Second thoughts

I'm nervous about the job.

The guy - let's call him Louis - thinks BIG, to the point that you wonder how schizophrenic he may be. Is his idea for the real estate company good? I guess. How the hell do I know? If it's such a great idea, and it hasn't been done before by those in the know, how could a layman such as myself understand its greatness?

My financial commitment would be the $300 or so that it would cost to obtain my real estate license. I'd also need to take about 75 hours' worth of classes, but that doesn't worry me. In fact, since it's all done on your own time these days (as I've been told), I can likely finish the requirements in short order. What concerns me is the time commitment. Not the 40 hours of work a week; that's to be expected. It's the full year to which Louis will want me to commit. If he asks me to sign a contract for those 12 months, I'll have an issue with it.

I understand that he'll be investing time, money and energy into me, so he won't want to see me leave during or shortly after my "training time." I get that. But hey, how can I be sure that this whole thing won't suck?

I guess I should think worst case scenario. He's promise a base pay of $2500 a month for 12 months, but potential for a lot more. Say that I only $2500 per month. Say that I stay with Louis for a whole year, then leave or get dropped. I'm one year older, with $30K and a year's worth of experience with the guy to show for it. Does that make me a better or worse candidate for actuarial jobs in early 2013?

This is a great question, the kind that I'd love to ask one of my actuarial recruiters. If only they were working this week. Damnit. I don't think I have any connections within my network that can help me either. I've tried three and they're all out of the office, likely for the week. Crap. I'm freaking out.

I can't allow myself to sign any contract today. That might make me appear wishy-washy, but hey, that's exactly what I am.

So, the question. Well, I'd asked be asked why there was such a long expanse of time between my last test and now, and I'd tell them that I worked with Louis in an entrepreneurial venture. I'll explain that he is an actuary that formed a branch of Zurich and left the business to start another company. I'm hopeful that name-dropping will help, and that I won't have to explain a lot more about what we did. I'll also have to hope that he's not known as a loon in actuarial circles, and that hiring folk will consider it a use of time that's better than doing nothing and waiting for any opportunity, which is where I am now.

Heck, if actuaries are suggesting that I take an underwriting or claims job, or even a mail room job in an insurance company, then this job can't be that bad. And I always have the excuse of needing to put food on the table.

Okay, I'll do it. Be calm, Dave. Be a journalist. Ask questions. Use reason. Don't jump to conclusions. Interrupt if you need to. Stay on task. Okay.

A wonderful week

This is the last day of the week of December 18-24, and it's been a fantastic week, possibly the best week I've ever had.

The most important part of it is that Margie and I have formed an even stronger bond than ever before, and I'm very excited about what lies ahead.

It appears that I have a job as well. Adam introduced me to his real estate agent, who used to be an actuary. In fact, he started a branch of Zurich that was bought out by another company, and his experience led him into becoming an entrepreneur. He's ready to make a bigger push in the realty market, and though I met with him to discuss help in cracking the actuarial field, he offered me a job with his company. And I'm going to take it. It'll require me to get a real estate license, but I won't be a typical realtor. I'll be using my mathematical and analytical abilities to get better results for our clients. He's offered me 30K base salary this year, along with a lot more potentially. The 30K is if we have no success at all. And hey, that's a lot more than I'm making now.

What appeals to me is that, if it fails, I can still say that I worked under the guy, and perhaps that can count as experience to any actuary looking to hire. It could certainly be exciting. The office is in Geneva and I might start as early as Monday.

My bowling game has improved substantially in the several weeks. Before I discuss the results, let me describe what I'm doing now, so that it's written down somewhere.

• Same five-step approach, though I'm starting a little left of before.
• Ball held in my gut.
• Two steps with me hunched over a little bit.
• Ball goes back at third step, possibly a little earlier than that, hand held as if I'm holding a martini glass. 
• Fourth step starts a little early. A little stutter-step, but not much. Gives me a little more time to concentrate on the spot I'm trying to hit. (That spot is the eighth board, to start.)
• A little slide with my left foot, but not much. 
• Let go of the ball a little later than before, to loft the ball a bit.
• Finish high. Let the hand reach for the sky.

These last two parts are what I think has made a big difference. For some reason, I'm able to control my lofting well, as it feels more natural. And it helps with the curve of the ball. The ball goes as if it's going to hit the 6-10, then makes its move, and it's been hitting the 1-3 pocket at a six-degree angle.

So how good have I been at bowling lately? Well, I've had three goals in bowling, which I know I've written in some form or other.

1. Bowl a clean game, meaning no open frames.
2. Break Digger's high score of 233.
3. Bowl a 600 series.

I've accomplished all of these in the last week. I was antsy Monday night and decided to hit the lanes for some practice games. Planning for six games, I got better as the night went on, and in my sixth game, I had a clean game going into the tenth frame. What looked to be a good strike ball left a standing seven-pin, the shot I'd made all night long. Sure enough, I missed it when it really mattered. I couldn't help but be outwardly upset, cursing a few times and pounding the table. But, hey, I'm bowling well and games are only a buck. I'll bowl two more. The next game was clean. It only had three strikes and was a 191, but I made every spare.

Fueled by this, I bowled at league the next night and opened with a 231, my new high score. Opening with six consecutive strikes helps. I had two opens that game, both splits. My next game was a 220 and my second clean game of my life, less than 24 hours after my first one. Knowing that I needed a 149 for my first 600 series, I stayed composed and had it wrapped up early. Despite three open frames in the last four frames - a continuing problem late in the night that may be alleviated if I start lifting weights, running or drinking coffee - the third game was a 190, giving me a series of 641.

That 231 was oh-so-close to Digger's high. Tantalizingly so. But oh well. You can't expect to achieve all of your goals in such a short span.

But yesterday I went on my own. I could only afford five games. The first was pretty low but I slowly got back in the groove, and my fourth game started with six strikes, then four spares, and a strike at the end. Final score: 242. Holy crap! I bowled a 242! X X X X X X 6/ 9/ 8/ 9/X. My third clean game in less than 100 hours, when I never did it in 40 prior years.

This 242 was not in league, though I did it on two lanes. I made sure to get a print-out of the game, scan it as a .pdf file, and e-mail it to Digger. He has yet to respond, undoubtedly crushed by the news.

You know, maybe, just maybe, I could sniff 300 someday. The pressure would be enormous, and I'll probably have to get close but fail a bunch of times before succeeding, much as I did for my first clean game.

Combine it with last week's league scores of 216-213-158, and I've been on quiet a roll. Two weeks ago, my average was not quite 160. I'd say that I'm a 180 bowler right now. I believe I'll bowl over 180 as often as I bowl under it in the future.

I still remember two guys laughing at my third game score of 115 when I first bowled in this league. They weren't laughing at me per se, but at a low score in a good league. That very team was a fun group of guys when we bowled them last week and were complimentary of us.

Anyway, bowling right now is fun, and I'm proud of myself for accomplishing my goals. Now it's time to set some new ones. Maybe more than six strikes in a row in one game? Improved "pins per first ball" average? Continued improvement with my third game, by not tiring and recognizing the changing lane conditions?

A great week, and this is before tonight, when Margie will meet the Zahrobskys for the first time. My mother has one sibling, and for reasons somewhat unknown to me, she no longer talks to them. Since this happened around the time Margie and I started dating, she's never seen them.

A few months back, I decided to visit Kim (the middle child) at her workplace. Why? Because no one actually did it. We'd talk about seeing each other, either Kim or Kris, the oldest boy, but would never go through with it. So I did it, and it was a neat moment. Based on that, I asked Kim if we could visit tonight, when their family has a Christmas Eve party, as they've done for decades and was the source of many happy memories of my youth. She checked it out and gave me the okay to come over tonight at 7:00.

Maybe the week won't seem as cheerful later this evening; it might go poorly, as my last visit to the Z's went. But either way, Margie will learn something new about me and my past. A great week, which will hopefully become the norm and not the exception.

Merry Christmas! (I mostly say this over "Happy Holidays" because Christians are more offended to hear "Happy Holidays" than non-Christians are to hear "Merry Christmas." Sad, isn't it?)

Privacy

I haven't posted here in a while because I have very personal and private thoughts, thoughts that only my wife would be allowed to see. And not all of them could she see at that. So, even though this blog is about as anonymous as possible, I'm not going to post here as often.

Still, this blog has served a purpose. I has allowed me to use my once-powerful (sorta) literary skill to express my thoughts and feelings of the present. I'll continue to do just that, but in a journal instead.

Maybe I should return this blog to a place for my art. Perhaps soon. But not now.

Merry Christmas!

Margie

My wife is the most wonderful person in the world. I love her with all that I have, and I will be stay with her for the rest of my days.

There are things that we cannot control, but they don't matter. It's what we can control that truly affects us.

A downer dog, I am

I feel positively shitty today. On a scale of 1 to 10, the scale can kiss my ass.

There's no little that's right in my life. Of course, I'm very happy with my shared spousal love. Margie's great. But so many other things are in bad shape.

We're holding out hope at starting a family, but it's not looking good. At least today it doesn't. Margie has faith, and I've had more faith lately than I'm used to having, but it's not there today. Meanwhile, younger and irresponsible people are getting pregnant and either aborting their babies or having them and not being nurturing parents. A person in the know told me that every American baby in need of a family is getting it. Is having a nine-month pregnancy so difficult that it will overcompensate for the eternal joy a baby can give an adopting couple?

I'll likely have lots of little thoughts today. It would be cool if I filled up this entry, so that it takes up an entire page and that one would have to hit the "older posts" link to see any other entries. Not that anyone's looking anyway.

