Stating the obvious

I haven't written anything here for a long time. A lot can - and has happened in 22 months. Occasionally, a randomly played song or spoken name reminds me of this place and I come back. Once here, I tend to sit back content to read, muse, and observe how much has changed.

For lack of a better number, I feel that I can dismiss up to 95% of what I have written here as trivial nonsense, written for no better purpose then to feel like I was doing something mildly important. To keep my membership in "the club" current and have the buzz of feeling artistic. What is left over can be summarized by describing it as an eclectic mix of authentic stuff I am really proud of, and authentic stuff I look at now a little embarrassed by my shortsightedness and general "young-ness." But that is growing up.

I have a job now. A real, grown-up, permanent, career type of job. I have an apartment, of which my only complaint is that it faces North and so doesn't get enough sun. I have a few of the same friends - the important ones. They all continue to awe me to varying degrees.

And that - is all I have to say.

Sometimes I think that my best words are behind me. Anything new I could try to fit together would not hold the power or poetry (perceived, of course) of some of my past pieces. And perhaps this stops me. Over the few years in the life of this blog there are a handful of pieces that I am truly proud of - and read often if only to remind myself that somewhere beneath this rugged exterior lies some smoldering potential. But probably more likely is that I like revisiting the punch, feeling what I felt when my fingers flew furiously over the keys - not knowing at the time that I was creating something that would become part of me.

In all honesty, my life is only just beginning. The true challenges are still ahead. I've only been slugging away in the minors. A steady player, consistent base hit - a reliable outfielder, the occasional, expected error. Recently I've begun to feel more like the player just called up to the big leagues, on deck for the first time - legs a little shaky, palms sweaty as I pretend to warm up with the weighted donuts on my bat.

The roar of the crowd and glare of the lights feed the voracious butterflies in my stomach as my teammate takes ball one. Breathe I concentrate on feeling the grain in the wood of my bat and quickly compose a prayer that might adequately summarize my recently acquired and very, very humble attitude. (ball two) I really do not want to strike out. Fly out, hit it to the shortstop, heck bean me. Yes, bean me that's probably the best option. Nothing like a good welt and a grimace to win some sympathy as I bravely take my position at first base. (strike one)

I ponder my possibilities, and take comfort in the awareness that this line of thought is helping. My swing feels a bit steadier and for the first time I have confidence that my legs will support me at least as far as the batter's box.

I am suddenly jealous as I survey the crowd. Jealous of the fat, middle-age father who stuffs greasy, pungent garlic fries into his mouth and jeers at the umpire while his kids wreak havoc in their row and spill a collective 60 ounces of root beer. Jealous because he is here for recreation, and will go home in three hours and forget about stats and won't worry about failure or outcomes or winning records. This line of thinking does not help my nerves and I tighten my batting gloves for the third time. (crack grounder to the second basemen, who easily throws the runner out at first)

The ball is returned to the pitcher who looks at me. The catcher is standing behind home plate and turns expectantly. The umpire looks also and beckons at my hesitation. I try to pound the weights off my bat onto the ground like I've done for so many years - this time I drop the bat and have to pick it back up and weakly dust the dirt off the handle. Not good. As I begin my trek to the plate - to take my place in the batters box I've longed for my whole life, yet dreaded and feared in the past two hours more then anything, I can only think of the mechanics of how to breathe and how very much I don't want to strike out.

It is quieter now. (Nearly) All my friends are gone, I feel emotionally distanced from some people who I never expected to be. Because I don't understand what he has become or why or how he got to where he is now. The friend i had is different, i still love him but i don't know how to relate anymore. I disagree more, I shake my head, I worry. It's probably unfair of me and I don't want to judge the decisions he makes for his life as he discovers himself and what he believes, but...all the common ground we had is falling away.

It is quieter now. I am calmer. It is snowing almost constantly - muffling the world, covering our tracks, and cushioning our falls.

Valve

Why do I feel like crying?

The familiar pressure building within me - spreading from my toes and fingers - marching and gathering a crushing wave that charges to my core...my heart...I feel like exploding.

Where is the trigger? Stupid frat boys, exhaustion, conviction, confusion, stress. I can barely gather my thoughts to form a cohesive picture of my situation but I am so full of --- emotion and feeling. To the brim. I don't know how I could take any more. The urge to be alone - to find a way to deal with...with this. But even more I crave human contact with some kindred spirit. Breathing. In. Out. Trying to exhale the extra and reach a point of neutrality.

I feel like a failure. A quitter and an irresponsible. A disappointment. I know they won't say it. They wouldn't even think it - but somehow that doesn't help. I am in a shadow of my own making. Floundering in a sea poured from my own vessel. And the exit - a little painful, but temporary.

My compass is still consistent, still pointing true. Reaching into my pack, I rub my thumb over the lock and buff its glass face on the tail of my shirt. The moon is bright and I tilt the tool to the light. Deep breaths of frigid night air - it takes courage to choose to be strong. It is not the easy thing to retrace steps and re-evaluate my being.

Show me. My excuses fall flat and I am aware of their uselessness. Bring me...point me...to friends who will strengthen me. You know how very weak I am and how very much I need you. And I know too. Ah.

Crying would be a welcome relief - but I am not sure I remember how.

F.W.1

I think therefore I am. Rubbish. I feel ... i taste ... i smell ... i feel. The numbness of my hands spreads through my wrists and threatens the bones beneath. This is upsetting because when I feel the cold in my bones, I won't be warm for hours. No amount of furnaces, fires or blankets can cure me. Only time.

