate stuff, but he summarized it with the following: if your cup is empty, what do you have to give?

This dumb platitude has been rattling in my head ever since. Each time I am called upon to give something, I have no exuberance for it. I acquiesce, but only because I'm terrible at saying no. And instead of giving what I have overflowing, I take from reserves.

All of this is to say that I feel drained. And it's so stupid, considering I have a wonderful relationship with the woman I am going to marry, my friends are incredible-insightful-inspiring idiots, my family generally supports my sad-sack life... But--professionally speaking--I am drained, defeated, and it is spreading and metastasizing. My ex-boss used to write down the reasons she felt wronged by her employer, and would look upon these writings when she thought "Hey, this ain't so bad! Maybe I don't have to quit!" She would immediately be filled with a renewed sense of determination.

Sometimes, if I had any self-respect at all, I like to think I would walk out of this dumbass job. Is it mandatory? No. The world would continue to spin. No one would lose any sleep over it. It just sucks to look at the bigger picture--organizations look out for organizations. People rarely come into play when decisions are made. It's an abstract, dark metric that applies to most any company. There are shades of grey; there has to be some companies that are more willing to value individuals over bottom lines, at least some of the time. Do you really have to start your own company? And then, what do you do when you have to make these tough decisions with your own employees?

My friends don't seem to outwardly struggle with this as I do. What happened to me that so much of my self-worth and -esteem comes from how I perform professionally? Why did I chain myself to this dumbass company that seems more interested in potential outcomes versus real truth? Why keep shitty staff members around while the good, passionate ones are forced out? These questions seem sort of whiny to me, and I think that's because the answers should be obvious. Money/capitalism, it's easier to retrain than retain, etc. Those are the real answers, but it would logical to me that you'd promote and help the skills of sound employees flourish over settling with a lackluster person. It would seem logical that you would address situations in the workplace before a full-on hostile environment is formed. It would seem logical that an organizational structure would be in place that encourages productivity rather than chaos. All of this would seem logical, so it is doubly maddening that not only are these things ignored it seems as though they are actively worked against.

It's some weird middle-management, Dante's Inferno-esque hellscape. Not to be full of myself but it would seem that those who hold my position at this company have A) the most responsibility, both explicit and implicit, B) the least amount of power in order to enforce or enact change on company policies, and C) the most amount to lose when things invariably, inevitably go wrong. So a staff member threatens another staff member. Others confirm that this occurred. You'd think there would be some sort of punishment, if not outright termination, correct? You dummy! Of course not. In fact, no disciplinary action happens whatsoever. What a time to be alive!

Going back to what I mentioned earlier, of course organizations will put their well-being over the well-being of "replaceable" front-line/entry-level workers. That is the plain, shitty economic truth. But again, you'd think shades of grey would work in both directions. There is a convincing, verifiable account of a staff member threatening another staff member. This can be circumstantially proved through two separate--and, in my mind--trust-worthy eyewitness accounts. But the aggressor in this situation refuses to say that it occurred, another staff member offers a differing view point (this differing perspective is bananas, too: this person says that the aggressor did not use vulgar language while threatening the other staff member. So, no swears, but the threat still occurred! Again, what a time to be alive!), and it seems as though more people are encouraged to protect shitty organizational interests (dur, don't want to be in a lawsuit that we would eventually win because dur money) which brings us back to square one.

Man. I never thought I would be accused of caring too much in the workplace. This is a job that I took knowing full well that it was thankless, paid little, and the company offered exactly one course for professional advancement--an advancement tree I have climbed to the fullest. In fact, "advancement tree" is too grandiose a word. "Advancement well-manicured grass" is a much more accurate description of the dizzying heights I can reach. Not to toot my own horn again, but when the directorship position opened up, the two candidates most appropriate for this position (myself and my girlfriend) were not chosen. Again, that's being to generous. We were not even considered for the position. No interviews. No process. A successor was chosen, and to say that she has been found wanting... What did she have to give in the first place?