And that's fine. It's actually preferable. You don't know me. Hell, nobody knows me. The number of people of which I have weekly contact is very small.

Margie. Mom and Dad. Roger, Victor and Rob from my bowling team. Karen from LTC. Kip. And that's about it. Oh, my analyst Tom.

No one asks how I'm doing. No one fucking cares. Of course my wife does, and she genuinely cares. Too often, it feels as if her and I are in a different world than the rest of the world, and that we are shadows. Are we ghosts?

I can't find a job. I happened to pick the worst employment climate for actuaries as the time I wished to become an actuary. For all I know, I've been blacklisted out of teaching, though I never received a negative report. If only I were the type that had no ego and would be willing to work at Starbucks. But nope, I think I'm this special person that has graduated from that stage of my life. Bullshit. I haven't gone anywhere. I'm retarded, and I mean that in the proper definition. I haven't grown up.

Last night, I went to a wake. Mary Ann was a cousin of my father's. She didn't have that good of a life and raised a boy that tormented her recently, including physical abuse. He's one fucked up guy, and he forced his own mother to suffer.

On the TV screen positioned in the back of the room at the funeral hall, there was a picture of Mary Ann with my father's sisters (Rita and Diane) and George and Virginia, a nice couple that married young and stayed married well into their '90s. The picture could've been taken as recently as two years. Now, only George remains. Now my uncle Bill is in bad shape and won't make it past another few months.

Everybody around my family of that generation, apart from my own parents, are dying. Both of my parents smoke and don't take to exercise. They still take care of my brother, who's autism will prevent him from ever being self-supportive. The entire world's aging and dying, and here I am, sitting and cracking my knuckles, as if I've still got time. But I have no time at all. My time has already passed to make a positive impression on the world. I'm a waste of whatever potential I thought I had.

I can't concentrate. There's always a song playing in my head. It's not the same song, like "Alfie," which sang in my dad's head for years. (That's not a bad song, by the way. I love the piano arpeggio near the end.) It's a little jukebox that I can't turn off. No wonder I have tinnitus; the music's coming out of my ears and won't stop playing.

What else sucks, let's see: well, my band's completely done, and nobody talks to each other anymore. Dave, the bass player, WAS a good friend of mine but doesn't bother contacting me anymore. I'll give him a break, as he's busy with a new job that's hellish. Still, I can't feel too bad for him. He's got a supportive wife, two lovely daughters that obey them, and he gets away with adultery on the side.

I was going to write about something really person, but I censored myself. Venting my spleen isn't helping that much.

I'm very tired of feeling sorry for myself. Would it help if I counted my blessings, the things in my life that are good?

1. I have my health. Not that I'm perfectly healthy, but there's nothing about to shorten my life or even my enjoyment of life that's known.
2. I live in a nice house, with plenty of room, and a great backyard with two cherry trees that nicely hold a hammock.
3. Margie.
4. My parents and brother are doing okay.
5. I have an ability to make great impressions. I can be attractive at times to certain people. 
6. Not many people can play drums and sing at the same time, and be willing to do it live in front of others. And of those people, how many can also play guitar and even write a song every now and then? Or be willing to record themselves and put them on YouTube? That's gutsy and can only be done by someone with a good amount of self-confidence, no matter how crumby and insecure he may feel at times. 
7. I've experienced several different careers, and because of that, I have a wisdom that one-career people may not possess.
8. Since I'm in Mensa, I must have something good between the ears.
9. I still have my hair, though it's pretty gray on the sides, and no bald spot is present. 
10. I come up with some pretty creative things. While it's true that I crave accolades from others and am sad if I don't get them, I'm aware of this fact and know that congratulations from others is not as important as fulfilling my own ability and taking pride in what I achieve.
11. At times, I have a quick wit and can make others laugh.
12. For someone that doesn't exercise much, I appear to be strong. 
13. I was able to teach myself Financial Math to the point of passing an actuarial exam, all with no human interaction. Just a book, an on-line question bank, and my own determination, intelligence and fortitude. (I may have done the same with Life Contingency Models, but we have to wait another month on that one.
14. I'm selfless to a certain extent. I enjoy helping others.
15. I find myself looking out for those who are disadvantaged. 

Well, I wanted to get to 20, but 15's not bad. After doing a little job-hunting and productive brainstorming on the job hunt, I have another.

16.  I have the power to change my emotions, from negative to positive.

Why I'd want to go the other way is beyond me, but I do it anyway. A lot. 

WTV?

VEE stands for Validation by Educational Experience. It's a bunch more stuff I'll have to pass before I get my ASA designation. There are three rigors necessary: applied statistics, economics and finance. And I have none of the three.

My Allstate contact suggested that I look into banging them out during this time. But man, it won't be cheap. Though I won't have to re-enroll in college, I'll likely have to take an on-line course. The three combined look to cost two grand. Yikes! Might I be able to take the exam and just study on my own? Not sure. Maybe a course would be better for me anyway.

I guess that employers really don't care too much about VEE; they're only interested in SOA exams and experience. So I should concentrate on landing that experience part first.

Gotta run to have lunch with Galen, an old semi-friend from high school who's very hard not to like. But I wanted to get this down before I split.

Hurdles

My difficulties have been taking a toll on Margie. Today, she got to see me get in a panic, curse a little, and say nasty things to myself as I was frustrated over having to compete for a small number of jobs against people half my age and with an internship's worth of experience (compared to none for me). She's been going through difficulties as well and says that she needs me to be strong. And right now, I do feel strong. But that was after a nap. Most every day, according to her, I've had less-than-stellar moments that have hurt her.

I certainly don't want to hurt her. But I feel powerless when these moments come on. Am I supposed to hide them from her? I mean, if I can't share my frustration with her, with whom can I share them? This board?

For the record: I've never laid an angry hand on her and never will. Not my style. My life record says the opposite; I'll go as passive as possible when issues arise.

I know better than to hurt those that I truly love. Of course, I have been hurting her. But I don't know exactly how to control myself at those times. (I bet spousal abusers say the same thing.)

Right now, I think about the punching body bag in my parents' basement, and how it's mine, and how I have absolutely nowhere to put it. That would be a great place to take out my negative energy. My basement's great and could be my sanctuary, but why can't it provide for me here?

Am I supposed to blame my Dad for these issues? My mom? Society? Steve Carlson? My brother? Jim Streczek (sp)? Pam and Zim? The principals at my last two jobs? I'm flummoxed. I need more help. The acupuncture may be working. At the very least, it represents my desire to connect with my inner self. The therapy may also be working, though I don't see how a better relationship with my father will help much, especially since he already acknowledged his unawareness of my social crises of youth. Yoga? Exercise? Intimacy? Grass? Meditation? Booze?

Someone's holding me back. It's me, isn't it?

Something else to remember

I think that a big hurdle I have in my job pursuits is that companies will think that I have a higher salary expectation. While I certainly wouldn't turn down more money, it's not as if I have to be making a lot. What I think I'll say that I'd like a salary commensurate with my experience. I don't expect to make any more than a recent college graduate with 2-3 exams completed and little experience in the field.

Many things in my head from this search, most of them unpleasant. I'm rather panic-stricken.

Pavement hitting, part 1

I have a daunting task in front of me, and that is to find a job in the actuarial field. I've actually had this task for a while, but I didn't attack the goal very strongly while studying for the MLC exam. Now, while I have to wait to find out the results, I must job-search.

There are a couple of actuarial recruiters out there. One letter from DW Simpson discouraged me enough to get behind on my studying: I shouldn't have had 11 months between my 2nd and 3rd exams, but what they told me - unless you're willing to live anywhere in the country, you don't have a shot - slowed down my pursuit. Only a nice visit to the actuarial conference picked up my spirits.

A few interviews later, I'm still worried. But what choice do I have? Margie's been feeling the pressure of picking up lots of overtime and knowing that she MUST continue to work. She'd like for me to start tutoring again, but I can only get those gigs when she's at home, and I don't want to lose quality time with her. It would be nice if I could pick up a couple of local students, meet them right after school, and still be able to pick up Margie at the train station around 5:30. But I had no success getting local kids when I put up lots of posters. Why would I be more successful now?

So it's Thanksgiving week. A short work week. I should use this day and the next to prepare for my onslaught.

About six months, I made up a spreadsheet of contacts from local insurance companies and consulting firms. The names I acquired from the Society of Actuaries' directory. I sent each contact (about 200 of them!) a somewhat-personalized e-mail, explaining my situation and asking for advice. About 10-15% of them wrote back, most with helpful insight. It got me a couple of interviews, but the phone-screening with Coventry didn't go well (wish I hadn't called when I did) and the Allstate interview, despite feeling good, wasn't good enough. (I've since had a phone screening with CVS Caremark, which didn't lead to anything more.)

What I think I should do at this point is update that letter and send it to different contacts in the companies that didn't write me back. For most of those companies, there wasn't an obvious single point of contact, so why not try another one? For companies that did contact me back, write them again, let them know that I took the third exam, and ask if there are any open slots now. This is what I'll do first, as most of those original contacts will likely have nothing and will forward my information to their HR departments.

The second step is to contact all of the HR departments that have yet to get my information.

The third step is to immerse myself in a LinkedIN group that a member of the other recruiter (Ezra Penland) created: The Entry-Level Actuary. I fear that "immersing" myself won't take long in such a group. Sally Ezra said that supply outweighs demand for entry-level positions. This scares me.

But then again, imagine if I were a college grad with two exams under my belt. How could I make myself stand-out against the others? Perhaps by having seven years of high school math teaching under my belt. Or by working at a newspaper for five years and a radio station for two. Maybe I wouldn't be willing to trade-off 18 years of my life for that experience, but I'm hoping that one company will see it as a good trade-off and give me the chance to work with them.

