The path uniquely travelled...

I know the feeling everyday that what I "want" to do will take time, yet I cannot see over or around the mountain. It is a mountain of time and effort I see before me. The uncertainty alone, if I think to hard about it, makes me shudder.  I am determined, or perhaps just stubborn, to keep moving forward.  A path ahead to the possible future(s) that I may never see, but feel are a possibility. The chance that I will navigate through the terrain in the fog to find what is possible, some day. 

I ask myself, "Is it a destination, or just a sense of self and peace that I hope to find?" 
Perhaps it is not a bad idea to make time to have a little fun along the way. I know that the intersections I have with friends, family, strangers will certainly add to the fabric of me.  I wonder if they know what they weave out into the world. [The threads, connections, love, friendship, experiences, between every person we interact with that we each weave into a unique fabric of experience, of self.]

This'll be brief...

I was reminded (and now realize that I am at an age that there is very little time that I am not reminded of something or someone) of a thought I once had, for the first time many years ago.  The thought has, I have found out, been staged in various ways in different movies, cartoons and TV.  What is it?

Well, I suppose it is simply the idea of a funeral held for a person that was not actually dead.  (okay, now you can search your own memory for ... what movie?)  This time it would be a funeral for you.  Would you be prepared? Do you know if you have left a burden, emotional or financial for those that are left behind?

Do you have contact information readily available and a plan to find all of the people that you'd want to come and commiserate/grieve/rejoice at your death/funeral? 

It would really suck if the final party you ever plan, you just forgot to invite the people in your life that mean the most to you.  Remember that it is not just for you, it is for the people that do not even know each other.  For them to be able to see that, in the world, we (they) are in some way connected to so many (through you).  And strangely enough, I believe that, "That is how we live on . . . in others." Nobody knows no one.

. . . I'm just sayin'


P.S. Don't you go trying it, unless it is known to be tongue-in-cheek, as you really may not want to see, hear or find out what happens.

{NOTE to SELF: Halloween Party some time in the future that has as a premise an invitation to your  funeral/memorial service.}

Pre-Obituary (Newspapers do it all the time) DRAFT(1)

Mr Michael Odd, 43 years of age, leaves his family; a wife of 14 years and their two cats (as of 8/2012), a younger sister, and their adoptive mother and father.  Born and raised in the Baltimore-Washington Metropolitan Area for most of his life, M.O. loved also to travel as is evident in the wide variety of work that he had chosen throughout his life.  Beyond the many Part-time jobs to get by in high school, he found a purpose at the University of Maryland Baltimore County (UMBC) graduating in 1992, and leaving behind a legacy of increased environmental awareness and responsibility in both the administration and student population. With the initial formation of the Students for Environmental Awareness (SEA) and two terms as its president, recycling of solid and chemical waste on campus began in ernest. The SEA coordinated environmental promotion and citizen lobbying efforts which began with other Student Government Association members and later joined other colleges in the region on efforts in Annapolis and Washington D.C. [...] Support came from the miryad of jobs, including Blueprint Operator, Sub Shop/Pizza delivery, school and charter bus driver. [...] Volunteering four years at the UMBC campus radio station WUMD, he also worked at the school Shuttle Bus [...]
 Following graduation from UMBC he entered the workforce [...] Night manager at Kinko's, a Cook and sailor aboard the S.V. Lady Maryland, working for the Living Classrooms Foundation [...] from a water adventure on to land, he chose to work for various specialized art handling companies, traveling to 48 of the 50 United States (and parts of Canada) and as a freelance individual with the Maryland Historical Society and the Walters Art Gallery. He spent over seven years handling art and antiques. He even volunteered for Art Scape in Baltimore [...] With changes in budgets, he left the art handler world and worked gallery security, and eventually found an associate position with a local Private Investigator.[...] A stint working in parts supply, packing and shipping with a manufacturer of Unmanned Air Vehicles (UAVs) for government contracts. [...] a transition lead to baking at Whole Foods Market, in the interim before joining the United States Army [...]
 He entered th military late at the non-traditional age of 32, and trained as a Topographic Analyst (now Geospatial Engineer) until after his first deployment to Iraq and return to Germany [...] spent three years working US Army CID as a special agent before deciding to return to Geospatial Engineering. [...] Taking classes to be able to return to school, he aspired to become an Occupational Therapist following his time in the Army, with the dream of returnng as an officer, to be able to support and help Soldiers again.  To see that his dreams to have a positive impact on others and their lives may not have been realized professionally as an OT, but it must be said that he left a long and lasting impression upon others, and hopefully for the better. 

To close for comfort, or an OH Fu[dge] moment

Driving is never a good time to fall unconscious, even for a millisecond.  I know this, have known this, and would profess the terrible ensuing disaster till the end of my days.

I am glad that yesterday was not that day...

The fact that I might not have lived to make it to a Sleep Study I am scheduled for on Friday is not ironic, as the fact that I may well have died on the Washington D.C. beltway and no one would have figured out why. 

Did he lose control, drive to fast, or recklessly?  Was it some other driver's fault?  It is not often that a person is determined to have a proverbial "death wish" and crashes their car intentionally, as a suicide attempt/completion [depending on the outcome].

What I have to contribute to the fact that I am still alive today?  There is a lot of stuff, but I am thinking of this instance... I nodded off, and I am not sure for how long, and woke in enough time and distance to swerve into a clear lane (versus slow down) and around the car I went.  Whew! and then "Oh My God!" "Shi#!"  and there I was letting my intellectual/thoughts part of my brain catch up to the reflex/ sensory/survival part of my brain.

Then...

How did I do that?

Don't EVER do that Again!

Gd Damn it! I really need to get this sleep thing sorted, and I will not be falling asleep mid day.  Even now I am experiencing the occasional Hypnogogic Jerk. 

I should go.  Again it is late and I have wasted/procrastinated on a pile of things that I thought to do and reasoned that they could be postponed, pushed back [which most can] but the pressure to produce good work is ... fighting self sabotage.

 My heart beats as I take a breath
it is not my first, nor will it be my last.
To sigh, and be resigned to lose ddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddsssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
(above evidence of nodding off at the keyboard.)
Good night.

Momentary Pity Party - Let's all join in!

Friend: (in response to "Why so shy?"): A lot of times, my shyness about speaking is tied to perceived receptivity, but I also don't love difficult topics. Communication is so variable, isn't it?

Me: (In response) I think that many people are very receptive to you, above and beyond their own self interest. I can say that Folks care about you, keep in contact with you of their own free will. 
. . .

[Pardon the momentary pity party]

This is not the case with me; whereas, folks (friends and all others) generally will not go out of their way to engage me in conversation (electronic or otherwise) or ask me along too, 'if I wanna go out and play' (and yes there are the rare exceptions).   I have tried to justify this (read: make excuses) for them, mostly to save imagining the worst. I have learned to believe (in my heart and brain) that "they" assume I am busy, working, school, or at home with family, etc., and that they themselves are very busy, with their lives, children, and work as well. This then leaves very little time for social intersections without considerable planning.

[Party pause]

Me: (continuing) [Since you are engaged by friends and others] Perhaps you can try wading into a difficult topic on occasion. The proverbial sticking your toe in the pool to gauge the temperature of the water. It will be cold(ish) anyway until you get in there and start swimming around. While on the subject... What do you think about going for a metaphorical [or perhaps literal] swim or even strap on some blades and skate out on that ice?

[Party resumes]

Me: Communication is so limited these days. I many times wish to be able to see people and interact with them in person. People (including me) are at times starved for a little company and conversation (who cares about the coffee?)

Lines of text on a screen are such a muted reality...

[Party ends]

I have made a concerted (read: half a$$ed) effort to be social or at least sociable... The days I get to play a salesman (volunteering at wine festivals and other events) I love the sometimes awkward communication with strangers. I have learned to listen and smile and connect with some (read: a few) in less than a minute. I guess it helps to be able to have something free to offer, and a professional distance (usually) across a table. But to have a conversation that is more than just hawking a product adds to the fun.

This is what I have.

I will also make attempts to take time for the people around me, both at home, work, and school . . .away from the occasional e-mail or phone call.

The Danger of sleep

Too little for too long and your body will forget to remind you anymore and just take matters into it own proverbial hands.

                          Nodding asleep while driving, the worst time, is a sign perhaps too late in coming.

             The adrenaline that results, a survival instinct, will only last a short while.

That is to say if you have abused your body and tested your endurance.

         Coffee, strong enough, may save you, but  look what you have just done.

                    The perpetuation of a cycle, a downward spiral in the clouds;

You really cannot see what is below.
  
     You can only hope that the next time it will end as well.

And you make it home to bed.
     

Why so shy?

What keeps me from...

