the garden of your mind

the final(?) week

1 Year at The Claypole House. She's been good to me.

Monday. I opened with Sarah, and then after a nap, Amos and I went over to Emily's to relax after a hellish day at work. One of the Health Inspectors for the World Choir Games came in and wants to shut us down, the whole thing is ridiculous. I think we'll be all right, though. There's a hearing about it sometime next week, and I'm unsure who called for it. John and Brandy came over later in the night, and so did Brandon, bearing the gift of peace, much-needed peace. Ams came home from her stint in Dayton over the weekend, watching the house for Mom & Dad who are in Arizona, and she brought Sky with her. "She almost got hit by a car today," Ams told me. Sky's not really the brightest mutt around.

The Last Day of Spring. I slept in and then closed with Emily. The Health Inspector came in again, raising more havoc, but I don't think he'll be back again till next week. I hung out with Amos and Isaac after work, and then I went to Eden Park for a bit to do some reading--The Killer Angels, it's an excellent book--and then grabbed Wendy's for dinner. It was an early bedtime for me and Sky. Oh: Blake left for Portland today. He's visiting Rob & Mandy. Am I jealous? Certainly so.

The First Day of Summer. Tiffany and I opened, and we were ridiculously busy. Everything's back up and running and business is good. Andy and I played Grand Theft Auto IV in the dungeon after work, and then I met up with Dewenter on Fountain Square, kicking off the summer with beers and dinner at Rock Bottom Brewery. Megan hit us up with a discount and I used one of my $25 gift cards to cover the rest (leaving a decent tip, of course). Dewenter and I sat out on the Square after stuffing ourselves with nachos, pasta, and a triple chocolate brownie smothered in vanilla ice cream and hot fudge. We watched a Reggae band playing for 2012's "Summer on the Square" concert series, and they basically covered 80's songs in a retrofitted Reggae feel. I didn't get the band's name and made sure of that. We parted ways, and I took Sky for a delightful walk around campus, reliving cryptic and half-buried memories. Those days at C.C.U. feel so very long ago, are of a different chapter in my life, and I kinda feel like remembering them is like looking through someone else's memoirs. 

One Year at the Claypole House! I woke feeling sick after a bad dream, but work took the edge off. I headed up to Dayton with Sky; she much prefers being in her home environment. She was surrounded by people she didn't know--namely Amos and Andy--and she seemed pretty uncomfortable. But can you blame her? Just look at them. The evening was spent hanging out with Tyler at his place: MW3, sushi, and Blue Planet nature documentaries. Ams joined us later in the evening, and both of us stayed at Mom & Dad's place. I watched Civil War documentaries before collapsing into bed around 1 A.M.

Friday. I headed down to Cincinnati to work my 11-6:00 shift, and after hanging out with a few people around the house--the usual crew, plus Isaac & Josh A.--I went back to Dayton for the last night of house-sitting (Ams covered most of it while I watched Sky). I fixed linguine in Alfredo sauce with grilled chicken and vegetables, and it was delicious. Before bed I watched the first part of "Gettysburg", a movie based on The Killer Angels and phenomenal because (a) it's filmed on-location and (b) everything from the troop movements, rifles, epithets and boots is historically accurate. "It helps me better envision an accurate portrayal of the events when I'm reading the book," I told Ams. I'm such a nerd.

Saturday. I grabbed McDonald's for breakfast--I'm a sucker for their breakfast burritos, and they're only a dollar!--and then got coffee from the Centerville Starbucks and perused Barnes & Noble. I spent the morning reading & writing, playing with Sky, and it was a cool morning so I went over to Stubb's Park and walked around for a bit. So much on my mind lately. Ams & I hung out on the back porch for a while, and when she went swimming in Mom's retrofitted pool, I met up with Tony P. & Dewenter at our old stomping-grounds: CHINA COTTAGE! I'd forgotten (but delightfully remembered) how amazing their food is. Appetizer, soup, and the entree were all first-class. I returned to Cincinnati to enjoy a calm evening playing video games with Andy & Amos.

Sunday. I was a fool and left my wallet in Dayton, so I jetted up there upon awakening and spent the afternoon visiting with Mom & Dad, and they shared stories of Navajo Indians and desert livin' from their time doing mission work in Arizona. I returned to Cincinnati and got dinner at Red Robin with Ams, and desert was three tubs of U.D.F. ice cream (3 for $10!) while watching the movie Driver with Amos & Andy.