Organizations, man. You can crusade for the rights of the people that work for you, the rights of your co-workers, and the well-being of your clients, but if these don't align with company expectations... Why waste the time? It's a nice optic that those around see that you are passionate about them. An advocate. But it's a dumb shell game, because there is no ball. There isn't even a lump of shit under the shell. It's all empty. You just lose every time, and there are no refunds. It digs and digs.

Plus, my cat has to go the vet and he hates that shit. He hates his carrier; he freaks out and pisses all over it. He works himself into a lather and begins to drool and make this baleful meowing that is heartbreaking. I worry, but I have to do it. My girlfriend was right: I'd rather have the piece of mind that he's okay and suffer the stupid consequences of feeling guilty.

There are positives, though. My girlfriend is amazing. We just got back from Disney World, which was equal parts amazing and torturous. I'll say this about Disney World: it is the child abuse capital of the world. If I had a nickel for each time I saw a weary parent clamp down on a four-year-old's arm and scream--actually scream--about not following the directions, I'd be rich. Eh... Whatever. I don't have kids, and that icky part of your brain that loves awkward moments is pleased. They don't serve alcohol at the Magic Kingdom, though, so watch out. It's hard to handle all that crap without a solid buzz. The best part was probably Epcot Center, which is full of mildly educational rides followed by a whole city of ethnic food and drinks. We drank some hideous Norwegian beverage ("fermented at the equator"), got bombed on Japanese sake, and drank the wines of Germany, France, and Italy. I can say I did like Epcot. I can say that.

I find it tougher to accurately and at length discuss the positive things. It is cathartic to vent about dumb stuff. But the good things? Those are mine, to share with those close. Doesn't seem the proper venue.

Well, that's about another day done at work. Time to start drinking.

Fog That Surrounds Us

Days like today make me feel like I'm home. Kodiak was always grey and rainy, and while a lot of people might find that oppressive or bleak, I always found it kind of hopeful. It's true that you can't go home again, but home can sometimes come to you. That is comforting, in its way.

Going out to work--at least on my own projects--feels alien. I work on a bunch of shit for other people so when it comes to doing what I want to do, I'm sort of at a loss. Compound that with the fact that I only yesterday hit rock bottom and decided to start living my life instead of being a passive observer in it and I'm feeling a little underwater. But I have to start somewhere, I suppose.

It was good that I reached the realizations that I did yesterday. Yesterday seemed right. It was an emotional blow to the gut, but I'm glad everything happened the way it did. Sometimes, these elaborate fantasies will leap into my mind. Everything is so vivid and real, and when things don't work out the right way for me, I alter the story a bit. "Wait and see what happens." Yesterday I learned that it doesn't work that way, and it's not a sustainable way to approach things. Control what I can control, forget about the rest.

In my personal stuff, I wrote about how I'm feeling scared for the first time in a long while. Things used to exist in a comfortable sort of stagnation; an unending slight-downward curve. Thank Christ my personal math has a zero in it. I'm not sure how much lower I could have felt, or what I would have done when I got there.

And today is the day. Cool, wet, oddly inviting. I've made a plan: flesh out my outline a bit more, firm up the drafts from last night, write some jokes. Write. Staying up to write until 4:00 am, trying to fight off the spectre of past regrets... Weird that I woke up at 7:00 this morning burning to do more. I feel purposeful again, in a vitally tangible way. Today is hopeful in a way days haven't been for a long time.

I generally try to avoid getting overly personal here. My experiences are refracted and stylized and used to draw reference to some great theme in a cosmic master plan, and that's all bullshit. Self-indulgent, self-important, self-destructive bullshit. One of the first things I did when I got home late last night, after lying on the floor and thinking of ways that I had hurt myself and others and trying and failing to find escape routes was sit down and be real with myself. Page after page of peeling away my veneered armor I had constructed to keep myself cool, aloof, distant. Apart. When did I stop being genuine? It's terrifying to look back and see that I haven't been myself in much, much too long.

