30 Days (XXX)

A Picture of Someone You Miss

Maebe, my old hamster.
We only had her for a year before she keeled over.

30 Days (XXIX)

A Picture That Can Always Make You Smile

My aunt in all her glory.

30 Days (XXVIII)

A Picture of Your Greatest Fear

I wrote this years ago on this blog. It’s been years since I’ve even seen Donnie Darko, and that becomes relevant in a moment. While much of the “consequential” belief systems in this fear have changed and evolved over the years—for example, I don’t believe in “The One”—the core fear (romantic loneliness) remains coherent. My framework for addressing this fear has changed much since then, whether for better or ill, but the heart of this explains what I’m most afraid of:

Do you know what I’m afraid of? I’m so afraid. I never thought I would say this to you: I am afraid of being alone. This fear haunts me, eats me, and consumes me, day in and day out, judging and liquidating my every move. I fear, so badly, never having anyone. I fear growing old, cold, and alone, never tasting love, and dying alone and forgotten in a decrepit hospice, those whitewashed tombs. I am so afraid I will never taste the kiss of a girl or feel the warmth of her body close; I am so afraid I will never be the focus of sparkling eyes and a tender touch and shy smiles. I fear never being loved, only watching others parade in fashion, hungering and thirsting and crying in my own silence. I can’t rationalize my fear away; you can’t rationalize the fear of snakes or spiders, and my life’s history gives no alternate meaning: “No one wants you, and all who might want you will be taken from you.” I am left alone, unwanted, watching my friends and their girls, watching the object of my passion for so long taken by a best friend—and he forgets me [an event in High School that foreshadows, ironically, what would happen my sophomore year of college]. For so long I’ve lain alone at home in bed as my friends went out with all those who shared affection. 

I don’t want sex or making out. I want someone to talk with, someone to hold close, a girl who doesn’t shiver at my sight but draws near, finding comfort and refuge in my arms. When she cries, I want to hold her. When I cry, I want her to hold me. I am a romantic shunned, looking around and seeing sex-mongers cheating the romance out of girls, leaving them hollow, sluttish shells—the rape of all good and true. I want a girl so badly, a genuine and authentic, loving and cherished, a beautiful and captivating girl to find a hiding place in my love, to cry no more. I want to go to candlelit dinners, to hold her by a fire, to feed off her warmth under the stars, to whisper in her ear, “I love you. It will be okay.”

Did you ever see the movie Donnie Darko? Donnie falls in love with Gretchen, and she is killed—run over by a car. It is very tragic. This haunts me, sears me, paralyzes me. It comes up in my dreams and nightmares. I am Donnie—weird, socially blundering, wanting the girl. Gretchen is the one whom I seek; I am the one who’s filled her dreams of weddings and engagements and honeymoons. Then she is taken, brutally and savagely, innocent and angelic, battered and bloodied. This I fear, too: discovering the One—and she is taken from me. I fear she shall be taken from me.

30 Days (XXVII)

A Picture of Yourself & A Family Member

She's already been on this "30 Days" thing.
And she's been mentioned in subsequent blogs again and again.
But one more time wouldn't hurt.
Amanda, my little sister, with me at Christmas this year.
Here's an acrostic:


A is for Android,
M is for Mars,
A is for Asteroid,
N is for Neptune,
D is for deep-space,
And this cosmic acrostic is for you.
            - Dedicated to My Little Sister


She's pretty great.

30 Days (XXVI)

A Picture of Something That Means A Lot to You

Skyler Barnhart. Pretty much the cutest and well-behaved dog out there. I’ve only had her for around two weeks, but I’m already in love with her. It’s great taking her out to pee and having someone else up when I get up at 4:30 to go to work. When I get home she jumps up onto me and gives me resplendent kisses, and then when I prop my tired feet up in the lounge chair she crawls right up in there with me. She’s no lap dog, either. We go to the park and I take her to play fetch and she loves it. I’m her favorite and she follows me around the house. And she’s cute as hell. 

30 Days (XXV)

A Picture of Something

You Wish You Could Change

At once both my most beloved quality and that which plagues me: my social awkwardness. "I love to take you out in public just to see what happens," my little sister told me the other day. There's a website called "Awkward Social Penguin" (from which I grabbed this picture), and basically if you go through it, every single snapshot is something I do on a daily basis. I chose this one because it's something that happened very recently. I went to Kroger to buy some groceries--you know, eggs and milk, bread, some canned foods--along with some hygienic goods. I miscounted my items and stood in line and then looked down and realized that I had eleven. My heart started racing and my eyes darted all around and my pulse quickened and fear tore through me. I didn't know whether to slide out of line--but then I'd have to make it legit, go back in the aisles for five minutes or so and buy something else--or just hope the cashier wouldn't notice. But what if she did notice? Would she say something? Embarrass me in front of the entire? Would I have to discard an item? Would she think I'm weird? Yeah, she would. Everyone does. So I waited in line and set my basket down when it was my turn and tried to act normal (which just ends up with me being the complete opposite of normal) and refused to make eye contact. She tried to initiate conversation but I just said a few words and stood there awkwardly looking down at the scanner as she swiped the goods. Relief flooded through me when she gave me my total and didn't say anything and as I left I thought to myself, "I dodged that bullet."

Mandy and my little sister told me that "Abort Mission" is something that should go off in my head whenever I speak. I say the most awkward and inappropriate things sometime. Some people stare at me in disbelief, maybe shake their heads. Most don't respond because they don't know how. But my good friends--Dylan and Tyler, for instance; and everyone in Cincinnati--love it, even if they mock me for it. And if I try to be normal for a time--I remember attempting to be normal for a week a few years ago--I fail miserably, and just get bored. I wish I could have all the great quirks of my weirdness without the social leprosy it sometimes causes. Oh well.

30 Days (XXIV)

A Picture of Your Day

Does it get any better than this?
Yes. I think it does.