The plan all along was to give day-to-day descriptions of different parts of my week through my first year in Cincinnati. Well. I've been in Cincinnati a year now. A lot's changed. A lot hasn't changed. And I'm unsure whether or not I want to keep it going. My life honestly isn't that exciting--these posts are about as exciting as I can make it, so you know it's not quite that over-the-top--but at the same time, my nostalgic funny-bone gets tickled by the mere presence of these posts, and I like to trickle through them in a cascading fashion, reliving different moments of my time here. This, along with the fact that I don't write on here incredibly often (or at least not as much as I used to; as far as most blogs go, I'm a machine) makes me want to keep it running. So I've decided to just go ahead and keep running with this until (a) I decide, for whatever reason, to kill it, and (b) there's really no Point B here. And thus the 52nd week comes to a close, and we're launching into summer and into my second year here at this den of pagan degenerates. 

the 51st week

the 1215 Wine Bar & Coffee Lab.
Proudly serving Tazza Mia coffee.

Monday. I went to The Anchor before work, and after a solid close I went over to Brandy's. She just got back from Bonnaroo Music Festival, was pretty exhausted. We hung out for a hot minute, talking 'bout what kind of bacteria we would be based on our personalities, and her roommate Erin stepped barefoot into her Chipotle and ruined it. Back home the evening was spent hanging out with Blake, Amos, Isaac and Andy while watching "Game of Thrones." The final episode of Season 1 is awesome. 

Tuesday. Work was preceded by The Anchor yet again, and after we closed, Amos and I hiked over to the Chipotle on Fountain Square for dinner. The evening was spent smoking pipes, reading on the front porch, and hanging out with the roommates. It was a lot like a mild Georgian summer night, ripe and humid and the insects all abuzz.

Wednesday. I did some writing at The Anchor before closing with Amos. I cleaned out my car after work and ran to get gas and played video games with Amos. Yeah, exciting day.

Thursday. I worked 7:30-3:00 with Stephanie and Tiffany. While putting away the order I found an old unopened growler from Rock Bottom, and I drank about half of it during my shift. I was feeling pretty good during the lunch rush. Brandon and I had a meeting about the role I'll be filling at 600 come autumn: an "official" shift manager and "unofficially" Amos' bitch. "You and Amos will make a great team," he said. After work I took a short nap, and then I grabbed City B.B.Q. for dinner: ribs, baked beans with brisket, and hush puppies. The evening was spent hanging out with Amos, Andy, Isaac, and Josh A., and I went on a few late-night drives, the usual route: up 50 & 'round through Eden Park.

Friday. I covered Ana's F.P. shift, opening with Tiffany and Sarah. After work I jetted up to Dayton, did some shopping with Mom & Dad (finally found iced animal crackers!), and we got dinner at Wendy's. They went to bed early, have to get up way before the crack of dawn, and I followed suit a while after, once I finished watching Holy Rollers: The True Story of Card-Counting Christians. Some old college buds--Pat H., Ryan, James, and Mike F.--were in it, and it was a damned good story. I finished reading Gods & Generals while curled up in the guest bedroom: next up is The Killer Angels.

Saturday. Mom & Dad left around 3:30 AM for the airport: they're spending the next week doing missions work at a Navajo Indiana reservation in Arizona with a bunch of folk from Southwest, including Joe & Cindy. I woke much later and got an iced soy caramel macchiato from Spring Valley, got to see Kyle, Leslie, Ben and Joanne. I spent the afternoon reading and writing, made a trip to Barnes & Nobles but couldn't justify spending money on anything. Ams rolled in to house-sit through Tuesday, so I jetted back down to Cincinnati and spent the afternoon hanging out with Amos, Andy, Isaac and Josh A. Andy and I went to the 1215 Wine Bar & Coffee Lab on Vine Street, sat out on the patio in the cool evening drinking ethiopian harrar and talking about life and all its trimmings. Frank was working, and Bobby Bonder came running down Vine and stopped to chat with us for a hot minute. When we got back Eric and Tiffany were at their mom's house, their kids blowing bubbles, so we milled around with them for a bit, and then Amos, Isaac, and Josh joined us for dinner in Oakley at a place called Noodles, Inc. It was pretty good--I got Pad Thai with grilled chicken and snacked on Amos' edamame--and their fire alarm kept going off. Andy and I went joy-riding to the tunes of Pedro the Lion, and when Isaac and Josh headed home, Amos and I played Call of Duty late into the night. We went out onto the front porch to find Andy drunk off Meade and wearing nothing but his boxers, smoking cigarettes and writing. He lent me three cigarettes and I went on a drive west to Indiana and back, The Black Keys the overture.