Telling her what I really think/feel.  Where the sea is rocking the proverbial boat already.  The thought of adding to the stress, the 'shit' of daily life and what we must deal with outside of ourselves.  I suddenly realize that there are a lot of people (outside of 'she'), other she's if you will, that I will allow only as much as I (subjectively I might add) feel that they can handle.  Why inflict 'myself' on anyone?

Oddly, there are those that seem to martyr themselves to the shy and introverted, anxious and depressed by taking in or listening to our hurt, our 'crap' and empathize/sympathize with us (me).  [aside: So, what is the real difference between emp and symp, when it comes to 'athizing'?]
I hear them say, "You can share/speak/talk with me." A basic form of, "I don't mind." will usually follow.  It is not that easy, even with permission...

I have, and I try not to sound to prideful in saying, shared a lot more recently than in much of my life combined.  There is much more, yet I will relate that I do not want to taint the image of what I would like

Writing, it is not quite like opening a vein (or artery for that matter) where the words flow easily (as I would like).  Perhaps there is a want to put down what seems three or four dimentional in my thoughts into a two dimentional and very linear sentence...

Pain is in the eye of the beholder

Painfully shy...

I was not always painfully shy.  At least I can remember a time as what I thought was normal...

Between the ages of three and five years old, I lived in England.  Being American, by birth, though later in my childhood I was to find out I was adopted; I never met my "British" (biological) Mother and "Argentinian (bio) Father.  I really had no clue that I was any different than any other little boy.  I guess we just do not have that worldly a perspective at that age...

I went to a Public School, uniforms and all, figgy pudding at Christmas time, English lavender growing up to my waist in the gardens, Flake bars in my ice cream, a nanny, Matchbox and Corgi cars in the toy box, the whole nine yards...

The others seemed to accept me, we'd play, imagine, create, sing and run around the neighborhood, as that is what kids did back then.  I vaguely remember that baseball, football and basketball were not part of my experience.  Then everything changed...

My family came back to the States, and I was virtually a British kid.  I sounded, thought and politely interacted with the adults, all with an unconsciously adopted British accent.  The new places, faces, customs, games, etc.  I do not specifically remember any of them putting me off...  I went to a local school with virtually no solid internal walls, all were accordion fabric and plastic on tracks. There were no uniforms, I brought a lunch everyday to an unfamiliar, loud and boisterous cafeteria.  Then I started to just notice that I really did not know how to play with these kids.  I didn't know their games, I sounded different to them at first (I eventually lost the accent when my parents left me with some relatives in Georgia while they finalized stuff with our house. (They still live there to this day...) but it was that I was like a stranger in a strange land, to borrow the cliche.

Anyway,  I tried to figure out what to do, but fell into my old ways (Yeah, I was 5-6 years old, so how old could "old ways" be.)  I'd play, pretend, interact like I knew how.  It really didn't work that well, so I kept to myself.  I believe that it was at this time that Iwas forever changed by the playground hierarchy, (bullies and the bullied) along with how easily the environment distracted me with all of the noise and other classes around me. (Yes, I was one of the bullied, as I was a little husky and had big ears even then.) 

I was rarely included (in the reindeer games) and did not know to make the effort beyond the first try.  Resigned to playing alone at six years of age... I did not speak up, to me, that was not polite; I could not keep up and talk as fast or as forcefully, and more often than not got drowned out.  Smothered by many more dominant personalities around me. 

This lead me to books and something I knew how to do, read, and play on my own.  I was happy to play on my own. I was really never lonely or bored.  Just shy.

The distractions of the American "open design" public school proved to be to much for me, according to my parents, and I was sent to a private school.  Walls, traditions, formal education, and it looked much like what I had left behind in England, except for one thing.  I was now quiet and some might say visibly introverted.  I was not a fighter, I never knew how (except later when frustrated with my younger sister, and Yes that is another story...)  I got picked on, and I withdrew further, crying, hiding and running away to the library, where I would sit in a sunny window seat and read books the Librarian would suggest to me. [Mrs. Coates was really great.]

I was a push over, and would learn to play invisible, unnoticed by others (as far as I could tell) as they seem to have enough on their minds thinking of themselves.  I played team sports, because that is what we were supposed to do.  Soccer, Lacrosse, kick ball, Basketball, even pick up games of ice hockey, etc.  I was never really a competitive kid, but I'd try my best. (All through Elementary and Middle school never really comfortable with Offense, I played Defense). 

I often wonder what my classmates remember about me at that time, how did they see me then?  Was it even in their minds to think about, the now growing (taller), curley haired kid, with crooked teeth/braces (5th to end of 7th), and (later learned) bad eyesight.  I was never a class all-star when it came to grades, and it was not until 8th grade that it was realized that I really needed glasses.

There were a few that I could call friends, at the time, and those few helped me get through those years.

One afternoon I was in a study hall with an elderly Math teacher, when she fell ill and collapsed in her chair in the front of the class.  I thought to run for help to the front office, and ran down the back stairs, the shortest distance to get to the back door of the school's office, but found it locked, from the outside, the next few doors I tried were also locked, and I had to run around the entire wing of the school before I could get back in.  By that time others had been able to go for help (through the building) and an ambulance was called.  The teacher, died, there in the classroom, though we really did not know it that day and not until the next.  She was the first person I had ever seen die. I was a kid, I didn't know what to do, but run for help. (...this is before the advent of cellphones, yes I am that old...)

The day I tried to go for help, I cannot remember much beyond wandering the grounds of the school after I knew that my efforts were futile... I cannot remember what I did the rest of that day at all... I do remember how somber I felt, and how useless.  I tried and had failed.

It was not my fault, I didn't even think in those terms, but I did go to my first memorial service for someone I knew.  To this day I will occasionally pass the church where it was held and wonder. 

Turning inwards and shy came naturally to me, and there is no specific place and time that I could pinpoint as the start, for sure, but I feel it had much to do with being an outsider in my own home country.  I did not have the same continuity as a lot of the others had, growing up with their friends at that age.  It was adults that made sense to me, I could relate better to them.  Adults and animals.  I guess that both adults and animals have certain expectations of you and they are far more predictable, less hyper and perhaps didn't seem to judge a kid as anything other than just that. A kid.

The happier side of the story (if you have read this far) is that with each successive move, to California, and New Jersey (when my Dad taught there for a Summer) and from middle school to high school, and then on to College, I was able to become more of the person that I wanted to be; A more an idealized self.  "These people don't know my past shyness, my sensitivity to criticism, my need for invisibility." 

I still remember that [ugly] little British/American/(Argentinian) mutt of a boy trying to find his way, without a clue, without a guide, or big brother to point me in the right direction.  I just made it up as I went along. 

There is only to wonder what might have happened if... but there is no reason in that, as that, "what if" is now past, and I must now rely today/now on my own best guesses. [It wouldn't hurt to have a little more confidence though...]

Another type of adrenaline junkie...

After searching for "excessive apologizing" I came across the following (which I have edited only slightly from the original http://www.socialanxietysupport.com/disorder/

And No, I am not a hypochondriac...

Social Anxiety Disorder

Social anxiety is a feeling of discomfort, fear, or worry that is centered on our interactions with other people and involves a concern with being judged negatively, evaluated, or looked down upon by others. While it can often happen during the social exchange itself, it may also pop up in anticipation of a social occasion, or afterward when we review our performance in a given situation.

Because social anxiety can often seem unwieldy or even overwhelming to understand as a single concept, it is often helpful to view it in terms of three separate components that are interrelated and can strengthen one another, leading to a cycle of anxiety:

Anxious sensations in our bodies, such as:

• Blushing - (Not so much)
• Sweating - (Definitely)
• Racing heart - (Sometimes)
• Shaking or tremor - (Nope)
• Dry mouth - (hmm, no)
• Shortness of breath - (Nope)
• Feeling faint - (No)

Anxious thoughts about ourselves, others, and the situation:

• "Everyone is staring at me." - (It happens, and I deal with it)
• "They'll think I'm a loser." - (I just assume this from the start)
• "I don't belong here." - (I try to ignore this feeling)
• "I won't have anything to say." - (I usually think of something, [it comes with practice])
• "People will see how nervous I am." - (Learned to hide this for the most part)
• "They won't want to talk to me again." - (Resigned to this . . .)
• "I will keep looking more and more foolish." - (...and?)