Those are good places to start. I still need to find the other contacts - wish I had just written down alternate contacts when I was originally making the list - and HR department contact info. The smaller consultants firms, which would likely be more open to my diverse background, lack HR departments.

One contact from my initial push suggested that I call directly, as e-mails are easily ignorable. I need to find the courage to call. Cold-calling is very hard to do. Perhaps I could e-mail everyone and let them know that I look forward to hearing from them and will follow-up with them shortly. That might pressure them to e-mail me back or prepare them to accept a phone call of mine. I like this idea. It won't feel so intrusive. It's opening the screen door, knocking, and asking to be let in, rather than opening both doors and meeting them in their kitchen.


Funny how nearly every contact before before had good things to say about my background and said that two exams should be enough but three wouldn't hurt.

When I was studying for the MLC exam, I had confidence that, if I put in the hours, I would pass the exam. Now I should have the confidence that, if I put in the hours, I will make the contacts and get the interviews, and if I have enough interviews, I will eventually land a job. Or at least an internship. Which poses one more question. How and when should I make my "I'll be happy to intern with your company" pitch? I think that actuarial intern get paid, but likely don't receive benefits. (No problem for me, thanks to being married.) Hm. I should consider that in wording my e-mail. Better get to that.

Bowling note: for the first time in my life, I was too rev-heavy. Fortunately, it was likely because the lanes were pretty dry, but I had one hell of a time staying in the 1-3 pocket as my curve ball kept curving well past it. I still had a couple of 190 games, but it was pretty frustrating. I'm getting some nice rotation with my full follow-through and don't want to stray from it.

Music

I haven't posted any YouTube songs in three months, so I'll get on that soon. As it turns out, even if I'm not getting any positive feedback on YouTube, I'm good enough to get positive feedback when performing live.

We went to an open mike in Addison Thursday night. It was not a standing-room only crowd, as the bartender on Monday informed me, but it was still a pretty good crowd that paid good attention to the performers, depending on how well-received they were. I went first, once I saw that no one else would want to do it. Paying my dues, in a way. During my first song, a group of six people in the back got up and left. I did not take it as a bad thing, as they were likely going to leave anyway or wanting a quieter place. No one left, and I got good applause on everything I did. In fact, I got three final ovations from the crowd. One when I was done, one started by Roland the host, and one started by another performer who could sing opera as I was leaving.

I performed six songs: "Solisbury Hill" by Peter Gabriel, "Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town" by Pearl Jam, "Drive" by Incubus, "This Guy's in Love with You" by Herb Alpert, "America" by Simon & Garfunkel, and "Penny Lane" by the Beatles. There were a few humorous moments interspersed, such as when I guzzled my beer during the two pregnant pauses on the Bacharach tune.

I can't say that this particular open mike is the one for which I've been searching, but it's the best I've found so far. Oddly enough, another performer told me that a great one is in Batavia. This would've been great during the 15 years that I called Batavia my home, but now I'm 45 minutes away. Also, it's once a month and took place the very next night. I wasn't about to subject Margie to yet another night of hanging out at a bar and watching my and others play while using up all of her vacation time, but maybe next month I'll give it a go.

New high score(s)

It had been a while since I broke 200 in a bowling game. So it wasn't likely to happen today when Margie and I went to the lanes.

The first three games were not looking good, as I couldn't seem to find any consistency with my strike ball, and I've struggling with picking up spares lately. I thought I found a solution by letting the ball go late and letting it sail a bit before hitting the lane, but the good results didn't last long. My third game was a 126 and was more miserable than that. But I didn't want to end on such a thud, so I asked Margie if she could bowl two more games and she happily accepted.

With the first ball, I let my follow-through go all the way, and I liked the way it felt and thought that it probably looked good to lookers-on, of which there weren't any, but still. And it seemed to really helped. So I kept it up for my final two games.

That fourth game was a 225, six pins over my previous high score. I had seven strikes in my first nine frames, leaving an open frame that I swore would be converted with what I thought was a perfect shot. (Still no open-frame-free game to my name.) Going into the tenth, I knew that I had a shot at a new high score, but I had to mark, and I completely missed the pocket on the first ball, only knocking down three pins to the right. My second shot was aimed for the 1-3 but slid a little to the 1-2, which is where it should have gone anyway. A spare. I finished with a strike, my eighth of the game, and a new high score.

The next game, I opened with six consecutive strikes. The first half of a perfect score! (Just like my ACT long, long ago.) So I bowled seven strikes in a row. My prior record was five. Each of the shots felt perfect; they all nailed the pocket, and if an occasional ball went Brooklyn, the pin action was superb. My first-non-strike looked as good as any of them, but I left a standing ten-pin, the conversion of which I just missed. I should just start aiming for the six pin for such shots, as I'm tending to throw it in the gutter on ten-pin attempts.

There was only one more strike in the game, but I made the spare in the ninth, and man, what I wouldn't give to have another crack at the standing seven-pin in the tenth. If I had made it, I likely would have broken Digger's high score of 233. I didn't even know what my final score was until I looked, and wouldn't you know it, I bowled another 225. Consistency, eh? There were only seven strikes in the last game, but I never left more than one pin standing. Once I learn to convert those one-pin spares with regularity, I could be a pretty damn good bowler.

Things to remember Dave: ease your stutter-step, as it doesn't need to be so extreme, and continue your follow-through, ending with your hand and arm pointing almost upward, rather than in front of you. I noticed that I'd hold my thumb a little out of the hole, instead of having it all the way in. Don't know if that's a good idea or not.

Margie and I found a nice place close by that supposedly has great open mikes twice a month. We're going to it tonight, and I hope it's the kind of open mike I've yet to find in the Chicago suburbs. If not, maybe I'll start my own. Better meet some fellow musicians first. I don't think Digger singing "Best of My Love" will be enough.

No one particular thing to write today, but Margie's watching a show that's just okay and I'm listening to the radio post-game show of the Bears' win, and playing pool isn't grabbing me, so I'm here.

I'm having another acupuncture appointment tomorrow. Not sure if the first one worked, but this one can target anything I want. Depression? Anxiety? Weight loss? Tinnitus? Maybe self-esteem is one. I'm getting more of that, but I could always use more.

My good friend Glenn teaches in Tennessee, but he's currently not teaching and he's not sure why. He's been out of work for 2-3 weeks now, and no one's telling him anything. I can understand our society wanting to protect our children, but don't they realize that a student can make up a story, in order to ruin the life of a teacher he/she hates? Not only do I want to stay away from teaching in this country right now, but I fear our country's future if we continue to treat teachers with such derision.

So many people think that teaching is an easy job. To them I say the following: you do it. Good luck; you'll need a lot of it.

No one can say what they'd do in an inexperienced stressful situation. Yet so many members of sports media lambasted Joe Paterno and everyone else involved with Penn State's tragedy, as if they never make mistakes.

I'd type more but Margie's done with her TV show. Hey honey!

Good feelings

Weird for me to write this now, somewhat cloudy the morning after too much drink last night, but I'm feeling very good about myself.

True, I still have several personal matters that are weighing on me, but I'm beginning to find the confidence that'll get me through some of that difficulty. Or at least I'm starting to see the light coming from the other side. It'll take some work to get there, but if I know that the work will pay off, I'll strap on the work boots.

The actuarial exam was two days ago. My studying regiment for this exam was not followed as well as for the prior exam, and this one covered more difficult material. And once again, I had no live person to help me with my studies. Because of my depression and inability to focus, I was not on pace on pass the thing. Three weeks ago, I finally felt the urgency of the moment and went after my goal with full force, even though I didn't think I had a prayer of achieving a passing grade.

It's not crucial that an actuarial candidate pass every exam on the first try; in fact, you're expected to fail at some point. But the fallback to failing the MLC exam on this particular day would be more painful, as the scope of the exam would be changing and the new-fangled exam wouldn't be given again for another six months.

When I was in the exam room in anticipation of the clock to get to 8:30, two guys were sitting behind me, and one discussed how he never passes an exam on the first try... yet he works at Towers Watson, one of the big firms in the area. I should be able to find a job in this market. Sure, it'll be harder because I'm 40 and companies will see me as having 18 years' less time to work for them, so I'll need to remind them that I'm more sure of myself and my desire to stay at one company over others fresh out of school and overly excited about life experiences. Perhaps I can equate it to dating, where a younger man wishes to date many different women, whereas a more mature man wishes to settle down.

And I'm not saying that it'll be "fun" per se, but the task of finding a job in the field doesn't seem overly daunting to me now. While studying the last three weeks, I told myself not to worry about specifics involving my pursuit of a passing grade. Just put in the hours, Dave. That's all you need to do now. Put in the hours of studying. I can take that tack regarding a job pursuit. Put in the hours and it'll work out fine. Almost think of it as grunt work but with a big pay-off. And If I get an interview that doesn't get me a job, it's not one more place that never hire me, it's one more attempt, putting me in a better position to be successful on the next one.

For the record, if I had to guess, I'd say that I didn't pass. But I know I'm at least close to the passing mark, and certainly a lot closer than I anticipated even a week ago.

I only took one practice exam and scored 17 out of 30. That would be just short of passing. I got pretty darn lucky of some of my guesses in that exam. For the real one, I definitely got 12-14 of them right and was able to make some educated guesses from a few of the others. I may need some lucky guesses to get me up to the passing score, which is hopefully 18 but may be 19.