Sunday. I went to The Anchor for a hot minute in the morning, and after a round of Call of Duty, Amos and I did lunch at Dusmesh. The afternoon was spent reading, and Brandon came over to hang out for a bit. It's good hanging out with him outside work, when he's not so stressed out about the finite business details. I went for another drive out to Indiana, all the way to Lawrenceburg, and then I went the opposite direction down Route 50 to the Starbucks in Mariemont to do some writing while enjoying an iced soy caramel macchiato and a pumpkin scone. 

my life story

Andy: "I found the Japanese adaptation of your life story."
I can't argue with that.

barista sketch

Nailed it.

zombie baby

Another reason I'm hesitant to hold babies.
You just never know.

the 50th week

A statue at the Eden Park duck pond.
Cincinnati has something for everyone!

Monday. I woke and went to The Anchor to do some writing before closing 600 with Amos. USFoods didn't get our order in 'til 1:15, 'bout seven hours late, and we had to shut down salad bar because we ran out of salads. Brandon was furious, and I don't blame him: we're all getting pretty tired of all the headaches they cause us. Amos and I got out right at 5:30, and he went to John's place for the night, and Andy, Isaac, Ams and I spent the evening watching "Game of Thrones". I did some reading before bed and went on a late-night Wendy's run for dinner (Andy and Ams got pizza).

Tuesday. Another visit to The Anchor was followed by a swift & sure close with Amos. Some tourists snapped photos of my latte art: I'm deceptively cool. The evening was spent hanging out with Amos, playing video games with Amos, and reading Gods & Generals. I watched a few episodes of "Lie to Me" and ate a vegetable wrap for dinner (along with a soft Bonbonnarie molasses cookie). I saw on Facebook that Jessica C. is dating someone now. I felt nothing, just that twinge in my gut, the knot of knowing all along that she'd find someone before me, that's how it works. "We're going to be alone forever," Ams mused. Maybe so, and I can't help but wonder if our standards are too high. I don't know what's worse: being alone or settling for someone who's less than you want, less than you need? The other person's always got it best, so I'll never know. But I do know that settling is hard, especially when you've met someone who's not just met your "ingloriously high" standards but who also exceeded them. 

Wednesday. My morning Anchor trip involved writing blog posts to be unveiled (below). Amos and I closed, and then we packed into Andy's car and went to Kro-Ghetto, and back at the house we had quite the buoyant dinner: grilled pound steaks, homemade mashed potatoes, sweet corn, baked beans and cornbread. We polished it off with some Guinness and pipes. Cat came over for a couple hours, and we sat on the back porch and enjoyed the mild sunset and smoked hookah long past dark. It was good seeing her again.

Thursday. Brandon and I opened, a skeleton crew: it was crazy, but we got through it all right (much praise to Andy for jumping in & helping out during the lunch rush). I left at 3:00 and took a nap and then went to The anchor, and Amos and I played video games when he got home from closing. We got Chipotle for dinner, and the burrito-artisans loved his Anchor Grill t-shirt (as they should) and so they gave him his burrito on the house. I cleaned my room which had been rendered a mess during a strange night terror Monday night (I reorganized my room, so-to-speak, putting stuff in the weirdest places to try and avoid a spider infestation). I rolled the evening out watching some "Lie to Me."

Friday. I went to The Anchor and then closed with Sarah, the new girl. She's pretty cool, worked at Taza (from its birth to its death), so she already knows how to do most of our drunks, and she's a quick study. We got out right on time, and then Amos and I played Call of Duty for a bit before Andrew & Megan Hartman came over. I went to Eden Park to do some reading by the duck pond--Gods & Generals, I'm loving it--and on my way back I ran through Wendy's for a late-night dinner. The rest of the evening was spent smoking hookah with the Hartmans, Blake, Andy & Ams.

Saturday. I spent 1/2 an hour under the back porch, rifling through rot and rubbish to find my car key, which had slipped through the porch's crooked and bowed wooden boards late last night 'round 2 AM. I went to The Anchor but they were having a garage sale in the lot so the place was packed. Thus I vetoed the idea, ran some errands, went to the bank, and then Amos and I got Dusmesh Indian buffet for lunch. I ate so much I felt sick afterwards, but it went away after a cat-nap. I grabbed some coffee from the gas station and headed south to Lexington, and Aunt Teri gave me a tour of both Jared and Jesse's new houses. Jared lives two doors down from Jesse's ex-girlfriend (who just donated a bunch of baby accessories to Jesse for Kennedy), and Jesse's got a mansion-esque stone house with wood flooring in the Kentucky countryside, complete with a horse paddock used by the previous owners. I met Kennedy, Jesse & Mandy's one-month baby, and I held her and fed her and she rooted into my neck and fell asleep on my shoulder. Jesse & Jared and Uncle Bill went to Cincinnati for the Red's Game, so unfortunately I didn't get to see much of them. Aunt Teri and I ran some errands with Ashley (Jared's wife), and we got Starbucks before meeting up with Grandma, Great Aunt Ethel, Barb, Tim & Sonya for dinner at some candlelit Italian restaurant. I went home right after, rolling into Cincinnati around midnight. I was delighted to see Jake and Tony at the house, but I was worn out and could barely stand so I crawled up to my bedroom and promptly passed out.