Anxious behaviors, which can be triggered by anxiety, but can also make the anxiety worse over the long term:

• Avoiding entering social situations - (I don't see it as avoidance, it is just a matter of staying to myself, on account that I have a difficult time getting together with friends...)
• Leaving situations - (Don't do much arriving, to do any 'leaving')
• Only entering "safe" places or with "safe" people - (see above)
• Using mobile phones, MP3 players, or other devices to avoid being in conversations - (N/A)
• Apologizing excessively - (This is a habit I have tried/been forced to correct)
• Asking for reassurance from others - (Perhaps passively, which means I really never ask...)
• Preparing excessively (memorizing what to say, extreme grooming) - (Not excessive)
• Trying to direct people's attention away from one's performance (e.g., by making jokes, dressing in a particular way, etc.) - (No. I believe it is better to be stealthy/quiet, so as to avoid attention in the first place)
• Watching for signs that people are judging us - (Do you watch when it is assumed they are judging regardless?)

I may not have Social Anxiety Disorder, just social anxiety, shyness, that was once "painful shyness".

Apologies used to flow quite easily from my lips; there were never any qualms about taking responsibility for mistakes, thinking that I had upset others, or just looking for reasons to get down on myself.

Today - I do not apologize if I do not have to... But...

My present philosophy is to just accept responsibility for mistakes, regardless of whether they were mine or not.  It just makes it easier for everybody, all round.  It is as if I am smugly taking credit for everything, but in the negative. The blame will only hurt for a moment and if it keeps the peace to just 'suck-it-up' and 'bite-the-bullet' I'll do it.  If I am questioned as to why... the answer... "Just because".

Occasionally I will still fall into my old, childhood, ways, and apologize for the slightest infraction, almost as a preemptive reflex...

I hear again and again, "Never say you're sorry", and I just pull out my mental thesaurus and find other word equivalents:

I beg your pardon...
My apologies...
I regret that I have failed you...
It was not my intention to /piss you off/ make such a mistake/f-this up
Yes, I F-'ed up...
It is/was all my fault...
I regret to inform you that my track record has again proven reliable in predicitng present and likely future events, failure is not uncommon...
So. What can I do to make it up to you?
How much will it cost to replace?
There is a good way and a bad way to do this, and apparently I have chosen to do the latter.
I believe that to say "I am Sorry" is just not sufficient; I would like to express my regret for having been born, in that this disaster would have been otherwise averted.

...and so on

versus

... and so it goes.
          - K. Vonnegut.

Death... What is it good for?

Man, oh man.  There have been a number of deaths in the lives of friends recently, mostly parents and grandparents that have lead fairly long and productive lives, but there are occasional exceptions.

I should think logically that "at my age" I will see a lot of "stuff" and there is a certain timing to it all. Graduations, Marriages, children, divorces, taxes and death. Hmm. . . Perhaps a little morbid, if thought about one way, but another person might just shrug and think... That is just the way things are.  (That is the person that is either emotionally distant from the immediate event, i.e. not themselves, an immediate friend or close relative involved or they are just biologically distant (have little feelings of empathy for anything...)

We can only find the words though practice and heartfelt reaction to the events that come before us...

Congratulations!
Happy Birthday.
Mazel Tov!
My condolences to...
I am sorry to hear that...
I am so happy for you...
They will be ______ missed.

It is as if I do not feel comfortable repeating myself, saying the same words the same way each time.  I would be a terrible chef/musician/actor, as I would have a very difficult time repeating the same thing again and again. To literally say what I am thinking doesn't always work either. 

My thought process is not always linear, usually very visual and the 1000 words is just a start in trying to describe the thoughts...

To say: The thoughts/feelings I have can hardly be expressed, yet I fumble through, with these words, in the hope that you can read and understand some small part of what I happened to be thinking at the time that I wrote this...[and what is unsaid is that I hope that I was able to convey clearly, hardly ever concisely, my genuine/goofy/sincere/happy/sad/glad/confused/helpful/creative/loving/elipsis...]

It is hard to have Laurie Anderson and the Talking Head's David Byrne and his lyrics bounce through my head, as guidance "...said something once,...Why say it again?"

Is it worth repeating? 

Aside: In my shy youth, I would almost intentionally mumble, and may still resort to mumbling, as I "knew" that people really weren't listening to me, so why speak up, or speak clearly, as they would innevitably just say,"What? Hunh?" and I would then, with a little more volume and annunciate my words, repeat what I had just said through a rehearsed mumble.  What I mean, as I think of it now, the inital mumble was almost a rehearsal, a dry run, a way to start to organize my thoughts, out loud, before their public debut. (sp?)

Many times, I could stop myself and respond to the what(?) or hunh(?) with a "no, nothing." or "it wasn't important, you go on, sorry"  The apology (that is fodder for an entirely different Blog entry...)

Ugh. I should get a little sleep, and return to this later.  {sure Mike, just throw out this roughest of drafts, off the top of my head, rambling. Un-edited.}

- M.O.

What difference a day makes

After a long and semi-productive day at work, an evening of class lecture, and an uneventful commute to and from each, I called home to speak with my wife.

We had a normal conversation, I listened to the events of her day and as I listened and responded and asked questions... everything seemed so normal. Positive.  I asked if she was in a good mood. She responded with, "an Okay mood."

I even took out a list of questions that I had written the other day, when I was feeling self-piteous and a bit depressed.  None of the questions seemed apropos and there was no good segue to be made. 

Oh and looking at the clock, it was a few minutes after 11 pm when we started talking and by the time I thought I could have transitioned into other, more personal, subjects it was 11:30 pm.  There is no way that I was going to delve into emotional issues after 11:30 on a weeknight. 

One would think that a conversation such as the one that I had intended should be in person.  The strange thing is that she and I have longer conversations on Skype or the telephone in the last 13 years than we have ever had in person.

I will have to re-write some of these questions, and consider more fully her position.

Strange, to think that I would need to prepare for a conversation with my wife, but to be unprepared, or less prepared, I will certainly forget something I wanted to ask or work on with her...

Till tomorrow then.

Falling apart again

To forsee ones own death at the hands of some random (terrible) driver, three times over, while traveling my weekly miles from home to my little rented hovel, my base camp to get to work during the week, made me very sad.  It was a feeling that washed over me similar to resignation in the face of death.  It was then that I heard my internal dialogue say, "Well, what can I do.  How will I survive, where can I anticipate and attempt to avoid the seemingly inevitable."  And then I lived. The terrible driver moved on, or stopped being terrible for an instant, long enough to prevent my demise.

To look at the failure of a relationship, if there was ever sincere effort put in, has no one reason.  Too many of us are so rigid and habituated to the status quo, that change, which may be, no, IS inevitable comes as a surprise or an irritant or just that thing that we don't want to deal with, "Because it's to hard..."  I recognize this in myself, and wonder if I could fight for a relationship that may not have failed, but reverted to something completely different. (Fw/oB)

This is my thought, my dilema, to be brutally honest; I really do not know whether I am strong enough to stand up and ask, make, or force some change.  To be married to one's best friend is a great thing, to spend more than a 1/3 of a marriage geographically apart from one another kinda prevents the intimate part of a marriage to remain.  We live as "geographic bachelors" the both of us.

In an aside: There are so many military members that return from deployment and 10 months to a year later a child is born.  The return, the happy reunion, the readjustment of roles in the household is a constant issue.  Put on top of that any other stressors, moving, job stressors, PTSD/TBI, a child or children, finances, and so many other things... and it is a wonder that the military divorce rate is not higher.

To live as a father, loving, with warmth, encouragement, enthusiasm and kindness toward his children has been a desire, a dream of mine since, high school, and I wonder to this day whether I will ever have that chance.  It hurts my heart right now to think of it.  What is to become of me. Am I to old, damaged goods, incapable, a dreamer that missed his chance? ... I suppose I could arrive at that pretty easily.  But I do not want to.  Right now I just want to better myself academically, and find work helping others, perhaps as an Occupational Therapist or something... similar.

The other element to this dream is my spouse, my wife, my friend, my partner, my better half.  Does she want the same anymore.  We had dreams together of becoming parents, and we are quietly reminded of our failure. (In so many ways, on a daily basis)  We could not make a child, it matters not why, but we couldn't.  There has been a lot of time to think about this.  I have had some hard times and have shed many tears at the missed chances.  I could reel off reasons, we didn't do IT enough, I was not home enough to even try. My depression got in the way, there was infertility and medical intervention did not work.  We married to late, maybe the surgery from years ago affected something...  There was not enough time that I felt 'manly', in charge, powerful, intelligent, happy, sexy, loveable, desirable, etc.  Monkey wrench of monkey wrenches, I join the Military, and end up away for years at a time.  "We'll make the best of it," we say, "We aren't ready yet, you have to finish school and get established, you have this next deployment, we cant sell this house and move together, as that would again take you away from a stable well paying career job.  We can live apart. It'll be okay...

Perhaps I am afraid to ask her anymore.  I do not want to play a blame game; make anyone angry.