Instead of watching X-Factor with Margie, who needs to watch it for her job, I went to an open mike at the Irish bar in Downers Grove last night. Apart from this small Polish coffee house in Wood Dale and their sparsely-attended open mike - and by sparsely, I mean that no one else would be there most of the time - I have yet to play at an open mike since moving back from Virginia. I would regularly attended one in Old Town Alexandria and both of us would enjoy spending Thursday nights there. Why it's been so hard to find a successful open mike in the suburbs of America's third largest city is a mystery to me.

It went okay, I suppose. I drank two fingers' worth of a single-malt scotch between a beer and a cider and it hit me a little stronger than anticipated. My singing wasn't great, but my slightly-inebriated self didn't think it was that bad. No one walked out in defiance or appeared to snicker or pander, so hey. "Lightning Crashes" wasn't too painful, though my vocal work was sloppy with REM's "It's the End of the World as We Know It." My version over "Overkill" didn't kill but wasn't overdone either. My second song, after David Gray's "A Clean Pair of Eyes," was "Killing Me Softly," and I did it because a 24 year-old girl next to me at the bar asked if I would accompany her on it. I offered Mary and Scott my song list and asked if they wanted to hear anything from it, you see. I was looking for a little inspiration. She had a pretty good voice and struggled to sing it differently than Lauren Hill and the Fugees, but she was also forgiving of the two mistakes I made while playing, confusing the verse chords with the chorus chords. Real sloppy on my end, but then again, I had a generous pour of Macallan in me. The two of them went to Hinsdale South, where they knew a fellow ex-teacher from my last teaching job. She gave me business cards from her new hair salon, saying that she does a great job with mens' haircuts and lets her customers drink beer. Hm. Freshly-cut hair in my can of Miller Lite? Not so appealing this cloud-dissipating morning.

Not that I plan on becoming great friends with them, nice as they are. I'm a whole generation older than them. But this morning, unlike some mornings, I'm glad I'm not in a younger generation. That 4 in front of my age has been giving me issues. But I'm very happy to be settled with Margie, and I can stay that I'm still youthful but have experiences and wisdom that trump anything the Gen Y'ers, or Millenials, or whatever the heck they call themselves, possess.

When I was a little over 30, a 25 year-old at a DC networking event was touting her book, "The Quarter-Life Crisis." It likely sold well, or well enough for a youngin' that hasn't experienced much and is getting her first taste of independence and responsibility, but there she was complaining about her state in life. Good God. During our brief exchange, I mentioned my two difficulties with her conjecture. One is that most people don't live to 100, so she's well past the one-fourth mark. The other one is that people are moved by the aging of what they consider to be their generation, and that it hurts to see our grandparents die, as they are our parents' parents, meaning that we're one generation away from seeing our own parents fall away, leaving us first in line at the precipice. So I suggested a "third-life crisis." Generation-ally it works better, but it leaves out any mid-life crisis, of which I may be suffering these days.

Whatever. Quarter-Life Crisis my fanny. Being that age is great. And actually, being middle-aged as I am today ain't too bad either. It's a bit depressing to think that you've lived more than half your life already, but a lot of that life was spent in diapers, awkward moments and experiments gone awry. Honestly, it may be more painful that my parents got ten years older in the last ten years, but time won't budge on that, will it?


Addendum: Seems that I haven't written about Ted From Accounting's last gig. Well, it sucked. Thanks to scheduling and location, hardly anyone came to see us. Fewer people than last year. An appropriate close to the band. We had some great nights, and this one wasn't one of them. I planned on not saying a word to Eileen the entire night, but between the first and second acts, it was impossible not to talk, so we made chatter. Once I was done packing the drums, I realized that I had already said good-bye to John and would see Digger the next day, so I went upstairs to go to bed. Why bother saying good-bye to Eileen and Paulito? Eileen didn't deserve one and Paulito wouldn't care.

You know, the band really brought me down. There was a lot of negative energy there for me. I'm better off now. Still, Ted From Accounting is a good name, and I still want some sort of musical outlet, so maybe I'll form my own band someday. I don't need to describe the possible permutations; they're all listed below.

Ah, enough. I only wrote this for completion. I'm past it now. It feels so good to be past things.

The king and the lover

Just taking a break from my studies, which are quite humbling, to discuss a concept given to me by my therapist. It is of the four archetypes of men: the king, the warrior, the magician and the lover. KWML, as it's often known. Carl Jung came up with it.

Each of the four archetypes symbolizes a great man, using his abilities to become a good and important member of society. However, each of them can go array, either becoming too weak or too aggressive, and they can fall into their shadow-types. An overaggressive king is a tyrant, for example. (Man, I wish I could find the desciption that I found on-line two weeks ago. It was fantastic.)

Anyway, I read each of them in order, seeing the occasional part of me in the king, the warrior, and the magician. But when I read the part about the lover, I cried, as I found the person I've always wanted to be. And then I read the other stuff and found that a person is supposed to have all four types within them.

I've wanted to be a great lover and nothing else. I've wanted to be unbalanced. I've wanted to be sad. Tom (my therapist) told me that lovers are always sad. Kings are always happy. Last time, he said that I needed "less love energy and more king energy" as I left.

Not that I know how to correct these things, or if they're correctable at all, but I think my ideal self should not be so. I need balance.

If only I had more time to pursue this now. Oh well. Once I get my exam over with in a week, I'll have the time then.

I will fail this test. There is little doubt in my mind. But I will still do as well as I can at this point. I've actually been fairly happy over the last couple of weeks, since I've had to study so much, I've had less time to get myself depressed.

bad math, bad

It's embarrassing how little I know regarding MLC, which stands for "Models: Life Contingencies." It's what the third actuarial exam covers. The exam is in eight days and I'm so unprepared. This is terrible. I'm going over the big list of problems offered on the SOA's website, and it's as if I haven't studied at all, when in fact, I've studied for 150 hours or so.

When I studied for the last exam on Financial Math, I was more consistent with my daily studying. It was supposedly easier material. I had a good textbook to use. It's all bad for me with MLC. The book was impossible to read and about 1000 pages anyway, so I went with an on-line seminar, where the instructor often doesn't bother to explain things beforehand and makes lots of mistakes, a sign that he's only reading off a script and writing the stuff down.

Once again, I have no actual live person to help me. I'm competing against kids who took classes specifically designed to help them pass this test.

I spent 300 bucks just to take this train wreck next week, along with 100 for the bullshit book and 400 for the on-line seminar. At least the on-line seminar will be offered free to me for another try, once I fail this one. And fail I will. In order to pass, I'll need to get 20 out of 20 questions correct. Right now, I'll probably get five right, and since there are five choices for each problem, a monkey could do as well.

Now I'll have to decide if I should tell prospective employers that I'll be taking the MLC a second time since I failed it the first time.

Life is not very comfortable right now. At least I'll see my therapist tomorrow. If only it wasn't cutting into valuable study time.

Stories of love

... that is, of a perfect love, are not really that interesting to tell, and definitely not interesting for others to hear. But they're wonderful to experience.

What about other stories? In my twenties, I filled several journals (diaries for men) with my difficulties in finding a love, starting at the point where my college relationship was beginning to crumble. The first entry name-checks her, then goes right into my short-lived fascination with a spectacled brunette named Karri who wrote for a rival newspaper in the area and had no interest in me. There's proof of a love going wrong for you.

But I did love the girl from college, and I was very scared of facing the real world without her being involved in some way. Over the course of that first year after graduation, we stayed together (albeit 300 miles apart) for six months, had a "you better go home" fight that started during sex, didn't speak for a week, had a reconcilement over the phone, went through several months of tip-toeing on my part and wooing another on hers, and broke up at the end of the summer, when she promptly started dating and living with my senior year roommate. Seeing her sit on his lap at a New Year's party gave me such a pain, but I got over her just in time to spend one last St. Patrick's night together, which undid the getting over her for several more years. Sure, I dated others during that time, but I had a very hard time giving up hope of a permanent reunion.

Of course, it didn't happen. Last I read, Pam married the guy she was dating at the time of St. Patrick's Day, 1995, and shares a dental office with him. She hyphenated her name, which looks tacky on so many levels. No clue if they have children, but I suspect they do, like nearly every other couple my age does. I stay away from the alumni mags, mostly because I want to stay away from her in every way possible.

After our St. Patrick's fling, where she said nice things about the guy (named Jud, I believe), she also reminisced about how great we were as a couple, how our love was something she thought "few people could ever hope to experience," how great it would be if we grew old together, and how she'd be available when school was done in a little over two years. She got over those feelings - that night was the last time I ever saw her - and by the time I met Margie four-and-a-half years later, I was fine with the change of heart. But it took a lot longer for me to close the door on her than it should've taken.

After that last night together, she stayed down in Alton and I stayed in Batavia, writing her several times to keep me in her heart, and when I called to ask why she hadn't been writing back, she mentioned that she hadn't gotten any letters and that Jud had been picking up the mail. I responded with a certified letter and a promise to write every week, and after half-a-dozen letters that never merited a response, I wrote one final letter which said I'd stop now because, well, why bother.

My last contact with her was a request for her to join me at Roger and Margret's wedding reception. She wanted to go, but not with me. I can still hear her quick "bye" and hang-up of the phone. When I was in high school, I would call girls that I had no business of calling, and I often heard that bye-click, always accompanied with belittlement. It was so hard to experience that one more time, coming from the girl with whom I shared a love I had never shared before.

But I survived it. Walking in the rain after the reception was the hardest moment of my life, yet I knew it would get better from that point. I could and would make it better, and I deserved to have better moments from then on.

There were two letters I wrote to Pam that were never sent. One was possibly the greatest love letter I ever wrote, which had great prose and, since it was written while we were no longer a couple, shouldn't have been sent anyway. The other one that stayed with me was the last letter ever wrote to her. It was much shorter and said that she threw away a great romance and that she'll regret it for the rest of her life.