When or where or with whom will we finally wash ourselves free of the wilderness through which we wander?

Whose violin will call to us ... guide us ... lead us through the fog? The elements conspire both for our triumphant joy and ultimate undoing.

Rumbling roar, creaking door, flashing light, wailing scream. Up tempo, quickly jump, turn left, turn right, off we go. Round the bend, hold the turn, hit the horn, is this the end?

s l o

The smears upon the windshield are made of snow and road-grime and too much salt and sand. Its gritty texture will not easily wipe away, and the glare from their headlights casts strange shadows on the scene.

It came to my attention that a lot of the things I want/need to do are not being accomplished. Writing them down might help. And not electronically. My old friends, ink and paper are better suited. And they are going to go in a public place. In many public places. Where people can see them and make whitty, smartass comments about how little progress I am making.

I haven't really been here before - or I have, but I never had the desire to press any further. I've reached the tattered edges of the map that is my limited experience, but I still bring the yellowed chart close to my face and search it for wisdom in the dimming light. My eyes strain for some last clue - another centimeter of reassurance that the upcoming turn is the right one and I am still on course.

My compass is still good, I have the Standard - I know against what to measure my direction. Maybe that is all I need - it must be, and the sounding boards that are my trusted confidants.

Muse

Bentleys and bmw's, volkswagons and minivans, hippies and hemp, old folks and their dogs - the people are much louder then the dogs who don't bark when they outnumber us. Marymoor park in the fall, the sky a classic northwest gray, the wind slow but still biting. Traffic annoying until I think of all the lives it represents. An eclectic melding of people, a clash of culture and humanity. I like that the traffic jam is lined with trees so it feels like three thousand and seven people are on a nature walk and taking a collective breath before we gather up our kinetic energy and continue on the trail. Skyscrapers rising from mountain ranges, industry through the mist, blessed water just on the other side of a famous market. Orange coveralls shout and laugh and flying fish delight tourists and children and I am delighted, but I am not a tourist. A Porsche at a highschool game, a homeless woman tells me what she will have for lunch and this new, little condo cost more then that familiar house. Sweaters and cartigans, trenchcoats and fedoras, umbrellas and golashes. Perfectly unshaven with an italian name finds his way, goose down vest paddles a kayak to certain peace.

Waking up to windstorms and soaked earth, loving the feeling of a fireplace on my toes. Savoring the smell of gingerbread and soup and the sounds of piano. Wishing for someone to climb a tree with.

...Wait for it...

Hold the phone -

There may be a grand re-opening soon...

O, and in case she stops by, "sand-filled-shoes" should drop me her email address or enable comments so I can say how beautiful her writing is and how her photos make me pause.

So applecare works. Actually I could have stolen this laptop and walked in and had it fixed because they didn't ask for any proof of ownership or warranty anythings. Makes me wonder why I paid the extra $100 for the protection. A burned-out looking, soft speaking, goatee-wielding fellow took my computer from me, typed for a bit, printed out a receipt for nothing and then handed me a new battery. That'll do. While I was waiting I had the chance to take in the walls of products around me and I have to admit - if apple doesn't have the best product, they definitely do a good job of convincing you otherwise. Marketing: A+.

As I work tirelessly at realizing my dream of being a Seattle firefighter, the dreams of others begin to take on new meaning and I begin to worry that they will not be fulfilled. Singing the national anthem at Safeco Field, for example. Not my dream but if a certain someone never realizes that goal I may be more disappointed then them. Want to be on tv? Run Disney? Be a top financial guru guy? The list goes on and I am deciding that I will probably have to start meddling and throwing my not-so-influential weight around to try to help. Dreams are important.

O, I have seen the water now. I spent all day downtown and drove over the 520 and I90 bridges so got lots of quality water time.

Um, Viva la Seattle!

If you know something about me you probably know that one of the things I have to do when I go home is see the water in Seattle. It's one of the great con's of living in Spokane that there is a fairly distinct absence an area that holds billions of gallons of saltwater resulting in a lack of ocean-ness. And ocean-ness I need. I haven't even had the chance to see that precious water yet and already I feel its effects - calmness, fragrance in the air, a boost in creativity, and an inspiration to take on new challenges. Like the lamp next to my bed that doesn't work. I'm going to fix it. Right now.

And I'm a genius. Granted, having the correct type of lightbulb, and ultimately any lightbulb at all is that was needed but someone had to take a look under that lampshade.

I drive the speed limit now. It's crazy, I never thought I would be one of those people, but when I get on the freeway I actually set the cruise control to 2 over the posted limit, find a cozy spot in the right lane and watch the rest of humanity fly by me. It sounds infantile but you actually get to see so much more of the world and people - driving becomes so much more relaxing when I'm not having to focus because I'm going 20 faster then everyone else. Plus I'm not worried about police and I'm saving a buttload of gas. Win win win win type of situation.

I went back to my old highschool today - a place where evidently progress has yet to pay a visit. The football field has the same holes (or sandtraps) it always has, the track is still a reddish clay, the hallways are cement and there's a huge picture of me hanging in the foyer even tho nobody who goes there would know who i am anymore. One of the more surreal moments was walking down the main hallway and looking at the pictures of graduating classes. I came to mine and laughed when I realized there were three more after it. Maybe no progress, but time is another story...

Going to test applecare tomorrow. It would be nice if they gave me a new macbook....