"Adoption is still out?" I want to ask. Yet, I already know the answer, I could literally finish her sentences by now.  So, what changes?  Do I resign myself to what is?  What do I stand up for, as there is no guarantee that I will not produce a rift, animosity, and stir up old feelings.  [End a marriage]

Politicians are great at giving safe, intelligent non-answers; How will the silence ever answer the unasked questions.

o Since we still love each other, yet may not be "In love" with one another, what do we do about it?
o Sex three times a year, or less, is that not unusual for a married couple?
o Why don't you ask me... tell me... show me that you want more, or something different? (You shoud know by now that I suck at reading minds.)
o Why do I keep making mistakes that make you angry?
o Why do you make me feel very small, emasculated, at times when I fail your expectations?  and then receive an apology... as the damage is already done.
o How can we love and be so far apart, geographically, physically, at times in the same room, on the same sofa?
o Why do you not want to be near me, hold me, cuddle and just be in close contact?  I miss that, a lot.
o Why do I live in fear of what you might think of. . . sometimes, I really do not know what... I am just fearful (anxious) of something I have done, or will do. (A cabinet door open, a car alarm not set, something left home that I meant to bring... I pick up, re arrange or move something that when discovered to be missing was the wrong thing to do)
o Can't we find time to do more together?  (I tried a "Date Night" and that fell apart.)
o With my self esteem down the crapper at times, I know that I do not appear to be an appealing choice in a mate. Do you see it as rarely "for better and more often "for worse?"
o What do you need me for?  What good am I to your life? I have to ask the same of myself.
o Is there any potential you see on some horizon, some wish that you hope comes true? For us? For you?
o Why do you ask my opinion and get upset when I do not answer as you thought I should? There are many times that I do not know an answer, or have no opinion on the subject...
o Can you ask questions, more simply, directly, without passive aggressive manipulation?  (When you are miffed with me.)

We sure have a lot of stuff, junk, and 'shit' that I am a bit overwhelmed about what to do with.  You have a very hard time letting things go and defer to me.  I have so little time to set aside to give to the overwhelming number of small household projects, requiring tools, materials and planning.

I wish I was brave enough to have you read this... and hope that you might understand and answer me honestly.  Ask, if you do not understand a question, or require clarification...

- M.O.

Invention 254...

The invention(s) I came up with today might not exist anywhere else that I have been able to find, so far.  What is it?  It is a new take on something old, classic and instantly recognizable.

The Etch-A-Sketch(R) (EaS)

To add to the already endless things that can be done with a simple Red, White and Silver Grey toy may seem silly, what could it possibly be?  They already have cellphone Apps that emulate the toy on the screen of your iPhone(R) and license plate covers, etc. 

Well... the idea of a transparent overlay that would introduce mazes to navigate, picture by the numbers to draw and race tracks to navigate all on the same toy. A simple frame would snap into the EaSy frame and special knob covers would be added (see description below).  The mazes can vary in complexity from square corners to ones with curves.  You will be able to re-trace where you have been, or start in the middle (shake and erase) and then you or a friend work your way out.  Flip the maze over and see if you remember how to navigate through.  It would be an aide to memory, and spatial reasoning, as well as dexterity and fine motor movement coupled with hand eye coordination.
Art, games, training, therapy, with greater smoothness of line (because of the added knob covers) and it doesn't require batteries. [Note: Invention 256 below, and I just came up with this...]

(To be honest, I had to smile when I thought of this, and wondered why someone hadn't yet.)

The knob covers are Invention 255... but I'll include them here...

The wrist and finger twidling on a standard EaS make the manipulation of the stylus kinda rough and slow at times, and I want to improve the fine control and speed lines can be drawn.

The knobs would be only slightly larger than the originals, and press on with a rubber grip (also removable) On the face of each knob will be small smooth indents meant for a finger tip to fit in.  With only minimal pressure and a lot less wrist twisting (unless that is what you want to do) you can spin each knob with the tip of a finger.  Just think. Long straight lines that take seconds.  Smooth graceful curves as you turn both knobs at once.  Rhythmic patterns and shapes instead of chunky and jagged lines.  With practice ovals, circles and other geometric shapes will come easily. 

Think of children, of adults that re-discover the EaS again and the many new and different things one will be able to do.  Still no batteries required!

If a little light is what you need while sketching in the dark, perhaps we could with a little fiber optic light both light the stylus and the edge of the transparency which would illuminate the sheet leaving the maze or numbers in sillouette.

I had to just write this stuff down, and get it out of my head...

Mike Odd

My Eyes Grow Heavy

I seem in a good mood, class has a lot of work ahead tomorrow, I think it can be done, I know that I will make the effort.
There are friends that I have heard from lately that I truly love to be around. It is not a matter of one thing or another, it is just that I am myself and hapily so when in their presence.  [So what you're saying is that you are NOT yourself for most of the rest of us?]  Nope.  That is not exactly what I meant...
I suspect that I mean to say that I do not feel as inhibited, as reserved, and likely to be more direct when I am with them.  With others, many and certain aspects of what I will call "my better self" are emergent, and will show up when needed, but I am more likely to be reserved in word and action.

To hold a hand, give a hug, some praise, a bit of warmth and not be judged for "what it means" or what an ulterior motive might be... that is great.  It is something to strive for.

Make a person smile, tell them some good news, tell them how much you appreciate them, completely out of the blue.

Project your heart, and be kind.

All of the above is what has made me the slightest bit happier than weeks past.


I am just a little tired.  Time to get some rest.

A Tendency to Wait...or is it Procrastinate?

The need to worry, stress, feel anxious, and then become overwhelmed is often postponed to the last minute as, you know, it might just resolve itself, work out and defuse/dissipate before I get it in the face/gut/ass and other sensitive areas that would decidedly hurt very much; Metaphorically, of course.

Tests do not truly phase me until just moments before they begin, or are to be turned in... Why the self doubt?  Is my own intelligence an obstacle?  To "know enough to be dangerous" is just part of being a self described Jack-of-Trades, and I wonder if I will ever be able to master something. I think now that it is a matter of me letting  myself decide to take the time and energy to master something.

Another possible obstacle is the fact that I have interests in so many many many different things; Many of which that are interrelated (i.e. Science, Nature, Art, Food/Nutrition, Psychology, Philosophy, Engineering, Literature (Fiction and Non), History, Geography and Biology.)

I have often envied those that had a dream, a laser like focus on what they really want to do.  Build on strengths and mastery of a certain (few) subjects.  Many of my friends do incredibly well as their expertise serves them well.

My generalist tendencies spread me a bit thin at times.

As my life is due to make some changes in the near future, I try to prepare, try to worry, and yet I have not enough information to go on, to act.  I can make a plan, cross my fingers, and work in a direction...

- Remember the plan, focus on the present, and have an eye on the horizon, then. . . try to do it all well.

Why burn The Bridge over the River...?

The need to burn bridges should be resisted, both literally and figuratively, as it should only be the last resort.  Why? Why, because you like burning bridges, you little pyromaniac? or Why, would we ever want to leave unproductive or avenues of approach (to a relationship) that we never intend to travel ever again?

Well, I suppose my thought is that it is not that we will ever 'need' to cross that bridge (relationship) ever again,  but usually we do.  We go back to try to remember the good (and the bad), perhaps the lessons learned, and even to find it within ourselves to forgive.  To be able to travel back without having to completely rebuild, or detour and find another way across (I am taking this analogy a little far I must admit...but) .  THe alternative is to cut out some part of ourselves (burn that bridge)  and avoid the temporary (usually) self induced pain, athough I do understand that there must be exceptions.  I guess that I do not want to talk about those exceptions; severe trauma,  abuse or threat to life, as it is then that I would seriously consider a tactical retreat and blow that mutha sky high.

We never anticipate (at the time) that we will ever find it in out heart to forgive, as forgiveness is really not for the offender/trespasser/"pain-in-our-ass", it is for us.

And if I never cross that unburned bridge ever again I can say that I left it open to the opportunity for communication and healing, even if that bridge gathers dust and cobwebs and falls into disrepair...

Just thinking... I wonder what ya'll's experience has been?

- Mike Odd

How do we ever know? By Luck?

There are times when I see the _________ that another is going through, let's call _______ "Shit", and my heart goes out to them.  The deep seated "knight in shining armor" is now the want to help, find perspective and an occasional solution to life's "shit'. You know, the 'stuff' that 'happens'...

I wrote the following to a person I consider a friend, and have no clue whether it turns out to be a long winded version of "There, there, it will all be okay..."  That IS a bit cliche, I admit, but it it was never my intention to come out that way.  I will say that myheart is in it, and I try to chose my words to be best understood.  I am a guy, with a man's perspective. (That may be a handicap.)