Sunday. I went to The Anchor for a bit, and Amos, Andy and I got Dusmesh for lunch yet again. I went to the park to read but it was so hot I didn't stay long. Mom & Dad came down to deliver a recliner--"It's only got six bed bugs, so you should be good," Dad quipped--and then we had a family venture down to Newport on the Levee, where we saw the new Snow White movie and got an early dinner at Dewey's Pizza. "You seem quiet," Mom said. "Is everything okay?" I'm tired, worn out, stretched thin, empty, and still recovering from the stress of the last month. Par for the course at this point, but all I need, I think, is a good vacation. They headed back to Dayton, and Amos and I smoked pipes on the front porch and watched "Arrested Development" with Blake, and we played video games with Andy and I went to The Anchor 'round 9:00 and that's where I'm writing this post now (with my handy journal beside me). My netbook's dying, the battery light flashing, and the coffee's cold and the urging for a cigarette is becoming too much to bear, so I'm going to publish this post, close shop, and head back home for a quiet night of anticipated (a) reading: Gods & Generals; and (b) hanging out with the roomies. 

on the road again

Amanda informed me that "Those who simply write out their goals achieve far more than those who don't." That's pretty telling. My ultimate goal in life, like everyone, is to find happiness, or at least some measure of it. Maybe "happiness" isn't the write word: the Greek philosophers wrote that men didn't pursue happiness but eudaimonia, a fully-flourishing human life. That's what I'm after, and already I'm itching to go on and on about eudaimonia, something I studied a lot in my college days, but I'm forcing myself not to: that's not what this post is about. It's about what I want out of life--namely, the sort of person I want to be--and how I can move towards that, knowing full-well that nothing's guaranteed, but movement is always better than stagnation (even if this movement just serves to send us "cirsumvrenting" the pond). 

My ultimate desire, that which I want the most, is a family. I could quite easily get on Craigslist and find someone who would marry me and have my kids (sadly enough), but again: I'm after more than that. With that being the ultimate goal, what're some steps I can take to move in that direction? Here are a few I've pulled together over countless cups of coffee at The Anchor:

Quit Smoking. I've pretty much gotten this one down, it's more-so a matter of cutting that final chord, throwing off that final afternoon black-&-mild or late-night cigarette courtesy of C. Isaac. It isn't just that smoking smells bad and is disgusting to those who don't smoke, obviously slashing my chances with the majority of single women in the area; really, I don't want to get cancer, or heart disease, and die by the foolishness of my own hand. Worse, I can't imagine widowing my wife, and leaving my children fatherless. I know quite well that could happen, but I don't want to think that what takes me is something I could've totally prevented but, in my own self-indulgence, refused to prevent. At the end of the day, it's about my health, and it goes further than a fag in the mouth. I want to be healthy and have a healthy family, and though I generally do eat well (except for recently, but that's per doctor's orders), this is still a hang-up that needs to be addressed and extinguished completely.

Get my Master's. I don't know where I'll be working or what I'll be doing come another ten years. Maybe it'll be ministry, but most likely it'll be something entirely different. Hopefully not coffee, where the only way to live off it is to be in the upper echelon of the coffee empire. I've written about getting my Master's  a few times, and I've talked a lot about it with my Dad. He likes the idea and had a lot of good pointers. Right now it looks as if I'll be going back to school sometime this coming spring, and I'll be doing so either (a) online or (b) through a satellite campus, depending on which program and school I go through. The degree? The plan is for Business & Marketing; it's not that these things excite me (how could they?) but such degrees open doors, and I'd like to nab a financially stable and secure job where I can provide for myself and my future family without constantly worrying if I've got the finances to do it. As much as it's tempting to get my Master's in something that interests me, a library card serves just as well, isn't as expensive, and a business degree can actually do something for you. I've got a Bachelor's degree, and though it may be in the liberal arts, it's still a degree, and though it may be useless in the field where I am now, the reality is that it can be a stepping-stone, and that's precisely how I plan on using it. I won't let $88,000 of other peoples' money go to waste.