This has been bouncing around my skull for so long it actually made me sick a few days ago. I'm unhappy because I was viewing myself through the lens of other people. How did they see me? How was I impacting them? At one point, I characterized it as being the main character in their lives. As if those around me go home and shut down for the night, waiting for me to buzz into their surroundings and save them from mundanity. Seriously! That is what a crazy person thinks. For too long, I have been a crazy son-of-a-bitch, and not the fun kind.

And today is the day. Cold, wet, real. Lucid. The first thing I'm going to do is stop lying--to myself, to my friends, to my potential. I'm shelving this version of myself that is comfortable with being tertiary. And yeah, that thing about being scared? It's true. Shields are at zero; I'm vulnerable in ways I didn't know I could be. The fact that this post is real, that people can read it, is horrifying. But this fear is a good kind of fear. Motivation by mortification.

And... Yeah. I guess that's what is going on with me. As soon as this posted, my outline and the drafts I wrote from last night--all for a deeply personal book about deeply personal shit, so let's just keep the painful revelations going I guess what the fuck am I doing--are going to spring up, and I'm going to feel overwhelmed in other, smaller ways. But for the first time in a very long time, maybe ever, I feel like I can face it. In fact, I know I can.

Until an asteroid,
Adam

Things I Will Keep

Getting older. The older I get, the further away I get from the person I think I am. What Happened To All The Time? There is a Christmas tree; a small one, and fake. It whirls in a quiet little circle. My cat loves it. Blank whiteboards, with reminders of impending bills. B.I.L.L.S. Hard-earned money for intangible, untouchable services. Lasers and waves beaming through space, a million miles an hour, screaming "lol" and "no, not tonight." Deflections, rejections. A rotary telephone sits atop a dusty speaker. The bass makes crumpled receipts dance and seem lifelike, the way they were when they were young. Pieces of art of loved ones, hidden behind empty ceramics. Awards for "a job well done." It's crystal, and clear, and hollow, and that says everything. Closet doors ajar just so, begging to be closed. The memories inside peek out, and reveal truths. Little tchotchkes I got to commemorate favorite pass-times. They are dull; they've been neglected. Why don't I like these things anymore? How can pieces of plastic and pewter and paper hurt like this?

A listless plant. Each third leaf is brown and cracked, thirsty. It's a beautiful, powerful pattern. Seeing patterns more these days. One lace crossed over another, the way a cigarette butt rolls to a gutter, the tree turning and turning and turning. Walking outside at night, with a breeze so cold the coat wraps tighter without a pull. It's all around us! And then, the street lamp goes dark. Stars burst into view and endless possibility is laid out before me, and I'm paralyzed. Breathes come soft but deep, and the vast potential of me and you and everyone else is so real I can taste it--metallic, delicate, electric. Alive alive alive. Reaching out to experience.

There is a meaning, a point to everything.

The bigness is gone now. Paths narrow and the movingbreathingthinkingbeing is easier; less fog. A grand-scale adventure. A world of untold, unimaginable things.

I hit shuffle, and pointedly wrap the coat around my body. Have to find a new way back home.

Until an asteroid,
Adam

The Bounds of Reason

A compendium.

Tumblr never made sense to me; I'm connected to enough social media aggregate sites that another seems extraneous. Managing Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, G+ and other feeds is exhausting enough. How much more snark can I take? One Tumblr rises above, however. And that is YUP. A buddy of mine came up with idea and executed it. It's flawless. Useful and entertaining. Much like most toilets, I'd imagine. Give it a peek on Sundays.