A friend, in discussing how she is considering how others might view her pursuing a "Friends with Benefits" relationship, following the break-up of a 'semi-serious' relationship, thought she might be ridiculed by others.  I lent her my perspective.

 You'll get no flak from me.  You are here on this earth to live your life.  Life, with its mystery, ups and downs, is best figured out by each of us.  Perhaps never fully. . .

I can try to agree with your friend that said an intelligent person would never have let you go,[and moved on...] Yet, my mind sees another perspective.

(Not to defend anyone, but...)

There are times that one can "fall-in-like-with" an amazing, exceptional, intelligent and loving person that you seem compatible with and yet something still goes wrong. [It is the 'something' that we will try to understand, dwell on, shed tears over and try to fill in a story, where there is only a mystery without enough evidence to make a case...]

It takes time to get past the immediate argument of the head that says, "Hey, this person is great, I love how I feel when I am with them..."  The heart may 'fall-in'[-like] too, or perhaps [it will] be "twice-shy" from a recent bite.  The feeling that something feels askew may never cross the mind.  The bonding has already started by then... 

[To then tell my story...]

I no longer feel stupid as I recall how I either ended a relationship/broke up with, or just let a number of great women move on.  I could recall names and circumstances, all irrelevant now, as I know that the men that they later found to share their lives with were a much better fit than I could have ever been.  Some of these women are still friends, and to see their uniqueness, creativity, the love within their family, all tells me that they are where they really should be.  It is a mystery to me how they found such good lives [but I should really give them credit], and I have become but a footnote in their story.  To be honest I am a little jealous or envious of some of the good they have [at times], but I realize that it is [THEIR] 'good'. [I also have realized that] they have not necessarily [made] the same choices I would have... myself.  [Good for them,] Great for them[!]   I still love them; they are great people, just not the one I felt I could spend my life making decisions, compromises and love with.

I sincerely hope that you [my friend] will find the distance of time and perspective that will make it obvious that the relationship lost is good for both of you.  You have to [sincerely] Hope for their happiness, and your heart, as big as it is, will be ready to receive, the possibility of, a new love.

[Man, I read the above again for the fifth time and start to wonder what choices I could have made differently, perhaps I could have become a father... I suspect it was always a dream to teach and listen to and love a little person, a child, in the hope that they would grow to be a woman or man that I would be immensely proud of.  To have the will and intelligence (academic and emotional) to make their own way through this mystery and confusion of a world, and hope, themselves to make a contribution (big or small) to make it better.]

Why procrastinate?

There is so much that I should do:

1. - Get organized is number one, as it would affect the 2 through 100 other things ...
2. - Find time (related to #1) to:
3. - Read more, both assigned work and for fun.
4. - Sleep more, and I do not have to list what all that affects.
5. - Start and finish more of the MANY home projects I have waiting for me.

[To get off track for a second, I have to say that I am in denial; perhaps it is because I will be ending my present vocation, and for those of you that know me, you have a little idea of what that is, sooner than later.  That being said, I am not sure whether I am looking forward to the next and "unknown" step (the uncertainty) of what happens when this job ends?  Back to school, more full time than the present part-time, after work hours, one class at a time, that I am doing now... The time I will have (minus the money) to be able to do the many things I want to do around the house. And/or will a few part-time jobs fill in the non-school time? ]

6. - Find my passion: To work and love working to help others as best as I can. School may play a large part in this.
7. - See my friends on as regular a basis as they will let me. [Note: Do not force it, just find the time.]
8. - Rediscover hobbies that I have missed for years, or let them go.
9. - Exercise, because I feel good, not because I am told to be there. [I have always given more than expected of me, sometimes to my own detriment.]
10. - Eat well, good food is good for the soul.
11. - Write letters, stories, poems and dreams when they occurr to me, don't wait, and remember only the (vague) idea.
12. - See if the kooky ideas and inventions I think up could actually come to anything.
13. - Continue to find a place to volunteer my time, blood, sweat and the occasional tear(s).
14. - Tell my family that I love them, more often than I do now. I am pretty sure that they know, but it makes me feel good too.
15. - Take a vacation, plan to go somewhere, as I am a serious bi-polar procrastinator/workaholic, and I know I must take that time to relax and enjoy myself.
16. - Meditate. Pray, Dance and or Sing when needed.  Apply generously, as needed.

I'll stop there, for now.  I am sure I will continue, or could continue in endless detail...

Love,

Me

P.S. You are doing (nearly) the best you can, and with a little self discipline/esteem, you will do better than ever before.

What would it be like if...

I have often wondered what it would be like to have a friend or two that I would hang out with regularly. But it is not just that, it is that I long to have conversations with people, not  just to ramble thoughts and perspective in someone's 'Comments' section.   I wonder if any of what I write is at all welcomed, or do my words seem a bit to much.  The thing about a conversation is that it is not as linear as a blog or typewritten letter/e-mail, it has more dimension to it. (Sound, inflection, response and reaction of another that is immediate and ... there is something to give you immediate feedback, whether you are getting your point across, being understood.)

(It is like when...

I remember back in college I was a part-time student DJ at the campus radio station, and being part martyr and part shy I would take extended shifts on weekends, when the campus was like a ghost town, to play pretty much whatever I wanted.  I really enjoyed "pretending" to be a DJ and rarely imagined that anyone actually listened to, tuned into our station.  Yet, I took the job seriously, took pride in transitions, the flow of the show, the reading of PSAs and finding enjoyable music (at least to me) to play.  Truth be told, I rarely if ever knew whether anyone was listening or not... It was like leaving a long message on an answering machine (or 'voice mail' for those of you that have never seen an answering machine) with music interspersed and a few PSAs for good measure. (I remember even checking the expiration dates on the announcements BEFORE reading them.) [Funny, to train other people and then to hear them announce an event that happened, past tense, a few days before, and not notice until a few seconds after reading it...if at all.]   I'd occasionally call up the DJ on duty and before making a request, ask them to pick up the clipboard they just read from, pull the offending PSA and throw it in the recycling bin. (Yes, I recycled even then.)

I remember vividly the few times that someone would call the station on a Sunday morning to ask what song I had just played... Rubber Biscuit - The Blues Brothers... not knowing that the station was being piped into the dining hall across campus!  Shi! Needless to say, I had a great time "pretending" after that.

...yeah, kinda like that.) 

I guess I thrive on praise like a potted plant when given a little water, sunlight and perhaps a little fertilizer...

To wonder if there might be anyone I do not know that thinks the same, needs a conversation, like one needs a hug after a year of deployment to a war, where no one gets a hug until we get home...

That may need to be changed somehow. How? An official "No Homo" (to use the present vernacular) hug from another person might just relieve a little more stress, anxiety, and blood pressure... How might that change the face of the military?  I dunno. [Do a study on how hugs help combat "combat stress" which can lead to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)?]

Perhaps I should stick to looking for an engaging conversation . . .

As if in a Dream...

Stupid to think this...

When I was young (early 20's) [yeah, a long time ago] there were these odd instances that occurred a few times, where I would be hanging out with a friend and it would either get late, or we had hiked all over the place and were just plain tired... it was then that I would either invite or be invited to just 'crash' wherever we were. My house, a friends apartment, etc. 

It seemed like the most normal thing in the world. [We were out of class and had a lot of free time] So, what might be considered 'odd' or 'strange' in retrospect?

  Well...

The fact that most of my friends at the time were women, and (apparently) they felt safe enough to just cuddle up and fall asleep together.  [I can't believe I am about to tell you the term I coined] A "cuddle-buddie", like a couple of puppies sleeping together for the feeling of security and warmth.  There was no flirting, or apparent sexual overtones, just a really nice feeling of being with someone you know and like, and not sleeping alone.  [It didn't hurt that they were soft and smelled nice too.]

Who knows what to call it?

It was nice. It was uncomplicated (or at least I percieved it that way). There are still times that I still get a little of the feeling at home, but that closeness it is more like a comfortable habit. To be truthful, I have slept the majority of the last four to seven years on my own. [Many reasons, to be left for another time.]

Lastly, on dreams.

When I have enough time to sleep and remember parts of my dreams, they are complex, winding, moving, adventures much of the time. It is me with, for and against the world. I run, I drive, I fly, I swim, in and out and around scenery, landscapes, interesting architecture and passages.  Long interaction with others in my dreams is a rarity, and rarely if ever sexual, but definitely idea provoking and (again) adventures. 

I have held so many jobs in my lifetime and in my dreams, it is no wonder I am confused as to what I am supposed to WANT to BE -or- Do, in my "real" life. I can say in all honesty that I have NEVER been bored in my life; my mind takes care of that, and my dreams seem to follow the example.
I hope that you too can see your dreams more as an adventure and discovery, perhaps even the intrigue of a mystery. . .