Meet People! I don't really meet a whole lot of people in my current station in life, and that's due to two things: (a) I'm not really involved in any clubs or organizations or social spheres outside work, and (b) I'm more than content to putz around with those people already in my life and call it a day. The friends I have now are wonderful and cherished; I'm not a lonely person. I laugh every day and always have something to write home about. But I still have considerable difficulty meeting girls, and I'm thinking the best route to do this is to get involved in church again. Is this a bad reason to go to church? Maybe, maybe not. But I've been wanting to get back in church for a while now, for a variety of reasons, and start going somewhere consistently, rather than spotty attendance at U.C.C. and accompanying my parents to Southwest every once in a blue moon. There's plethora reasons for me wanting to get back into church, and this is just one of them, and certainly not topping the list. It's difficult meeting people, and maybe--God willing--I'll meet one in church? As much as I don't like going to church alone, I could always try and find a buddy; and if no buddy is to be found, then I'll just have to stomach the nerve and do it. Damn these INFP characteristics!

Pursue Maturity. If we gain everything we want but turn into embittered, miserable creatures at the end of it, then what's the point? The most important aspect of all this is continual growth, continual development, a continual evolution (rather than devolution) of my character. I'd like to think I'm a decent guy, that I've got a good head on my shoulders (albeit crazy at times), and that I generally treat others better than I treat myself. But, then again, we all like to think that. Getting healthy, getting a better job, getting back in church, meeting someone... These are all great things, great steps to be taken, but if these steps are taken at the expense of my soul, then I've gratuitously fucked up. I want wisdom in my thoughts, love in my actions, and compassion in my manner. These things are far more important than life's various trimmings.

I may never meet someone like the Wisconsinite, but the fact that she exists and opened my heart and eyes like she did makes me think that if there's only one in this world, it's a pretty sick joke. I would've put in my 2 weeks notice and moved up there in a heartbeat to be with her, and I wonder if I'll ever find that again? As much as I may make out my "wanderings" in the Girl Arena to be a lost cause, I know that's not the case. I'm a decently attractive guy, more-so than most, and girls are attracted to me. I've dated a number of girls, girls who genuinely wanted to be with me and were drawn to me, but I think I'm just too damned picky. Surveying the history of my relationships (or attempts at them), I notice two things: (a) I end things quickly with girls when I'm unsure of my feelings towards them, and (b) those whom I genuinely want to be with do the same with me. It's an unfortunate reality of things, but I'm confident the cycle will, in time, be broken. I've either got to lower my standards or keep leaving a wide wake of bloodied hearts in my path. The truth is that it's hard to stick with someone when they don't make you come alive, don't make you feel that newness of life, don't make you find yourself again. Nevertheless, I'm still hoping, and I'm still striving, and I'll keep going.

a *tentative* sketch

"Who do I want to be? What do I want to do?" These questions aren't separate but integrated, and my attempts to stitch together some answer highlights that despite many things being concrete in who I want to be and what I want to do, some things are still pretty vague. Where I want to live, how I want to use my writing addiction, things like that are peripheral, shifting like polymorphs under the weight of "the core of it all", whatever that might be. Scouring this blog's posts over the last five years, I see again and again this dream resurfacing, then killed; there's hope in one post, and a damning denial of hope in the next. It's a constant wrestling, but beyond that wrestling lies the reality that there really is something I want to be, something I want to do; and I'm attempting, quite tentatively, a sketch of all that, bearing in mind that this is all it is: a sketch. 

So: "Who do I want to be?" There are all the classic answers, of course: a loving husband and a loving father (hopefully in that order), and a cherished friend. I want to be passionate, dedicated, devout and crazy, "a little bit off" (but in the good way like you want). I want to be known as genuine, real, honest and caring, a generous person with a hint of eccentricity and a deep well of devotion and loyalty. "What do I want to do?" Being honest with myself, I'm not really sure of all that; the pendulum could swing in either direction, throwing the entire sketch askew. Reshape the question into "What kind of life do I want?" and the answer becomes clearer: as I've said before, my heart-shaped desire is "a simple life in a simple love with a simple girl" (you could add "in a simple town" as well, but I think that's just a bit overkill). A quiet life in a quiet town sharing life's highs & lows with my heart-warming comrade, supporting and encouraging one another, weeping and celebrating and laughing and enduring together. This lies at the heart of what I want, at the core of who I want to be; and it's not just a selfish "I don't want to be alone forever": if that were the case, I could've easily be done and married by now. What I want is connection, intimacy, friendship and love. 