Catching up on movies has been painful. The summer movie season has a lot of releases I'm jazzed about in theory, but I can't bring myself to drive to a theater. The downward spiral begins with Prometheus, which I want to like and constantly try to force myself to like, but the more time I spend thinking on it the less it resonates. It was made, it is sleek, it is hollow. Calling it dumb seems cruel, but you have to pick on the weak to survive, I suppose. Why does Prometheus exist? Obviously, it's meant to be a long-form, multipicture story arc, so why not make a serialized television show? Those work. They give characters time to breath and evolve, and let the story organically grow. Prometheus is two hours of exposition with a few hints of allegory. Over thirteen episodes, though... Maybe there would be more meat on the bone. I'm digressing: movies are losing value proposition for me. When the option is movie or sitting on the couch being disgusting, the decision is alarmingly clear. That probably says more about me than film, though. Fuck it, I can have opinions.

When I look around at my best friends, almost all are married, in committed relationships, or have kids. Or worse yet, some unholy combination of all three. Upon realizing this initially, it's like a car crash and I fly through the windshield. It's brief, shocking, probably a little uncomfortable, but yes: brief. Things return to normal and it's great. The second part of the realization is "the rub," as it were: I've flown through the windshield, but now the world moves in slow motion as I wait to hit the ground. Everyone around me continues to grow up, but I'm stuck in perpetual motion. This metaphor is flawed, because the idea of getting married/getting into a relationship/having a kid don't necessarily equate to the painful death involved with smacking into a tree at 60 miles an hour, but they're close. People get on with their lives! It's not like I'm being left behind; I'm refusing to move forward. I spent most of the last few entries talking about change ad nauseam, and I won't go into depth here, but I gotta get kickin'.

Anyway, most things are good. I'm ready to hurt myself doing needless entertaining shit in softball. I'm ready to rage at fantasy football and these... interlopers. I'm continually offerring advice on shit which my knowledge would be considered "erroneous" at best. But it works, and I trudge on. Things are just right sometimes. So off I go now, to make more bad decisions and prolong necessary actions and enjoying the chaos it entails.

Until an asteroid,
Adam

Take to the Oars

While talking about heat waves and flop sweats and mustaches and tear-based cocktails and all of those things as the basis for a porno with Visser, he said something that I thought was hilarious:

We're getting a little older, man. Anything and everything does it for me anymore.

It's funny, but I didn't realize how subtly my expectations have lowered over the years. I'm not even talking about the weird shit I'll look at on the internet in order to promote... "sensory activities." That shit gets dark. Generally, my tolerance for bullshit has increased exponentially in recent years, which at first glance seems counterintuitive. Like, don't people get crotchety? Having to wait in line at the bank is supposed to fill me with a righteous fury that is passive-aggressively taken out on the teller and, later, my wife/children. The American Dream isn't what it used to be.

Frankly, I can roll with this. A friend of mine always preached a philosophy of "baby in the backseat": in her mind, if someone is actin' the fool, it's probably because of something serious like a baby choking in the backseat or something. What a hilarious mental picture! Every day, a million imaginary babies are born and painfully choke to death, I meet so many idiots. There's got to be a logical extension of this that applies to murders, rapists, etc. If you're involved in a hockey riot or something, you should be allowed to stab someone. Society has mores for a reason.

For each shitty thing that happens, something good balances it out. It's moral sphereism. Intent is irrelevant, action is significant. Making yourself happy--if you're not hurting others--isn't a bad thing. Karma doesn't apply, though. Go out and make something happen. And other times, don't. Staying in for Law and Order is okay, too.

Just not Criminal Intent.

Until an asteroid,
Adam

The Five-Year Plan

Throughout the month of May, I spent every entry focusing on the theme of "Change." Specifically, I looked inwardly and tried to find areas in which I saw weakness; by identifying them, maybe I'd be proactive in combating them. I don't know if this was a success or not--I'm certainly more aware of the areas of my life I consider weaknesses, but who knows if I'll ever address them. Who knows? Do I care enough about this shit?

It's a little awkward to look back on everything I wrote in the past month. I knew what I was doing, as it was a deliberate attempt to face some personal demons. But as someone who spent his life fighting every change at every turn, it's hard to see if any cathartic effect occurred. Until today, I could honestly say that it had not.

Until today.