Get some good sleep

-  Mike

If only we would decide to fly...

As a kid, I remember it was 6th or 7th grade, when our class took a trip to hike part of the Appalachian Trail and also go rock climbing and repelling.
I decided that I would try to be helpful and carry some of the climbing gear, most notably the ropes. I strapped an extra 20lbs to my pack. Hiking for a few hours, up and down hill after rolling hill, and getting caught in a rain squall for five minutes, I started to get tired. I did not complain, I took the burden and accepted it as my own. We came to a difficult portion of trail, jutting rocks and tree roots made footing a bit more difficult. Minutes into the climb I fell on my face. Tired, I was nearly pinned down by my pack and the extra weight. I started to cry, partly out of embarrasment, partly out of fatigue and oh yeah the pain did not help much either. It was when one of the trail guides came and helped me up, realizing the weight this kid [I] was actually carrying (probably 45lbs) that he was amazed that I had made it as far as I had. After wiping the blood and dirt off my legs and face they took the ropes from me and a mile or two later we made it to where we would camp for the night.
It was when I took off the pack and stood up that I felt as if I was floating inches above the ground, it was as if the weight had been holding me to the earth.
I enjoyed the feeling of feeling as if I might just float away, like a helium filled balloon.
With all that said, as an adult there have been many burdens that I have shouldered, sadness and anxiety being a large part of that weight. It is now that I feel that I would fear loosing contact with the ground and float away without that weight, which makes it hard to put that weight down, let it go. [I had once read, To fly is simply a matter of falling and missing the ground.]

Just think of how many of us would be floating, flying around if we could only unburden ourselves.

- Mike

How do I do it?

How can I remain composed, day after day, questions come, answers do not.  At least answers are not obviously being answered to my satisfaction.  I think that it is a matter of just finding the right (magical) question to ask. Right?

A time machine or way of peering into the future, or into a 'possible' future might set my mind at ease.  Not gonna happen.  Perhaps to look to others that have done 'exactly' what I have done and survived... Nope, not an easy find.  I try to interpolate answers gleaned from examples of, "There was this guy... he did such and such..." and the example I hold up to my present experiences and situation and ...

It is like comparing fingerprints. Sure there are loops and whorls and vague similarity, but being different, as I look closely are very un-alike. 

I do not loose my temper, and perhaps I should (a little), but it does not seem to me that it would help with anything.  Anger is a frustrating distraction that I really don't need, and is rooted in shame.  A feeling that I have done something wrong.  I start to think, "How can I make up for it?", "How can I fix it" and then I think perhaps I AM more resilient than I thought (think of myself). Wherever I may fall, and I expect to, considering the complexity of my future endeavors (plans) where a lot of stuff has to fit for it 'all' to work, I ask, "How do I do it?"  "How do I keep it together if the plan fails, if part of the elaborate plan fails?"  Having been through so much and surviving many many Many other failures (whether I succeed later or not) I know that if I survived all that, there is a pretty good likelihood I'll survive this.

Stiff, sore and tired, I typed the above, and postponed sleep, yet I am resigned that I am . . . no.  I am resolute that I am worthy of good that comes my way, and I'll be sure to take the credit if I succeed.

Perhaps this will be a testament to the crazy amount of will it will require to get through all that is before me.

M.O.

Murphy, we meet again. . .

Murphy's Law

Finding that all the trouble that you have gone through has been for nothing, or at least very very little benefit.

My new college classes: Dis-enrolled before the second meeting because of a computer glitch.  My Fault? I have no idea, as I went through this once before in Texas, and thought that I had learned from that experience to ask all the right questions... Well, apparently not.

Why is it that there is so much to be learned through mistakes, errors and F#*k ups.  It wears on a person after awhile.  A more unstable and or depressed person would be affected by THIS MUCH aggravation, frustration and just plain stupidity.

I will say that I am still fighting, and with the 4th closing pretty much everything down, I wonder if I will get much of a chance to 'make things right' before next week.

Is karma telling me something? Am I going in the wrong direction with my plans.  Perhaps I am meant to do yet something else.  Good Humor salesman, Diesel Mechanic, Tug boat Captain, or perhaps just find a different job in the US Coast Guard.  There has got to be some place for Petty officer Odd or Lieutennant Odd for that matter...

Clinical Psychologist, bwah aah haha ah haa ha ha! Okay, how would I make that happen before I am 50?

Walmart Greeter is Out of the Question!

Good night.

- Mike

What should I wear?

Listening to the radio one morning, a particular story (Story Corps, where a family talks about their memories of each other) really affected me, it brought a tear to my eye... It made me think.
{The story was about a Hispanic family that grew up very poor, but lived well enough to provide a happy home.  The father worked ranches in the southwest and did 'cowboy' work, but never had a decent set of leather chaps.  Later in life his family remembered him saying that he had never had a nice set of chaps and scraped together the money to buy a really nice pair for him.  Upon receiving the chaps he felt that they were "to nice" and that he was not worth the money they had spent on them.  He asked if they could return them and get their hard earned money back...
Years later, the father, knowing that in his old age, he was very likely to die soon, told his son, who had never returned the chaps, to dress him in them.  When asked, "Why now?"  The father replied, "I want you to be able to recognize me when you get to heaven."  He wore the chaps to bed, and died very soon thereafter.  As was his wish, he was buried in those chaps.}

[If it exists:] How will my friends and family recognize me when I get to Heaven? 

Heaven is a concept that many do not ascribe to,  so I can see it as a metaphor as I wonder what I am to others.  How do they see me?  Is it in parts, my height, big ears, funny face, curly hair (long or short) my actions, possessions, hobbies, or words that I have written/spoken or sang?

What am I to others, in their memories?  Is it a knowable conglomeration of things?

 Hmm.

To ponder.

- Mike

I'm that guy (that kid)

On a lake in New York somewhere, I was to young to know the geography, and all I had to know that it was near my uncle's house.  (though I am not sure if he was a true uncle, or just a friend of the family, like a brother, so we called him Uncle Sam.  The day was beautiful, cool in the shade and warm in the sun, and fishing was so-so. I don't remember how it happened, but one of the casting rods decided to mangle a big rats nest of filament.  At the time, I did not see the logic in cutting off the rat's nest and starting with untangled (albeit much shorter) line. 
I proceeded to focus my attention on that random ball/knot before it got any worse.  It must have taken me 30 minutes or maybe even an hour, I really do not remember, I lost track of time, as I pulled and turned and followed each strand of the fine threads of the nearly opaque plastic line.  I never felt a sense of giving up, or frustration, it was almost a calm focus, a challenge, a puzzle.  The adults in the boat offered to cut the line once, that I remember, but must have seen the determined look on my face (I was just quietly doing something while they fished...). I guess that said to them, let me try.

I did get the line untangled and wound carefully back into the fishing reel, and later that day caught the largest fish I have ever caught on a lake, an eleven inch crappie (mostly white with lots of black spots).  I did not keep it, and we released it back, keeping only the memory.

There have been many other times in my life that this true focused calm has come over me.  Building model cars and planes, building with LEGOs and assembling puzzles.  There is something that distracts me from stress or worry or most of the outside world for that matter as I find such things for myself to do.  It is never about deadlines, other people's expectations, it was just me and something to solve in my own way.

To find this as an adult . . . I have to wonder how far I would have to look?  I did a very complex jigsaw puzzle with the collective help of a few others, just a few months ago, and I will say that it was satisfying to complete, even if it was not just My work alone. 

Where to go with this?  I suppose that I could tackle my new classwork (we had a quiz the other day and I was able to answer every question (fairly confidently) and though it was not to be part of our grade, I was happy to know that I am going to be able to jump into things, work through them (math problems in this case) and solve the problems at hand.  This makes me oddly happy.

- Mike

Jumping into the Deep End...

The metaphor of jumping into the Deep End of the pool, does not feel dangerous when you know how to swim.  I have spent sooo much time treading the proverbial water that I suppose I will get myself into trouble because of comfort and perhaps [over]confidence in my ability to handle the not so rough water in a controlled environment. 

Jumping off a ship at night, on the other hand, would be much more stupid and dangerous.  (No lifeguard, waves, water temperature, sharks, etc.)

So. What the hell am I talking about.... (yes, I can be intentionally vague)

Well...

I have signed up for two evening classes, that my workplace (and for those of you that know me you know who they are) will be picking up the tab (or the majority of the tab) as long as I get good grades/pass the classes.

It is actually me that wants to get good grades.  There is a little nervousness in the pit of my stomach, yes it is annoying (at the moment) as I have just registered and committed to buying the books for the two classes. (Just under $300) Yes, I did look for the better deals, but college books are a "racket" and everyone knows it...