I wonder. She was dating the guy she would eventually marry, yet was swooning over me, an old flame, making future promises to wait for me and going back for another good-night kiss when I didn't kiss her back the first time. Hm. Perhaps I should've written her a letter that detailed every moment of that night, turning Jud into Pandora once he opened it. If I were a vengeful man, I suppose I could still make him uncomfortable.

For me, as soon as I met Margie, I knew how great she was. I didn't even think I had a chance for her love, considering her the archetype of the girl with whom I wanted to share a lifetime. Once it was apparent that Margie herself could be the one, I've never regretted dedicating my life to her. Ever. I can say this with complete honesty; Pam can't. Pretty cool, eh? (heh heh)

Anyway, I didn't plan on writing about Pam here. I wanted to write about writing about Pam, or rather, about all the journal entries I made that were written out of anguish and desperation. I would try to come up with a big analogy and turn it into a story, and I think that for Pam, I had one sketched out about a dolphin and a fish. It would be illustrated (based on a well-illustrated children's book involving fish) and give a message to her: I was the one for her and I'd still be available when she was ready to take me back. Or something to that effect. I'm happy to say the offer hasn't been valid for quite some time. I must've loved the big analogy-symbolism-story idea, as I semi-wrote another one for Bridget, one of the many short romances that, in retrospect, didn't deserve the paper on which such saving throws were planned.

Around this time, I was in a bookstore and a pretty blonde girl was offering me help. I caught her name (Laura), found out somehow that she liked turtles, and wanted to gauge her interest in me. Deciding that a trial run of a book-with-a-purpose was in order, I made up a little book about a turtle that went to a store and met another turtle, to whom he was attracted. But he didn't know how to offer his heart to her, so he did it by making a book. The story within a story was the legit one. "Hi, Laura, I'm Dave. Here's my number, if you'd like to..." and so on. It only took a few hours to create, but I was pleased with it. I delivered it to the store and, since Laura wasn't there, asked that it be given to her. (As long as no one named Jud was working there, I could feel pretty good that the gift would find its intended recipient.)

She did call me back, thankfully, and we talked on the phone for an hour. I learned that she was fond of her beat-up car, which had the name of Carlos. (Wow, I hadn't recollected that in 15 years, but I think it was Carlos. Or am I mixing up her last name of Carl with the word "car" and my fondness for a certain baseball pitcher that will likely be an ex-Cub soon? I digress.) It seemed to me at the time that she'd be interested enough to call again. But she never did, and I may have tried calling her back once to no avail. Romance over. Did nothing else happen because she was 17 or so and wasn't into dating a 23 or so year-old? Or did she give a courtesy call and leave it at that? Or was I really just a big joke to her, a prime candidate for another round of hurled tomatoes? It would become another mystery, one that would be supplemented with self-doubt, of which I've usually carried with me too close to the heart.

I started working at a small radio station within a year of the book, and though there weren't any love prospects working at the station, a couple of girls would clean the place after hours, and one of them had a nice figure and seemed to like me. Paula and I made out in the family room once and maybe kissed during a chance meeting in a Denny's parking lot another time. Just as well that we didn't have sex, as it may have been statutory rape. Anyway, it's not really worth mentioning here but for one shared moment of her recent past. I may have wanted to impress her with my romantic abilities - likely a failed ploy to get in her pants - and told her about this little book I made for a girl named Laura who worked at a bookstore in Aurora. Sure enough, Paula and Laura had both been in the same choir at a high school in Big Rock, far west of Aurora and Batavia. As it turns out, Laura was really floored and flattered by what I had done, finding great joy from the gift and sharing it with others during one choir practice. I had made her day. She was on cloud nine because of me for a little while.

I rather like that story. It didn't get me anywhere with Laura or Paula, but it got me a little closer to myself, allowing me to recognize my ability to love and make others happy.

It really bugs me that I can't create such wonderful mementos for Margie. I think it's because I'm no longer new to love and/or desperate for love. I wrote a great love letter to Cassi, a four-month girl shortly before Margie that wasn't really a good match for me and ended up hurting me terribly. In no way did she deserve such a great letter. She had death-breath and the biggest growth of pubic hair I ever saw. Lack of grooming habits aside, she was okay, just a girl when I didn't have one, a reminder of the pain of my failed college romance when was gone. She didn't deserve any great words of love from me. The only one that deserves such written keepsakes of love met me shortly after I stopped writing on a daily basis.

Perhaps the reason why I started this blog was to get back to writing more, expressing my life in words, so as to share it with the one that still has my heart in her pocket.

And I know that this one post isn't the love letter you deserve, but I'm working on it with all the love I have for you.

Arf.

Jumping to conclusions

Last post predicted that TFA would never play again, and while it's true that the band will be on hiatus after our October 28th gig, saying that we wouldn't even play today's gig was premature and the product of high emotions and my constant fault of taking things personally.

At the church in Palatine, we played for a small group of people. Maybe "group" is too grandiose a turn; at one point, there were exactly ZERO people watching us. We were in a big room with no one in there, and someone shut the doors on us. The next person to come in started vacuuming the floor while we performed. More people arrived near the end, and perhaps 20 folk were there for our finale, but I've never played in front of nobody before.

Kind of funny, ain't it? I've spent so much physical and emotional energy with this band, and for that moment, it had no impact on anyone in the world. We're obviously not the type of band whose break-up will devastate our loyal flock of supporters. They don't exist.

We sounded quite good today. Again, we were asked to keep it down several times, and it was an exercise in seeing how quiet I could play the drums. (It's not hard for me, thanks to two years' worth of playing in the high school show choir, where I was constantly warned to keep it down.)

TFA has one more gig left, where we will certainly play for at least one person at all times. Then we're done as TFA, but maybe the four of us (and not her) will get together occasionally to jam and enjoy ourselves.

Back to something, though: here I was, thinking that the whole band was getting mad at me, trying to replace me or let me go immediately. I was developing fictitious scenes where they're bad-mouthing me and conspiring against me.  And of course that wasn't happening, but why do I keep torturing myself in that way? Why am I so damn sensitive? It's almost as if I'm trying to torment myself as a way of toughening up myself, a rough love sorta thing, but all it does is make me sad and paranoid.

I'm rarely comfortable with myself, happy in my own skin. I balance feelings of worthlessness with delusions of grandeur. But I'm really an okay guy. I'm not a star or a once-in-a-generation genius. I'm a pretty smart guy that sees the world in a pretty interesting way. I'm too eager at times, but I mean well. I don't often "play well with others," but it's not for lack of effort or desire. I'm somewhat distinctive, and maybe most people don't know how to handle me.

I'm trying to learn how to handle myself. I need to show myself the same compassion and forgiveness that I show others. If something's keeping me from doing just that, that thing needs to be shut down and disassembled. Buried. Rest in Peace.

TFA: might never play again

Paulito never responded to my e-mail, suggesting we look at his friend before calling it a day. I had to forward it to him this morning, in order to get a response. Of course, his response was cold, saying that it was before Eileen chose to leave, and that he still has work issues.

So I'm hurt. Hurt enough to not want to see these people right now. So I wrote the band and told them that a personal issue has developed and that I might not be able to make the CROP Walk gig, but I'd let them know as soon as I can.

Paulito has sent a reply e-mail waiting in my inbox, which I'm currently choosing to ignore. Man, this is way too much drama. There's a strong chance that he'll decide to pull out of the Mensa gig, which wouldn't really hurt me, as only one of us wanted to play that gig anyway. That's Digger. Poor guy; he means well but has made some missteps lately. I'm sure he badly wants to play WeeM, now more than ever, and if it falls apart, he might hold me partially responsible for it.

All of this sucks. Get me out of this band. Another one, sure, though I'll want to wait on that for a while. But this band, and their inability or unwillingness to communicate and resolve, blows. Perhaps this is why bands needs leaders, those who have a greater say than others but are loved and respected. If not, everyone needs to buy into the greater good. Eileen was clearly not willing to do that and was only looking at her self-interests.

Okay, on to studying. I need to get this last part of the MLC math material done. Margie and I are going to see Primus tonight. Hell yeah!

this afternoon

I'm in a completely different mood now, and it's not just because I'm sitting in my underwear reading stuff about the Cubs' new GM.

My first appointment with Tom (as he prefers to be called) was quite good. When I first got there, I had gone through an amazing string of bad luck. Comcast cable went down. That knocked out my Internet connection and the VoIP phone, and since I don't own a cell phone, I had no way of contacting anyone. So I left early for my appointment, with the intention of finding a WiFi portal on the way, so that I could send an e-mail to Margie and ask her to contact Comcast about it. Of course, there were no such places on the way, at least not where I had to dtop for light and got the chance to pull into a gas station.

When I got into the center, the lady behind the counter said that yes, they had WiFi. But my computer wouldn't turn on, suddenly, and it wouldn't even reset. I thought I had enough battery, but of course, this happens on this day. The lady let me use the phone to call Margie, but it went to her voice mail, which she sometimes misses. At the time, this string of bad luck felt like it only happened to me, and at an alarming frequency.

After coming into Tom's office and handing over the paperwork, he asked me for Margie's social security number, which I've been meaning to memorize but haven't yet. So I called again. This time she answered, but said that Comcast wanted someone to call them from home. How was I supposed to do that without Internet? I can't be of help, she said, until I get home with my cell phone later this afternoon.

I cried three times during the hour-long session: once at the beginning, once in mentioning the personal problem, and a light one while discussing how difficult it would be if we were to have a child that was mentally disabled like my brother.