I've pictured this life in a variety of ways down the years: in one image, I'm sitting on the front porch at sunset, sitting in the rocking chair smoking a pipe while she's curled up in the hammock reading a book, the trees rising thick and darkening 'round the house. In another I'm standing out on the balcony, looking out over the sleeping city, and she's wrapping her arms around me, holding me tight. Head further south for #3, where we stand in the Blue Ridge Mountains drinking hot coffee at the break of dawn, smoke still rising from the cabin's chimney where the embers smolder in their lair. Head far northwest to Ketchikan, Alaska, and we're walking the boardwalks, admiring the fishing trawlers, dots of rain falling in our hair, her hand in mine and the quiet broken only by the cries of the sea-birds and the waves breaking against the piers. The scenery changes, but the heart of it all remains the same; and though these little "prophetic flashes" (as I'd hope them to be) don't delve into too much detail, the mere imaginings swell my heart with all sorts of feelings that could make easily make one nauseous afterwards. 

And this is the heart of it: I want a life of love, laughter, endurance and companionship with a woman who will "protect me and reconnect me to the beauty that I'm missin'," a woman to whom I can give my heart and my body and confess my love, a woman who will make me "know my name as it's called again." I long to find someone with whom I can connect, and share life with, and love, and to quote The Hush Sound (rather than The Avett Brothers and Mumford & Sons, who have already been echoed), I wish that "like vines we intertwine, carelessly growing up and growing old." This dream can be denied and ignored, but it can't be killed. This dream is, as I've written before, not some peripheral burden to my personality but integral to the core of who I am. Seeking to discard this dream would be nothing short of psychological self-surgery rendering me dismembered. Though it's a quest not at all certain, it's a quest worth pursuing, with determination and a stoic hope. But how to purse this, practically? My brain's geared towards the abstract and theoretical, and this question causes me more grief than those preceding it.

in praise of the gravedigger

a quaint cottage home.
also, it reminds me of "Dead Island"

We walked down the road hand-in-hand, past the ice cream shop and the antique book sellers, past the rows of cottage-style homes bordering the lake, rocking chairs and hammocks strewn about the porticoes. The trees were in full plumage, the leaves a mix-matched patchwork of reds and browns and yellows. She made me come alive, settled my fears, opened my heart, made me know myself more than I ever did. She was and is "beautifully captivating," and more than in those ways that meet the eye. I care for her now even more than I've cared for most. She remains, for better or worse, the litmus test. "We're gonna be alone forever," Ams mused. Maybe our standards are too high. But it's hard not to have high standards when they've been met before, and not just met but set. It's not that I have a list, really, that needs to be checked top-to-bottom, and she crossed off the list in one fell swoop. It's more than that, hard to describe. She brought life, she made it easier to breathe, she made me see and she made me hope, and she continues to do that, over half a year later, even now. She opened my eyes in a way that no one else has, and my eyes remain open. Months after the fact, 'bout half a year, I'm still seeing things differently, and thus I know that what we had is by no means rendered Null & Void. She changed me, I think, and for the better. 

By opening my eyes, she made me see who I wanted to be. Walking through that quiet town on that sunny afternoon, her hand in mind, the quaintness surreal... It felt right, it felt whole, and I can't shake that. "Who do I want to be? What do I want to do with my life?" She shone a light on my heart, and she showed me what had been hidden there all along, what had once been thriving and prosperous but which had shriveled and shrunk to a meager skeleton; and she clothed this skeleton with muscle and sinews and breathed into it life. My dream wasn't gone, it was just buried, and she brought it to the surface, reminding me again of who I was and who I wanted to be. 

I'm fond of saying that it takes two to dig a grave, but only one to fill in the hole that's been made; but maybe the hole shouldn't be refilled at all? If I were to go into chronological, step-by-step detail of how (and why) I've sought to fill that grave year after year, it would go on for paragraphs and paragraphs. I'll spare the grisly and meandering details, only to say that instead of buckling down under the fear, the uncertainty, the paranoia, maybe I should just on the edge of that grave and take a good, hard, long look into it. C. Isaac has a bumper sticker on the back of his car that reads "Where are you going?" Most people fumble through life just letting the waves carry them where they may; and in truth, in many ways, I've lived such a sort of life. But I'm seeing that stagnation is no way to live at all, and conducting your life by the moves dictated by fear and anxiety only tend to send you hurrying in circles, going nowhere fast. I want to be going somewhere; but I need to know where I'm going before I can get on the road, or I'll just end up lost. And as much as lostness may be praised, you don't find anyone who's genuinely lost cherishing it. If I want to go somewhere, the first step is staring into that grave and letting that which I've tried to kill to come up for a breath of fresh air.