There are a few things I've considered myself very good at: thinking, playing games, reading, sometimes writing, sometimes making jokes. Gun to my head, the only thing I'd say I've ever been consistently great at is surrounding myself with excellent people. I've lived my life as kind of a douche in order to meet the aforementioned benchmarks I set for myself. But no matter what, I made sure that those around me were the funniest, smartest, rowdiest, craziest, wrongest, rightest, brightest, dumbest, all-around best people a person could find. Have I had a conversation with you? Congratulations: you are among the best and most-wanted. And I really want to appreciate you more than I have.

Which brings us to June. If May was about "change", June is about "the future." In previous posts, I hinted about what I was going to change my lot in life; I recognized things that needed to be altered but didn't really offer any direct options about what exactly I was going to change in order to be happy. Thankfully, I now know what the first step I need to take in order to be happy.

I need a better chair.

A good friend of mine, the indomitable Andy Visser, has a very simple five-year plan: no matter what happens, I need to find a more comfortable chair. Andy's done the whole change thing; he's moved from Minnesota to the "great" state of Rhode Island to what must be the much better city of Boston, Massachusetts. Now, let's be clear: he is adamant about his love for Rhode Island, however misplaced it may be. But the fact remains that Andy has done and experienced some serious changes in the past few years.

I have, too. I mean, this is my blog, this is ostensibly about me. I went from living a life of wild, unrestrained hedonism to a life of controlled chaos. When a doctor looks you in the eyes and says "Hey, you may be dead in the next 20 years"--when you are goddamn 26 years old, mind you--things tend to take a sudden left turn. Not that I'm complaining, of course. Much like Hunter S. Thompson, I only ever planned on 50 years. Who needs more than that? Anymore just seems greedy.

When Andy and I were talking about shortened life spans, the topic of short-term goals came up as well. I'm sure he was humoring me, but Andy talked about the titular five-year goal and his was so simple, so appropriate, so downright correct that I had to talk about it. I had to drink a few glasses of wine and expose the sheer beauty of finding a better chair.

I laughed, too. I mean, who wouldn't? Your life has seen some pretty big changes--moving to a new state, finding new roommates, settling into the job of your dreams. Where is the consistency? Whether we like to admit it or not, most of our time is spent in front of a computer. It may be at work, it may be at home, it may be at the local coffee shop where guess what?--you aren't as cool as you think, buddy--but we are always ALWAYS connected to our computers. If you have to stare at a computer all day/for all of your free time/whenever you feel like it, you might as well be enjoying the experience.

When Andy first said "In five years, I want a really great chair", I laughed. Who wants a nice chair? We're all sitting, when you think about it. Nobody checks e-shit from a standing position. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar. But thing about it: you're at work. You're at home. You're at the local coffee shop, hoping against hope that someone asks what you are writing about. In any situation, you are sitting. And waiting. And doing what needs to be done.

There are curveballs all of the time. Almost nothing happens like we think it will. What is important is that we approach the things we can handle with some open-mindedness. Although things may look bad, whenever you focus on a specific goal, it happens. The majority of the time, we allow ourselves to fixate on what is right in front of us. Five years may seem like a long time, but when you set a goal that is reachable--a comfortable, ergonomic, and let's be honest, colorful--chair, things tend to become more clear.

Finding faults is easy. Talking about them is easier. Making a plan to fix them is easiest. Following through on them? Much, much more difficult. Having a five-year plan: one that's easy, comfortable, and most of all funny is the important part.

Until an asteroid,
Adam

Three Long City Blocks

Man, remember owls? Flying around, eating mice. Turning heads all the way around like a god damn boss.

The only reason I've ever wanted a house was so that I could sit on the roof, snagging a few brews. In my imagination, this situation involves a lot of high fives that I'm not exactly comfortable with, but home ownership is worth making some sacrifices for.

