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.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
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.
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.
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.
Friday, September 30, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
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.
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.
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