We didn't get into a ton of different things, since a good portion of the time dealt with paperwork, but we discussed my positive and negative feelings that I had as a youth toward each of my parents. There were significant contradictions in there, which Tom said was expected. Near the end of the session, he brought up Jung's theory of archetypes and said that I had too much love energy and not enough king energy.

I was enthralled in reading about these archetypes: I found an abstract of a study and found myself seeing some people from my past and future listed amongst the descriptions of the shadows, which are archetypes taken to one extreme or the other. When I got to the healthy "lover" archetype - or the "troubadour," as Tom called it - I cried as I read a description of the person I've wanted to be for so long. But only after reading the entire abstract did I realize that my biggest issue might not be my transgression to the shadows of the lover, known as the Addict and the Impotent. It might be my increasing desire to be solely the lover, repressing any king, warrior and magician selves I may have inside of my psyche. Lots to digest, but it tastes very good, knowing that I'm taking a proactive and healthful approach to recovery.

There may be hope for me yet. It'll take a long time and a lot of work to get there, but that's okay. The healthy king doesn't get side-tracked by pettiness and keeps long-term goals in mind. Just remembering that helps strengthen my king energy.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to choose the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

this morning

I wrote the following this morning, before my first session, but I was unable to post it at the time. In the spirit of openness and honesty, I will post it now.

Last night, Digger decided to write everyone and ask what was up, specifically because he was getting requests for TFA to play places and he didn't know what to tell them. It's an understandable query, but one that I wish he had done in person, where it wouldn't have been so easy for Paulito to announce his hiatus, which he just did this morning.

Eileen should have to live with the fact that she broke up the band. I bet she'll kid herself into thinking that it had nothing to do with her. But it had everything to do with her, and it's important to me that she be aware of her role in the dismantling of TFA. I don't know exactly how I'll tell her, as I'm not a big fan of confrontation either, but since we're going down, having a few extra flames in the fire ain't so bad.

TFA has defined me, and I swallowed a lot of pride to stay in it, only to have others be much less flexible. I just can’t correctly handle anything. Now I’m leaving, but I don’t even get to do it on my terms. That is, unless I skip the CROP walk, which is a charity event and would stick it to Paulito, or not bother with WeeM, which would completely ruin MY time at the weekend-long event and really stick it to Digger, the only friend I’ll keep out of this. Again, I’m stuck.

I’m aware that the blog has not been the “math, music and art” board that I originally envisioned it to be. Then, again, I didn’t realize how difficult my life would become.

In about an hour, I’ll be headed to the old hospital to meet for the first time with a therapist. I went to see a “shrink” twice in 1999, when the world seemed very strange and I started to have panic attacks. After five minutes, the first therapist said that she couldn’t see me anymore and referred me to someone else at another time. (You can imagine how upset this made me, since I likely had feelings of rejection at the time and got rejected by my own therapist right away.) The second one took a strange tactic with me and was deliberately nasty to me. I remember telling him off and leaving, and somehow feeling better out of it. Did he know that such a tactic was most beneficial to me? Here’s hoping that no such move will be instituted by the new guy today.

It’s different this time, though. In 1999, I was a few months into a new job at IBM that was hurting my social life, but I was making more money than ever before, working in a big building (something I wanted to do) and in the middle of dating a lot of different women. Until 1998, I only dated one girl a year, the relationship usually starting in late January or so and ending around May Day. Seriously, it was almost like clockwork. But in 1998-1999, I got around a lot. I now like to think of that time as “the quickening,” in reference to the sci-fi sword-wielding cult hit “Highlander,” where a few immortals on this earth start being drawn to each other to fight one other, since only they can kill each other, with there being only one left. (Okay, maybe that part was “the gathering,” but my experiences of those two years seemed to quickly lead me to Margie, whom I met a week before Thanksgiving in 1999.)

This time, apart from my wonderful marriage, nothing’s going right for me. I suppose my health is still okay, but that’s nothing new. No job. Questionable prospects, even IF I pass next month’s exam. 40 years old now. Very few friends, most of them estranged or wrapped up in their own families. My social outlet, the band, is done. And I haven’t even brought up the biggest source of sadness in my life, but it’s too private a matter to discuss here, even though only one other person reads this board and that person is aware of it.

Huh. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, my Internet went down. So I’ve had to write this from a Word file. Not a big deal in the grand scheme, but it’s another unwelcome raindrop hitting me in the eye.

It sounds like the Cubs just nabbed Theo Epstein, the Red Sox’ general manager, for five years. At least some good news in coming to my team. Doesn’t it somehow make perfect sense that my team is the Cubs?

During one Halloween night in college, a bunch of friends went to a local graveyard to goof around and try to scare each other. We were likely tipsy at the time but did nothing illegal on the grounds. However, Angela’s asthma had acted up and she couldn’t run with the rest of the crowd, so I stayed back with her. Margaret poked fun at the two of us with our asthma, not being able to keep up. While I do have asthma, it wasn’t bad and I could’ve easily kept pace. But I chose not to, instead opting to comfort someone in need. No one else saw it that way, though. This little story often feels like my entire life. I could excel, but I stay behind for some reason that is completely unappreciated. Why must I do this? No one asks me to lag, or to fail, or to regress and retard. Yet I keep doing it, and too often, it feels like I don’t know how to change my behavior.

Now everything from Comcast is down: TV, Internet, and phone, since I have VoIP. I can’t contact anyone. Seriously, what is going on in my life? Can I ever make the right decision or get lucky? Ever?

No woman, no cry

I realized lately that Eileen is a diva, and that it's not so bad that she's leaving. She's not at all a bad person and has usually been friendly, but in the context of TFA, she took on the air of a diva. I'll give you reasons to my conclusion:

She showed no interest in learning an instrument, other than shaking a tambourine. She did it at strange times and did not seem receptive to learning when and how to do it better.

She didn't push for anyone else to sing certain songs. She once complained that she was only involved in half of the songs. The combined lead vocals from the other four members, all of whom had a lot more experience in the band, barely equaled her total, yet she had a "I'm not saying, I'm just saying" issue with it. Were we supposed to stop playing an hour earlier because she hadn't learned enough songs with us yet?

When Gumby would come on-stage to play drums for "Rockin' in the Free World" or "Still The Night," there was no concern. But when I brought him on to play on one of her songs, it angered her to the point of cursing me out on stage. Her biggest beef? It was too fast. (First off, it wasn't that much faster - in fact, it was more danceable at Gumby's tempo - and secondly, every other band member adjusted to it right away, but she had an issue with it.)

She could always make gigs where she could be seen by her friends. But for other gigs, her availability was not as good. (Not a ton of evidence to back this one up, but I took this impression away from the whole thing.)

When we were going to try out Jamie, the girl that could sing and play keys, she did not want her to sing lead on any songs at all. Not a handful, not a few, not one. None. Her reasoning? "Because I don't do anything but sing in this band," or something to that effect. Even if she lost none of her leads and might end up singing even more than before, she wouldn't budge. Because she's one-dimensional, we were expected to cater to that. She had to be the only girl singer. She could not be expected to let some other girl sing lead, I guess.

She would occasionally change everyone else's set list when it came to her songs. She would do it days in advance, or sometimes right before the concert. Yet, during a recent gig, when I told the band to scrap a song that I was going to sing, she frowned upon it.

Her complaint about my Facebook posting was over-reaching. I complained about the Beacon Tap and our continued problems at playing outside there on my own Facebook page, not TFA's, yet she had the gall to tell me to take down what I wrote. Other band members said that they wouldn't have been happy if I had posted it on the TFA site, but were accepting of it on my own. Eileen could not accept. 

She would leave the stage whenever she wasn't involved in a song. It looked quite unprofessional, but she preferred to leaving the stage and talk to her friends, ignoring the band when not singing.

Again, Eileen's not a terrible person. She was genuinely grateful when we took her on, and she was a very strong singer, lack of stage presence notwithstanding. but maybe the band's better off. For my standpoint, any move was a good move, but this move a bit of a shock to me when it happened. Now, it's not so bad. 

After her announcement and my request that she reconsider, Eileen wrote me back and said that the two of us "are on totally different pages on what we are looking to get out of this whole experience." And she's right. The way I see it, Eileen's goal was to get the continued adoration of her friends by singing songs in her wheelhouse, while my goals were more long-term, demanding and democratic.

I'll admit, I wanted an equal share of the spotlight, as did everyone else. But she wanted as much of it as her talents could handle. Diva-esque, wouldn't you say?

Margie reminded me that Eileen considers herself to be very non-confrontational. She could work at straightening all of this out, but she'd rather quit instead. Her e-mail asked that I accept it and leave it at that. I will accept it, but not because a confrontation might fail at resolving the issues at hand. I'll accept it because I'd rather not have a diva in the band.

Wow

Damien Rice. His first album. Wow.

I don't think I've heard of him before tonight, but what he writes and plays and sings is gorgeous. And it seems not so far out of reach for me.

Maybe this is what I should do. Play this sort of music. Work on writing such music.

What I hate about my communicative ability is that it'll take me 500 words to express something that could've been said in 100, while it'll take Rice and other lyricists 100 words to say 500 words' worth.

Must try. Must try.

My musical options

As my musical life is will be changing (with Eileen leaving the band at the end of the month), what could I possibly do next?