That said, I am making a vague mental list of what is causing the stomach churning anxiety (fight or flight):

- The fact that I will get yelled at for my foolishness (by significant other); in her opinion (not necessarily mine) to decide to leap forward with two classes in my first Part-time semester back.

- The fact that I am gambling on my "smarts" in comparison to the task(s) at hand.  The program I really want to get into (a Graduate Occupational Therapy program) is quite competitive and I historically have not been the most stellar student.  My heart is in the right place, but my ability to juggle all of the responsibilities involved, get "good" grades and have a Full-time work schedule on top of all that... Whew, my stomach is twisting!  Let's hope that I can keep it together. [and do well.]

- I will need to make adjustments to work, eat, sleep and school patterns.  ([This creature of habit in yet more flux}>

- Oh, and yes, I had almost forgotten, I found a way to hate myself [to the point of near self destruction] earlier this year as I was stressing about a single, albeit graduate level class, in a subject that I had been away from for over five years.  I am still slowly recovering from that.

I do have hope, as I believe that these courses will be closer to my heart and I have a great want to learn, to move on, move forward again.  {Forward is a relative vector, as it may just be an alteration in my orbit.  I could write about the present holding pattern I am trying to escape [sometimes feels like the moon attempting to escape the gravity of the earth] and a whole chapter of an autobiography on what I have done and not done. Success, failure and attempts in between...}

Actually that would be a great title for my autobiography: "Success, Failure and the [many] Attempts in between. The life and times of Mike Odd."

Sleep, right now, is a good idea, as I have to wake early and (doing the best I can) continue at the aforementioned work, appointments, schedule time to verify the payment for the classes...

It is likely that once in the swing of 'things' that I will take even less time to vent blog-wise... and yet I can see it another way and I may be here more often.  (To keep my sanity)

- Mike

Here we go again... (the guilt thing)

Remembering years ago, and I mean YEARS ago (late 1980's-90's) when I was in college.  I started at one school and for many reasons, to include the fact that I was one of three people from my state going to the school (Me, a grad student, and a junior I never met), as well as the hell that I am sure that every freshman goes through.  Not planning on describing "the Hell"... Regardless, I did well for myself 'grade-wise' and made some great friends, some of whom I still keep up with (all longer stories for some other time, if ever).

Okay, you are saying, "Stop beating around the bush! Think about getting to your point."

Well, I transferred to a school closer to home and the adventure continued.  (Less hell, more distractions) I became involved in many things, the campus radio station, the campus bus system (yes, I was a bus driver...), Student Government (but only to be able to have an 'in' when it came time to ask for funding for the radio station or a new student group that an interdisciplinary studies seminar decided should exist.  And we willed it into existence.

Your point?

Well, it was in this group that we wanted to make positive changes in the world, and we thought that the school needed a dedicated environmental organization.
[Strangely enough it still exists to this day, this is something that still makes me happy to think about.]
So, okay.  We needed to start small and grow, elect officers, all that fun stuff, and don't forget the Student Government Assoc. funding (mentioned above) to get started.

Okay, so what?

It was then that I, me, I was elected to be the first President of the group, I hemmed and hawed, but shouldered the responsibility (as many of the ideas were mine, [and I am usually more humble] gleaned from the many inspiring conversations with the other members.)

Okay, so, now here comes my point, after all this vague background.  As president I was always looked at as "the leader".  I do not think of myself as a natural leader, though recently I had heard a reminder of what are seen as various leadership styles "From the Front, In the Middle, and From the Rear."

What did I do? I decided to choose all three, depending on the situation, and little did I know, that is probably one of the best ways to go.   I am a leader, just not a stereotypical head of state type of leader.  More of a team player, willing to pull my own weight, lead by example, and (more now than then) delegate when I need to.  Delegation of work was one of the hardest things for me.  To ask others to give up their time and energy and expect that they could also work  and  study  and  have "lives" outside of the group.

I am glad I realized this pretty early.

Example:

There were many times that, my keen eye would spot a "member" (one of the, at one time, 70+ individuals) making their way across campus, to then notice that they see me coming (I guess you can't miss the 6 foot 3 inch curly haired mop top bounding along...) and I'd then notice they'd suddenly turn and duck into a building or alcove, (what the military calls "taking cover").  This behavior didn't bother me the first few times, but as it happened more often, I began to find it humorous, and actually seek them out.   (One could say that I enjoyed this game, I became quite good at it, possibly lending to the fact that I pursued detective work years later...) I would catch them off guard and greet them warmly, asking how things were going etc.  I would not make any accusations, telling them that I had noticed them 'ducking' me,  but without any prompting, they would immediately start apologizing for missing a meeting or an event, or blowing off something that they said that they would do.

It was then that I would say, "That's fine..., I understand, you really don't have to explain to me ________ [as I know] we are all in school, we have lives, and other stuff comes up.  .  ."
This, sometimes, would surprise them.  I suspect that they were waiting for the "But!" which never came.  I'd occasionally mention what the environmental group was up to in the near future, and that they were welcome to join if they liked.  "Bring a friend..."  I'd wish them a good day, pause a moment to see if they had anything else they wanted to chat about, and then I'd bound off, as quickly as I had come.

Remember this is well before everyone in the world owned a cellular telephone and an e-mail address (yes, if you can believe it) and communication had to be done via hard-line telephone, in person or via other means (posted fliers, the campus newspaper, and word of mouth).

It is now that I am years removed from the hustle and bustle of college life that I realize that people still do 'the guilt thing'.  'The guilt thing' is simply the busy-ness of folks that makes returning phone calls (yes, on mobile 'devices' and 'no' I do not "text"), look from the outside more and more like guilty 'ducking'.  It is then that if one waits some unwritten amount of time, three minutes or 48 hours (who knows) and does not return a call in that expected time... It is past the point of no return, and the call will never be returned.

"Oh, well.  I guess I'll just have to start avoiding them now..."  {Maybe it was just that I was a complete ass, manipulative, unlikable, "to intense" or whatever. I'll never know. Who would tell me honestly?}

I have decided to start work on telepathic communication, but I suspect that it is either not going to get heard, or it will be thought to be odd voices (to be ignored).  Perhaps, it just won't work (for me).

On a related, but inversely opposite note, I want to say that there are some friends that I absolutely treasure having conversations with, in person or on the phone.  I do not know if the feeling is truly mutual, but at least I am having some fun.  I love to listen and live vicariously through the daily lives of friends, as they relate their story.  Any sort of guilt seems to melt away, time apart seems a distant memory and it is as if I am in love all over.  Yes, I love my friends.  No, not in a physical sense of the word, but yes it is somewhat romantic, the sharing of lives and thoughts and ... I wish them the best and want the world to treat them like I'd want to treat them, in a perfect world.

This has been a bit of a 'brain dump' with a bit of editing of specific facts, so as not to throw out to many details (which would fill many many more pages, believe me.)  It is rough hewn, and rambling, with me pretty much talking to myself.  Who else do I have to chat with?  (Yes, a double edged jab at myself, and passive aggressive guilt, Right?)

Know one thing, if you have made it this far: I DO NOT CARE if you feel that it is (in your mind) past the point of guilt versus calling/writing back.  Isn't it just good to know that you are being thought of once in awhile. To say a simple 'Hello'.  I really do not care how long it has been.

Oh, wait!  But there could be another angle.  To wake the "beast".  The "beast" being my rambling interest in communication, a response, a need in me to ask questions, to share ideas.  I suppose that, that sort of "beast", can be a lot to deal with, all those expectations he (it) must have... Guilt, guilt, guilt, "I really don't have the time..."

I get it.  (Well, ...Perhaps I don't...)  But I am a seed in soil placed in the dark, I am made, genetically designed to seek light...

and - Sometimes I sit in the dark so long that I can forget that I am supposed to seek the light...

- Mike Odd

Okay... Is it just me?

Does my feeling that I have a very difficult time making new friends recently, fall into the category of me not emanating the right "friend" vibe?  Is it a matter of the incredible amount of time that I am either working or nowhere to be found. [I really do not advertise where I am going, pretty rarely in fact, though there are always exceptions.]  Perhaps there are people that might make friends, if I did something extra curricular-ly that others might have an interest in... Movie/Film anyone. Dinner out at some exotic (yes, I am a vegetarian) restaurant or maybe just pancakes and coffee?

Ugh.  I do not want to get into some pity party. THAT would be really attractive.  Perhaps as the weather gets better, and I start to ride my bike, swim (if I can find a free/cheap pool), run (again as I am still hobbling after a fractured ankle) or ????  I am not trying to find a date.  Just people that might hang out together now and then.