early june grill-out

gazing down the road

A Facebook friend (more an age-old acquaintance than anything) posted a news article on their wall about how the years of our twenties determine, for the most part, the shape and contour of our lives. There are exceptions, of course; but statistically-speaking, the twenties are when our habits are set, our personalities made concrete, our worldviews cemented, our characters set in stone. Who we are in our twenties is who we'll most likely be 'til the end of our days. Andy and I got Dusmesh this past Saturday, and we talked a whole lot about this. I wondered aloud how I would look back on these days, and I shared with him my sentiments: "My response will probably be, first, 'What the hell was I thinking?!' and, second, 'It was a helluva good time.'" I know I'll look back fondly on these days, those long summer nights where we were just "cool kids livin' like the good times never end, we just daydream, waste away in a stoned out summer's end." And as much as I may look back on these days with a cinematic skew, the reality is that these days have been filled with much wrestling regarding life and the future, and this wrestling gains a greater importance in light of the fact that its end-result (if there can be such a thing) isn't just something for the moment but something that will strain itself out throughout the rest of my life. 

The kind of person I am now will very likely be the kind of person I will be, period. And so the begging question: "Who do I want to be?"

Late last week I enjoyed a hefty steak dinner and Irish Reds with Dewenter, and we sat in his apartment's little kitchen cutting into our steaks and smothering our sweet potatoes with butter, and we retold stories from our high school years like we always do, and we talked about how we had great and irrational dreams, how we were so naive about things, how we didn't have a clue how the world worked. And I'm forced to wonder, Has any of that changed? Or are we just buying into different irrational dreams, naive about other sorts of things, and in the end can we say that we understand not only the functions of reality but its purpose? It's seven years after the fact and though we've both changed greatly, much remains the same; of the interconnected web of friendships stretched over our high school years, he and I are the only ones remaining of that fragile and decrepit web, and we know one another better than we know most of our compatriots. We struggle with the same things, fall in the same ways, go through the same emotional trials, have all our issues... All this to say that maturity hasn't chiseled us into tried-&-true golden pinnacles of our personalities, but rather simply changed us. But which changes are good and which are bad? Hell if I know. But I know that while I've grown stronger in some areas, I've grown weaker in others; and I know that there are aspects of the "old me" that I desire to be resurrected, re-birthed, but I can't help shake the feeling that those days are gone and that me is gone and any thought of "going back" is nothing short of retrograde, devolution, an attempt at birthing "ignorance is bliss". But then I wonder if that's just an excuse: I know, for the most part (I like to think), how I've gone from Point A to Point B, and I know that there may very well indeed be a Point C, and I wonder how much control I have over that. Is it possible to paint a portrait of Point C and then move towards that, increasing the odds, so-to-speak, of Point C unraveling as hoped for? I used to think No, but I'm starting to think Yes. 

"Who do I want to be?" That's the primary question here. 

And the secondary question: "How do I get there?"

A few weeks ago I met up with an old friend. Years before he found himself in dire straits, feeling trapped and hopeless in a dead-end life working as a grocer. He had his pity party and then I made the point clear: "It's not that you're hopeless. You're just lazy." He knew change was within his grasp; and he didn't just know this, he knew what it would take to make that change happen. He just didn't want to go through the effort. "The fact that you can make change happen means that you're not really hopeless," I told him. "Hope is there, hope is real, it just can't be waited for, you've got to actually take some responsibility for your own life. You've got to buckle down, grow a pair, and make it happen." It took him a while, but he did. When we spoke last, he was living in community, got a new job he loves, and is flourishing in the love of family and friends. He stopped sitting on his ass and got to work. Now I'm in his position, at least in a sense; and I know that change can be made, that there are steps to that change, that they will be difficult indeed; but I know that change is possible.

The problem, again: "Who do I want to be?"

If I don't know this, how can I sketch a Point C? How can I move towards it?

Sometimes I wonder if I even know who I really want to be.

I know who I was, I know who I am, but... Who I want to be?

Or am I just lying to myself?

Maybe I do know who I want to be, but I stave it off as irrational, illusory, nothing but a dream destined to remain forever a dream? If I'm honest with myself, and if I push off the fears and anxieties, I can catch a glimpse of it. When I stand alone in nature, with the trees wrapped around me, nothing but the wind and the rattling of the leaves and the tumbling waters winding through the creek, I know--in the silence--who I want to be, I can see it opening itself before me, filling every nook and cranny of my imaginative powers. I become captivated by it, drawn to it... But when the noises return, when "real life" settles about me, the vision fades, breaks apart, disintegrates. It's hidden there, somewhere, inside me, drawn out by beauty, by peace, by hope. And I'm thinking maybe I should pay attention to that.

stagnation

This is about how I feel at the moment.

the 49th week

Yep...

