My thoughts have been pretty far-ranging in the last couple of weeks.  I’ve been able to sit down and write, but I have consistently failed to get a fully developed post out of any of my ideas.  I have had the same document open all week, gathering idea-trash.  Finally, I sat down, finished the sentences, and called it good.  What follows is definitely brainvomit, but I don’t delete.  Call it potpourri or a junk drawer.  Or brainvomit.  That word made me laugh out loud.  My hand is unsteady as I go to post, but truth steels my nerve.  Since when have I been shy about putting my heart and soul on display?

I remember how to start.  You smile.  She smiles back.  You come up with a quick conversation starter.  She takes the bait.  You get her number.  You call or text.  Set up a date.  You go out.  Have a good time.

I don’t remember what comes next.  After the shit hit the fan a couple of years ago, I was immoderately pissed at the fairer sex.  I mostly got over it, but I was in no shape to have relationships.  So I didn’t.  I’d go out with a girl a few times, and then let the whole thing fall apart.  I became very efficient at it.  Hell, I probably sabotaged things a few times.  Not my nobler self, that’s for sure.

But now…  I need to remember how to do things right again.  To do them well.  To try.  To care.  Last year, Jenna and I thought that I was done being the machine and that I was ready to be alive again.  We were wrong.  My mom used to tell me that there is a difference between “better,” and “good.”  Even from the grave, she teaches me things.  I chuckle every time I say this because it came from a cartoon, but “Memory is the key.”


Once, I worked with a man who was a terrible typist.  His spelling, punctuation, grammar, and speed were all atrocious.  He felt bad about it.  In an effort to make him feel better about it, I explained character creation for a role playing game to him.  I did want him to improve, but self-loathing doesn’t get things done.  I asked him what he was good at.  He rattled off a short list.  I told him that he got X points to divide up between all the things he wanted to be good at.

To keep things short, he understood the metaphor.  I tell that story so that the next thought makes more sense.  I am a man surrounded by opportunity.  “Oh, you poor thing!”  Yeah, I know.  Get some real problems.  Thing is, I try to take every opportunity in an effort not to miss anything.  I end up feeling pulled every which way.  So I thought of the points division.  Maybe the key is that the more energy I put into a single opportunity, the further I will go on that line.  Makes sense, right?  Sometimes I can’t see the forest because all these damn trees are in the way.  Anyway, I cut a lot of opportunities out this last week because I finally want a focused and dedicated effort on something.  I’m pretty fucking nervous about this.  If it fails, I’m at zero again.  On the other hand, I have good the best friends to help me, and I’ve risen from the ashes before…


My stance on wishing is well-known.  If I somehow haven’t delivered this rant to you, here’s the recap: keeping your wishes secret guarantees that your friends can’t help them come true.  Seems like a no-brainer, right?

There’s another thought that keeps getting passed around that I’m finding I disagree with.  The idea that you should stop looking and ‘X’ will find you.  Bull fucking shit.  Curse words for emphasis.  Basic example: my car keys don’t find me when they are lost.  Flawed example?  Maybe.  Allow me to clarify.

“Be patient and opportunities will come to you.”  “Stop looking and that which you seek will find you.”  No.  You want an opportunity?  Patience will help, but only if you’re in the right spot at the right time.  You find that spot and you show up early and you watch for it.  Seeking something or someone?  Wait, you actually know what you want?  Whoa.  Okay.  So you hunt.  You inspect any sign to see if it resembles what you want.  If a lead doesn’t pan out, you try not to sweat it.  If that which you seek is seeking you as well, you have twice the chance to find each other.  Then (more cursing for emphasis) you fucking fight for each other.  Fair goes out the window on this one – the more dear to your heart, the more ferocious you should be.

I use the term “aggressive-aggressive” a lot.  Passivity is for the dead.

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