1. Nothing. Give it up, keeping my drumming to hands on pantlegs and my singing to the shower.
2. Nothing for now, but finish studying, get a job, and sort out another personal matter before attempting one or more below options.
3. Try out for a musical. I thought about this idea while watching Andy Bernard in "The Office." I've acted before and I like to sing, so why not find a small playhouse that'll put on a musical?
4. Drop TFA and play guitar on my own, finding open mikes, possibly writing a few more songs. This is basically what I did when I lived for Virginia, when not in the teacher bands (Big Daddy and the Slurpies, Gulp.) (I loved Gulp, by the way. Short but sweet.)
5. Hit lots of karaoke bars. There are great songs I'll only be able to do in that medium. 
6. Talk to Galen and see what he wants to get going.
7. Talk to Brett and see if he's willing to get something going.
8. Watch craigslist and bulletin boards at music stores, looking for an opening.
9. Get together with Karen's friends, the ones that made up Agave, and get something going with them.
10. Stay with Digger and do the two-guy thing.
11. Start my own one-hit wonder band. (This is the "shoot for the moon" option.)
12. Find a group of folk singers and join in.
13. Write and record my own music.
14. Stay in TFA as a four-piece.
15. Stay in TFA as a five-piece, with a new female lead.
16. Stay in TFA as a five-piece, with a new male keyboardist.
17. Stay in TFA as a five-piece, with a new drummer and me on keys/guitar.
18. Stay in TFA as a five-piece, with a female keyboardist who can sing.

There are others, I'm sure, but the last five are contingent on everyone else wanting to continue, and that is a shaky proposition at best. Digger would, no doubt. I'm pretty certain John would. It's all about Paulito, and man, I wish I knew to handle it with him.

What now?

I had a very rough day yesterday. Several issues, including one I'm not willing to discuss here, have been bringing me down quite a bit lately, and then the announcement from TFA's lead singer, which was made exactly five minutes after our lead guitarist said that he didn't want to play without her. It was the ultimate diva move.

I'm hopeful that Paulito will see his way through this. We played as a band before Eileen. We had a lot of good song ideas that got ignored because they didn't feature Eileen. We learned other songs solely because they were liked by Eileen. A lot of our identity is Eileen, but she wasn't the whole show.

If Paulito calls it a day, we're done. John would likely bail, even if Digger and I wanted to continue without him. But I associate our sound as more Paulito with Eileen, and I always have. When Eileen left the stage, we kept playing. When Paulito did - usually for a quick bathroom break - there was no music.

I don't know what to do about this. No one's talking right now. If we wait to converse with Paulito, does he make up his mind to leave? Then again, can we persuade him anyway? The only thing I could say is that there will now be less drama. Eileen herself said that "females bring drama," after all.

If he stayed, do we want to stay as a four-piece, or do we look to get another singer? Could we find one that plays keys? That would be my preference: getting a female keyboardist that can sing. Oh, Paulito mentioned that he works with a guy that plays keys. I know the gender's wrong, but a keyboard player opens up another dimension of songs for us. It might also give Paulito enough impetus to stay.

So, we have the following options for Paulito. Since it's him that's likely on the fencepost now, these options are really his, not anyone else's:

• Stay as a four-piece band;
• Find a new female lead that plays keys;
• Go with the keys-playing co-worker;
• Find a girl that only sings;
• Pull the plug.

Though that last option scares me, who knows? Maybe it truly is the best option. In none of these options do I get out from behind the drums. Most of my concerns, of which I've ranted on this blog, would still be there. So I'd still have to stay emotionally detached (or as close as I can get) from the band and learn to be happy with my lot.

I was not in the mood to bowl last night. But it's great that I did. I bowled a new high series (544) at a league. My first game was a 211. Yes, in front of other people! Like last time, my third game suffered, but it was still a 158, which is about what my average was going into the league, so I can't complain much. We killed the other team the first game but narrowly lost the other two. At one point, our entire team had ten consecutive strikes. Great stuff.

I was 3-for-3 in making standing seven pins, and I don't remember missing the ten, but I know I had a couple of 6-10s that I pulled left. There's an improvement or two to be made, but you know, I can be in this league and do okay. My first game was the best on the team... except for Dave, the guy's that helped me all along. He joined as a sub and was in the 230's every game.

Okay, on to math. What I did get done yesterday was a good amount of math, and I need such production to be the morn from now until exam day.

another quick thought

Hm. Might Eileen know about this blog? I've only told three people about it: my wife, a good friend that also blogs, and Digger. I mentioned it to him once in passing, and I assumed that he would've forgotten about it, or at least mentioned it by now.

There's some pretty caustic stuff on here. I wanted to put it "out there," even if no one else ever read it. It's not intended to be read by certain people. However, it is the description of feelings I've had, as I'm an emotional guy. It's given me a way to work things out, rather than just flip my lid and do something I'd massively regret.

What I've written are perceptions of mine. Perhaps they're wrong, and I'm the first to admit it. Every deserves the benefit of the doubt, hence the reason I write it on a private place, in order to compose my thoughts. If Eileen actually does read this, I hope she realizes that I also deserve that benefit of the doubt.

more thoughts

I'm not even checking my e-mail. I can't take it. Too much drama.

Both Margie and I think that this will effectively kill the band.

Looking back, while it's good that I have a laissez-faire approach to the band now, it's a shame that I didn't have that approach all along. Did I think that getting more involved would benefit the band? We haven't gotten any better; our weaknesses are still there. John wasn't ever going to become a rock-solid rhythm guy. Same for Digger. Paulito would still be standoffish. It might have been a good enough environment for Eileen to stay in the band, but we weren't gonna get anywhere with it. We've stagnated, playing the same songs at the same places for the same crowds for the same low levels of respect and money.

There's nothing else I can do to bring Eileen back in the fold while staying true to myself.

Let's say that, somehow, there was another female lead singer that was good and wanted to be in the band. Would all of our problems cease? I'd still have to be hands-off, since Eileen was not the one that kept us from learning "Valerie" or me from playing guitar.

Man, I really want to shrug this off and not care about it. I think I've enjoyed TFA for what it's represented, rather than what it actually entailed. It's very cool for a middle-aged guy to be in a rock band, and not just one that gets together once a year in someone's basement to play "I Ain't Drunk, I'm Just Drinking."

I'm not going to try to save this band. I have no clue how I'd do it anyway. But I feel for Digger. Paulito could probably take it or leave it. I may very well be better off without it. John, not sure. This'll hurt him a lot too. He was more grateful than anyone else to be in TFA.

Even more thoughts to come, I'm sure.

TFA: imploding

Just got an e-mail this morning from Eileen. She told everyone in the band that she's quitting after our late-October gig at the Mensa party.

I can't catch a break here. Margie and I were discussing how poorly things have gone for me lately, and that I'm due for something good to happen. I'm having a hard time seeing how this is a good thing.

There's a big chance that Paulito will now pull out, and that will definitely kill the band.

I wrote Eileen back right away, telling her not to do this if it's only because of her difficulty with me, as I'm scaling back my involvement with the band in order to enjoy it more. I told her that we can work this out.

It won't work, though. She's stubborn and I can't imagine her coming back, not without me quitting.

Digger's in the middle of a hectic day at his new job, so I won't bother him with this now. He'll read Eileen's e-mail and freak, then try to fix it, but he hasn't been good at making the correct move for a while.

Ugh.

TFA: maximizing my investment

During the last couple of weeks, there have not many e-mails sent from other TFA members. I suppose they may have sent a bunch to each other, excluding me; it's not unheard of. But not much has been said.

However, once again, members have shown little interest in me or anything I've done. John was supposed to practice drums with me a week from Tuesday. He let it slide right by. Paulito asked several questions about the gig, the answers of which I had already posted on our website weeks prior, but he never bothered to check there. Digger finally sent out the set list late last night, allowing the other members a grand total of one day to see what we're playing, and this is over a month after the last time all five of us were together. And Eileen is showing up very late because, hey, her kid will only have one or two more Homecoming dances in the future, so she has to be there for every picture taken. (Once I'm a parent, I'll probably understand why everything involving your kids is more important to anything else. But now, it rubs me the wrong way.)

So I've decided to stop investing so much in this band, as it has been a sour investment for quite a while. I'm only to put it what I can get out in return. It's fun to play with the band, so I'll be there to play. It's fun conversing with the band, so I've cut that down drastically. The only e-mail I've sent to the whole band since Eileen got "pissy" with me via e-mail ( to use a nasty Paulito term) is this morning, when I said that I can't make it by 4pm but can be there by 6:30.

You see, we're playing from 7-11pm for a casino night at a school for the developmentally disabled. I can get behind that, but I can't get behind being asked to have everything set up a full two hours before we start playing. No. I'm supposed to be there by 4:00 for a 7-11 gig? Since this, like every other gig, is nowhere near my house - but they always seem to be within 10 minutes of Digger's house - I'd have to start packing the drums around 3pm to get there by 4pm. Once we're done playing at 11pm and Eileen completely blows off breaking down the stage, which is customary for her - she doesn't help setting it up either; the word "diva" is coming more to mind these days when I think of her - I won't get home until 12:30, maybe 1am. Am I willing to just hand over eight hours of my Saturday, one of a small number of days I get to be with Margie, for this band? No, I'm not. Margie loves me and values the time I spend with her; the band could care less.

And I'll be happy to collect my full share of money. As good a guy as Digger is, he's quite full of himself during gigs, leaving the stage to flirt with others while dropping bunches of notes, and he takes a full share. Eileen leaves the stage when she's singing and talks to others, paying little attention the rest of the show, and doesn't bother with any set-up or break-down, and she takes a full share. John won't practice for songs, fakes it with the volume down to 1 for others, and still doesn't know the words to "Brown-Eyed Girl," and he takes a full share. Paulito likes to drink and will occasionally get really sloppy up there, and he still makes the break of "Like the Way I Do" too short but won't actually listen to it and determine he's wrong, and he takes a full share. I'll have no difficulty taking a full share by giving it my all for the show itself and nothing else.