Memorial Day. I spent the afternoon with Mom, doing shopping and such and catching up. I've got a NASTY bruise from the blood-work; the vein knotted up something awful. The nurse asked me if I wanted her to try a different spot on the vein, and I told her just to keep going, it was already in there; and now I've got a bruise to prove it. I went out to Caesar's Creek, around 5:00 almost everyone from Dad's side of the family came over for a Memorial Day grill-out. It started to rain just as we got the grill going, but we made do. It was good seeing everybody, and I went to town on cheeseburgers, pasta, baked beans and Macaroni-&-Cheese. I returned to Cincinnati around 10:00, and I hung out with Blake, Andy, Amos & Isaac for a bit before calling it a night.

Tuesday. I worked 6-2:30, an insane day with our equipment breaking down at every turn: the ice machine's broken, the Food Prep cooler stopped working, our computer systems went down, and we were short-staffed. "Par for the course," Tiffany quipped. I echoed her sentiments. I napped after work and went to The Anchor to write, and when I got home I hung out with Amos and Ams, played "Dead Island," and Andy & I grabbed dinner from Chipotle. John and Brandy came over for a while, and Mandy brought my attention to a zombie attack in Florida. "Summon the horses and gather the men, say your last goodbyes to the women and children..."

Wednesday. I woke early and went to The Anchor to do some writing before closing shop with Shameless Amos (a.k.a. Commodore Harvey). Our oven quit working (add it to the list), so I ran over to Rock Bottom and grabbed some nachos w/ chicken for lunch. Megan--the waitress I always get--was there, and I hadn't talked to her for a hot minute, so that was cool. The new hire, Sarah, started today: she's got lots of XP (in the Skyrim sense) and should make a grand addition to the 600 team. Jake was at our house when we got home, his truck idling in the driveway with Brittany crouched inside on her phone: he had to piss before he went in his pants. Amos and I took zombie pictures, played Call of Duty, and I went on a late-night Wendy's run. I was excited about the possibility of a free grill from Tiffany, but it'd accidentally gotten lost in her stuff. She gave me the bad news, then said, "Lenin says you need to stop losing your grills." Ha.

Thursday. I worked 7:30-3:30 covering Ana's Food Prep shift, and after coffee and writing at The Anchor I went to Dewenter's apartment in Fort Thomas. We watched episodes of "The Office", listened to Zeppelin on his scratch-disc, and drove his cat Sunday--his sister's old cat--quite literally up the wall. We broiled some pound steaks and paired them with baked sweet potatoes and mac-&-cheese (with peas!). All this topped off with some bottles of Killian's Irish Red. A series of heavy storms rattled through on my drive home, and all downtown was lit up with reflected lightning as I drove across the McDonald's bridge. It was a sight to see.

Friday. I went to The Anchor before closing with Amos. After work I grabbed Rock Bottom with a friend, and we watched "Joe Dirt". I'd forgotten how much I love that movie. It was a pretty low-key night closed off with some waaaay too soon episodes of "South Park" (but that's what makes South Park great).

Saturday. I woke earlier than anticipated and did some writing at The Anchor, ran by the bank, went for a drive through Mount Aries, and grabbed Dusmesh for lunch with Andy after hanging out with Blake and Ams for a hot minute. I took an impromptu nap, played some "Dead Island," and was bored so I went to The Anchor for a second time today. I hung out with Blake and Andy by the fire Andy made in the backyard, and Andy & I talked about how Cincinnati is such a green city, resplendent with trees everywhere, deer on the roads, and if you were to take a photograph in most places, you could swear you were in an old Appalachian town somewhere. Speaking of deer, I've seen three on the road right by our house in the last week. I went to Dayton to see Mom and Dad, and Dad and I watched some of "The Hatfields & McCoys," and Mom & Dad went to bed so I stayed up and cuddled with Skyler and watched TV before following suit.

Sunday. I woke and got some Starbucks to perk up, and I went to 1/2 Price in Beavercreek to get a few books. Mom and Dad treated me to Frisch's for lunch, and Dad was going on and on about the show we watched last night, some new mini-series or something that just came out on The History Channel. It's a true story, really good with decent actors and good cinematography. I returned to Cincinnati to do laundry and read Gods & Generals, and C. Isaac came over and we hiked over to Brandy's to laugh, eat snacks, and share stories. Andy came by later on, followed by Ams & Amos, and Blake held up the rear. Erin made amazing white chocolate sugar cookies, and everyone went to The Anchor afterwards; I, however, went home and right to bed, a sweltering migraine pulsing behind my temples.