Right now my cat is jumping and clawing at some invisible creature. My assumption is that this is some sort of spider or winged bug, and that shit just will not suffice. He cornered a bug earlier today and simply sat next to the damned thing. He didn't try to eat it, he didn't try to kill it, he didn't play with it. When the bug moved, he moved. And sat. And watched. Don't get me wrong; I appreciate the early-warning system. I have some pretty specific rules RE: bugs in my house--you stay in the living room and don't come near me, we are going to get along swimmingly. You go in the bedroom? That shit is like THUNDERDOME: only one person leaves. Ladies, I'm being facetious.

I'm taking medications now. This is in addition to my love of self-medication; this is some doctor-prescribed horse shit about being "unhealthy." Why I put that in quotes I'll never know. Some tweets were posted earlier this week in which I talked about my doctor and his nurse describing me as "a fat sack of human garbage" and that's largely true. Should you get a chance, sneak a peak at the computer they use in the examination room; the descriptions the doctors use can be pretty hilarious. My previous doctor left a four-word note: "Mildly overweight but pleasant." What did she expect, exactly? Fatties are notoriously ill-tempered, but I've never bitten anyone. What would make me not pleasant? Who tells a doctor to go fuck themselves? Man, America just continues to grow on me, like a big patriotic malignant tumor. Good times all around.

So yeah, pills. My cholesterol and blood pressure are higher than they should be. It makes sense, considering my diet consists largely of booze and salt. No regrets here, but apparently some "quack" with a "medical degree and residency" thinks I need to make some lifestyle adjustments. Okay, great. This is something I can do.

Forming habits is harder than maintaining them. In my head the previous sentence appears as a revelation; in reality it simply is a matter of objective fact. People toss out arbitrary numbers--"You need to do something daily for two weeks for it to be a routine!"--but come on. The human will (or at least my own) is permeable to all sorts of osmosis. For instance, I don't drink every day for two weeks, but goddamn if my drinking isn't some sort of habit. Hell, it's a perk of the job. I don't masturbate daily for two weeks. Who has the time? But willpower can be fickle. It can be hard to pin down sometimes.

Making myself do shit I don't want to do--exercise, eat healthy, not kill my liver by drinking too much, show up to work, be nice to others, finish the half-gallon of milk before it expires--is easy in theory but difficult in execution. Learning habits (especially the bad, fun ones) is so easy. Learning the good ones, the ones that take work and dedication and perseverance and a sense of self-preservation isn't just hard, it's boring as hell. All of the males in my family have a tendency to die before the age of 50. Those who last longer are considered weak and different. This is the template that I've used to chart my life; I have 50 years. I need to squeeze out what I can. Some of the best times of my life have occurred when I've made some truly awful decisions. Why change now?

There's a certain sense of responsibility that erupts when you realize that other people want you around. I've lived my life solely for me, yet I've found myself in orbit around others. At first, this was just a kind of annoyance; one of my first break-ups happened because I lied to a girlfriend about being busy when in reality I was playing Spider-Man 2: The Game. Those who have played this game know that I was ultimately in the right, but actions have consequences and that shit is unfortunate.

But is it? Is it unfortunate? The liberation found in being solitary is profound; no drug available can mimic the feeling of being truly beholden to oneself--free. But there is a comfort found in being needed--no, wanted. Desired. I know the darkest tributaries that exist within me: the horrible, isolating, belligerent, unknown horror of my personal existence. "THE FEAR." It's different for everyone, but for me it's a close companion. And more often, I'm reminded that people see it sometimes. They see the load that it is. They offer to carry, if only for a few feet, a few minutes, a few moments. A brief existence. This is humbling and disconcerting and needed and thanks to everyone.

I never expected or wanted to live as far as 50. It's years away but just around the corner. But sometimes it's not about what I want. This is tough to learn. What I want can't always be right. Seeing what others want isn't comfortable in the least. But nothing worth doing is ever easy. Sometimes, you just need to put the work in.

It's a long distance to traverse. Repetition breeds routine; habit. Put the earbuds in. Fire up the new album. Make the walk. I don't want to be around forever. But some people want me to be around. The least I can do is oblige.

Until an asteroid,
Adam