Anyway, enough of the personal attacks. Despite what I wrote in the previous paragraph, everyone in the band has good qualities, and I've considered all of them as friends before. Paulito earns more than his share for use of his equipment and set-up/break-down work. Digger books most of our gigs. John's a nice guy. And Eileen's the reason a lot of people come to see us.

Once I'm over the sting of TFA being a terrible investment of my time and energy, I'll hopefully be on a friendly level with everyone in the band again. But I have to cut my investment down to the bone. Arrive, set up, play, get paid, break down, leave. This must be my itinerary. No one wants to practice any more, fine. Never learn anything I want to learn, even though "Valerie" is possibly the hottest song in the world right now, fine. Not give me anything new to sing, fine. Not let me play guitar with the band, fine. But ask me to be happy with the situation? Hell no. The situation sucks, but no one cares to rectify it. Everyone else is getting exactly what they want out of this band. I'll arrive, set up, play, get paid, break down and leave. That's what I'll offer now. Nothing else is worth the investment.

Can the velocity philosophy still work for me?

I'm anxious about where I am, or really, where I'm not.

There's a girl that's an assistant copy editor on a political site I frequent, and for some reason, I clicked on her name. She's barely out of college but already has written for the New York Times and other big-name publications. She graduated summa cum laude at USC (I think) but moved back to New York. She's got over a thousand Twitter followers and seems to be on there all of the time. Her picture is there, and she has this great youthful confidence to her. She's got so much promise and has already done so much with her short career.

I don't want to follow that exact path; journalism isn't my thing anymore. And I'm certainly not in the same age bracket as this girl. But what can I do, in order to have a day as productive as she is likely having today?

Not sure if I've posted this here before, but I'll do it again. I came up with the Velocity Philosophy, and it goes like this: if there's a place you want to go, but someone got the jump on you, all you need to do is go faster than they are and you'll catch up. You don't have to go much faster, but you need to stop standing still and get your engine running. By going as fast as they are, the gap will never widen, and by going a little faster, the gap will start to shrink. If the journey's long enough, you'll catch up and even pass the one that started ahead of you.

Translation: it's not too late. It's never too late. But you need to start pursuing your goal, and you need to go for it with a passion that rivals anyone else, and if you do this, you'll succeed.


What's important about reaching your goal is that you must enjoy the ride, however. You have to enjoy revving your engine, looking out the windows, watching the landscape go past you, even if your goal isn't yet in your headlights. And it's this part that trips me up. I've never been one that can make long-term plans and carry through. Not that I can't ever do such a thing; it's just not that easy for me.

Why am I not able to bench-press my body weight? Because it's not fun for me to lift weights, or at least not convenient enough to bother.

Why did I never win any Teacher of the Year awards? Because I lost my willingness to obtain such a goal by working hard at it on a daily basis. (I did have that drive when I started teaching in 2003, but once I decided it was time to get positive reinforcement and failed to get any, I took my foot off the gas.)

Why can't I solo on guitar? Because there's no way I could work on playing a lick for more than two minutes without giving up or deciding to play something else.

My gratification needs to become less instant. Or I need to find gratification in smaller ways. Maybe the feeling of my muscles burning, the thought of them tearing and preparing to heal and grow bigger and stronger, can be gratifying to me. Perhaps a slight improvement in playing the solo to "Can't Buy Me Love," the only solo I ever really learned halfway-decently, can be a notch in my belt.

My teaching days are over, but I need to want to succeed - if that makes any sense - in the actuarial field, and with that, I can feel good about myself. I won't have thousands of Twitter followers, but that's okay. I'm too shy for that, and I don't want to move to New York.

My bowling has been coming along somewhat. I joined a league on Tuesday nights that needed me, completing a team with four other guys, none of which joined a league at the alley before. Two knew each other before the league started; the rest are strangers, including myself. All of them are better than me.

Last week's debut was a little difficult. After bowling 140-something and 170-something, I finished with a 115. Combined with having no handicap, my score really brought down the team. But all of them were supportive, and they all wanted me to come back. After sleeping on it, I made it so.

Yesterday, I couldn't bowl with them, as Doug was in town for his brother's wedding and I wanted to spend time with him and other high school friends. So I got to pre-bowl, and if I had made my spares, it would've been a killer series. It was 169-177-198 without the spare-making, a 544 series, my best so far. I knocked down nine pins in eight of my frames during the series. You're supposed to make all of your one-pin spares, but out of eight, I only made three.

At least three of the misses were VERY close, so maybe it'll only take slight tweaking, a little better concentration, a little straighter ball or faster ball, a little better foot placement, to make those shots. I would've averaged 194 instead of 181 if I had simply made my easy spares. 15 strikes, 11 open frames, 6 spares. The secret to being a good bowler is to make your spares. This is what I must improve upon.

Having said that, I've still made great strides. I blew away the rest of my friends during a three-game fun-time bowling night. I claim that my average is 160, and I'd be a little above that in my six games of this league. Let's see if I can put up those numbers during league night, while others are watching and I have to sit between frames.

Just to note it: I've been starting a little closer to the foul line, about six inches. A 60-degree angle with my wrist, combined with a lower backswing, allowed me to really get a nice late hook on the ball. I could tell several times that it was a strike as soon as it left my hand. I could feel it on my fingertips.

Until then, we'll have to muddle through somehow

I love that line. It's from "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas," at least the version in the musical "Meet Me in St. Louis." That line makes the song. Sinatra completely ruined it with his "shining star" line.

Anyway, that song's in my head. Scott Weiland (of Stone Temple Pilots) apparently sung it on TV in 2009 and decided to put out a Christmas album after that. That'll be an interesting album to hear.

Tonight, I'm joining a bowling league. There's a men's bowling league that somewhat serious - prizes at end of year, guys with 200+ averages - and the top team needs another player. Since Margie can't bowl in a league after all, I was going to join the Lousy Bowlers league on my own, but Dave at the alley talked me into at least trying this league for a night. So we'll see. My biggest concern is not getting proper warm-up time, along with how well I fit in with the other guys on the team and, of course, that I don't crap all over the lane and bowl a 72 or something of that level.

I am a genius today, even though I didn't study any math, which I've done doing nicely the last week or so. Nope, I'm a genius because our Xbox 360 got to the "red circle of death" last night, and instead of buying a new one or sending it out to get it fixed, I fixed it myself.

At first, I used the original screws to hold the heat sinks in place but screwed them into closer holes. When I thought I had everything right, including putting fresh thermal compound on the chips, I was greeted by two flashing red buttons instead of the three originally seen last night. Sure enough, I should've used the shorter screws that I originally bought. I actually bent some metal from the heat sinks, but after careful straightening of the blades, I gave it another go and this time, it worked. The case doesn't look great from the back, as you'd need a special tool to open the case without damage, but it still holds together, and after doing the process several times, I feel like a real pro around that thing.

Apart from that, not a lot to report here. I've been depressed with a personal issue lately. It'll catch me when I'm not expecting it. Today, it was when I woke up, but Margie was there to comfort me. As long as I have her love, I can get through anything. I'll muddle through, somehow.

Adjusting

Went bowling today, and despite reminding myself of the prior list, I didn't bowl that well. I did bowl 202 one game, and I averaged 154, but the first game was a 114 and my strike ball was very inconsistent. However, I did a decent job picking up my spares later in the six-game session. Near the end, I managed to convert a 3-9-10 spare. In order to make a 9-10, the ball needs to go right in between the two pins; there's only a few inches of error room. For this split, I had to think about the ball's reaction with the 3-pin, and where I'd need to hit the pin, in order to have the ball carom from that collision and end up right between the 9- and 10-pins. That I made it on my first attempt was wonderful, and I shouted "Yes!" and raised my fist in exhilaration.

Apart from bowling, my day has been busy. I had to go to the unemployment office to get recertified, as it's been a year since I last worked. I've done a number of household chores as well. And I've studied a lot of life contingency math.

While playing a little guitar, I started to cry, and I wept for quite a while. That "while Suzanne holds the mirror" line gets me often, even though I'm likely misinterpreting it. In short, I want to love myself, and I'm tired of getting beaten up by the world and beaten up by myself. If all esteem is self-esteem, then I need to un-swallow my pride and recognize how great I am. Yes, it stinks that I'm not working, but I have a plan that deserves execution. Yes, it stinks that so many others have children, but there's a plan in place on that front as well. Yes, it stinks that a lot of members of my family are dying, but they've had nice long lives, and it isn't right to use the earth more than others and take up space that new members of our world need to grow.

I'm tired of putting myself down. I desperately want to be happy with myself.

While driving back from the train station yesterday, our car was nearly hit by a driver that didn't even bother to look for uncoming traffic, and I said to Margie something along the lines of "why be a person that couldn't survive in a world of others just like yourself?" Coexist. Not just with others, but with yourself. If this world was made up of people that were just like you, how would you manage? If riots and crime sprees would develop like crazy, what does that say about the person you are?

If someone else in the world was just like me, how would I treat them? Would I put them down, question what little they've done, how they're wasting what talent they have? For too long, I would do such a thing. "Oh no," you might think, "you wouldn't be that cruel to someone else." Well, why not? I've been that cruel to myself for so long. Young Steve Carlson represents that person, the cruel one. He's quite successful in his career now, and he's likely a much better person as well. (Joining the Peace Corps doesn't harden people too much, I reckon.) But the person he was to me as a youth continues to live on, and I want to put him away forever. I'm no less special than anyone else.

Problems are challenges. Challenges can be overcome, and those attempts can be enjoyable.

Look in the mirror, Dave. What you see is beautiful. It's alive, vibrant, lovable. What you see is you.