I'll be quiet.  Speak only when spoken to.  Behave in public.  Listen intently. Laugh at all [well most] of the jokes.  Promise not to be a poor sport. To pay my share.  To be encouraging.  Smile.  Remain receptive to ideas and happily jump into the deep end if the situation warrants.  Act the fool or the adult or the designated driver.  Act younger, older or somewhat like my own age, whatever that means...  I'll even travel a reasonable distance, but won't get carried away, over excited or emotional (unless the situation warrants, without a doubt).

Where does this get me?  

No, Idea.

Next thought...

I have never been in an office and seen so many folks taking leave or vacations (staycations, or whatever) as it makes me wonder where I would go and when.  Why go anywhere?  Especially when you are not thinking of some place that you really want to go or be.

Some of this I suspect is the fact that I have no one inviting me anywhere. (See the full loop there!) Perhaps it is due to the fact that I have no children, that I would feel the need to show new things and explore and see the world.

Have I become weary of the world?  Travel?  I have been many places, many as a necessity or part of my work, and had a bit of fun along the way. [This is now pretty rare]  Am I uninspired? Do I feel anchored to a house, home, chores, the day to day...  Is it a symptom of my workaholism (a mask to my depressive episodes in the past) or perhaps a need to feel productive...

I don't know.

The thought of taking a class excites me, if I can work it out... I am in the process... and Yes, it will be another form of work, sure, but it will be a change, a thought of a new path, career, direction... In or out of the military...

Have I ever mentioned that I am in the military?  Hmm.  Perhaps this is the first, but don't hold it against me.  People comment and are at times amazed by the thought of it.

That for another time.

Pondering: Is it just me?

Words escape me. . . and this is where they landed.

What keeps me from...

 - Writing more, as it is not quite unlike opening a vein (or artery for that matter) where the words flow and I fear that I'll grow weaker. Perhaps there is a want, a hesitation, to put down what seems three or four dimensional in my head into a two dimensional and very linear sentence...

- Telling her what I really think/feel.  Where the sea is rocking the proverbial boat already.  The thought of adding to the stress, the 'shit' of daily life and what we must deal with outside of ourselves.  I suddenly realize that there are a lot of people (outside of 'she'), other she's if you will, that I will allow/divulge only as much as I (subjectively I might add) feel that they can handle.  Why inflict 'myself' on anyone? [How selfish am I?]

- Moving forward with plans? I reason that they might be disapproved of. Do I want to argue my position, debate over the pros and cons that may result in some possible outcome... I was asked recently, who's life do you want to live?  I hesitated, yet knew the answer (that's what happens when a question is obviously rhetorical.) This then returns to paragraph 1 above.

- Taking a leap of nearly any sort.  I have sat and spent time logging in accomplishments from childhood through fairly recently.  It was a strange exercise that showed me as one that loves experiences, and has tried so many different things as jobs, hobbies and vocations, only to have stalled recently, doubting myself.  To relinquish a great portion of my decision making to others, I realize that I do not have the confidence I one had.  What caused that change?  I have failed plenty before and came out okay...
 Perhaps being on my own, un-married I had less responsibility to another, just myself, and I could risk that.  I did not have to think of that other someone close that might be affected by some wrong decision... ugh.

- How does a man get his guts back, feel (to borrow a phrase) empowered again.  I struggle with feeling impotent, unsatisfied and relegated to shrug and accept the status quo within my life.  The need is so great that I begin to live vicariously through others, encouraging them to strive and move forward, (and leave me behind).  What kick in the pants do I need right now?  It is so very difficult to inspire myself into action, and can understand the hesitation of others all the more.  How do we change when we KNOW for certain that it would do us so much good? If not good, at least different . . .


Oddly, there are those that seem to martyr themselves to the shy and introverted, anxious and depressed by taking in or listening to our hurt, our 'crap' and empathize/sympathize with us (me).  [aside: So, what is the real difference between emp and symp, when it comes to 'athizing'?]
I hear them say, "You can share/speak/talk with me." A basic form of, "I don't mind." will usually follow.  It is not that easy, even with permission...

I have, and I try not to sound to prideful in saying, shared a lot more recently than in much of my life combined.  There is much more, yet I will relate that I do not want to taint the image of what I would like.

The well keeled

I've a (relatively) new found stability, I can look back on parts of my life, events, what I would, even in the recent past, have called 'mistakes', and I have more (and this may sound strange) compassion for myself, or my past self and how I either did well or did not. Now. Success and failure are no longer polar opposites...

The phrase example, "The glass half ______" (full or empty) is just a way of describing an object from two different perspectives. Don't read into it! Optimist/Pessimist shmessamist... One could just say, "Look, there is 4oz. of water in that 8oz. glass."  My mind immediately thinks,"That is really more than half of what will likely be poured into that glass anyway." And, "Who would ever put 8oz of water into an 8oz. glass? That is an accident waiting to happen..."  In reality we would fill it to just beneath the rim, so as not to spill it, or just negate the worry and just use a larger glass.  [I know that is just not the point, I realize this and continue to have rambling thoughts]  So when the class looked to be half full, one has to then think, "Are we thinking measuring cup here? Cuz, if I were to "fill" that glass, it would not be filled to the 8oz rim.  In order to have our "full" glass of water and still be able to pick it up and carry it without spilling.  Metaphor schmetaphor, I am a man of logic and reasoning... Bwah hah ha ahhhah! Yeah, right. {says the little voices in the back of my metaphorical head}

Next memory comes... Many of the glasses in Europe, in restaurants, bars, etc., have little serving marks, so you know exactly how much should be in the glass as a serving, and you know that the next person will get the same amount/serving.  Your mind is settled, as you pay for your 200ml (quite small by American standards) sized glass of CocaCola or Almdudler soda and if it is filled to the line, that reads 200ml, and know you are getting what you payed for. 

Next memory... The amount of ice in beverages sold (what used to be nearly everywhere) where you get a cup FULL of ice and some drink to fill the space in between, a 32oz cup that is 25oz of ice and 7oz of actual drink. This is the case unless you count the melt water that eventually comes from the ice (I am guessing here, is < or = 18oz. of water) (As the volume of ice is always more than that of liquid water, you really are getting very little for your money, unless you count the 'value' of a slightly heavier plastic "collector cup" emblazoned with some blockbuster movie character, or you go some place that just hands you a certain size cup ('the honor system') that you can fill with any proportion of drink and ice... )

I will admit that soda no longer excites me, I am non-plussed by the excessively sweet taste and the residue that becomes phleghm in the back of my mouth/throat (Sorry, that is neither Kosher nor a pleasant image. Why?  It's all thanks to High Fructose Corn Syrup) Yet I always adopt an old yiddish man's accent (a la Billy Crystal) as I try to clea' my troat! Achem! [Note: this is not always done aloud, but at least in my mind's eye...]

-------------------------------------------------
Some part of what I responded to a friend's post: [can be read with any accent...]

Funny, one has plans and dreams, yet I have been alone much of my life, I might feel like an artist, an oil painter, that finds himself stranded on an island and there is no canvas, no oil or brushes... So I must find other media and ways to channel my creativity, express or relate my vision as I continue to survive.

-------------------------------------------------

Friends, Teachers, Countrymen...

Cloud nine gets all the publicity, but cloud eight actually is cheaper, less crowded, and has a better view...

No comment” is a comment

Here’s a bumper sticker I’d like to see: “We are the proud parents of a child who’s self-esteem is sufficient that he doesn’t need us promoting his minor scholastic achievements on the back of our car"
- George Carlin


The other bumper sticker I thought of recently, thanks to a friend with a specific association:

[May the Spleen be with You]

We need others to keep us sane

I have re-realized again, that there are times that we have the emotional resources to face and deal with "our own problems" and yet there are times that we are to close (to those self same problems) to have an objective perspective on them.  A friend, a confidant, a therapist even, will have perspective, but it is a case of GIGO (Garbage In Garbage Out) their view of you is usually colored with the palate with which you yourself have chosen to paint it.    Yes, there are those that can just see through your bullshit, or at least take a pretty good guess, to see beyond the walls, the facade, or remnants thereof, even in supposed confidential comfort of a theraputic relationship. 

What the F am I talking about here? Well, we still want to paint a picture of ourselves to another _______ (somebody) where we still star in our own story.  We may openly volunteer the crap that we do or have done, and yet we still edit, filter, or choose a limited palate of specific colors.  We may even ask ourselves, "So, what do they want to hear?" or "How can I tell this without coming out looking like a complete ass?"  We are selective, it is our nature.  Our memories, our taste (food, clothes, politics, etc.) is a product of so many small choices it is hard to even imagine how we have made it through our entire lives without losing our minds.  I am sure that this sort of survival has something to do with the way the brain functions, to protect us, as best it can, from the traumas we have faced.  Sometimes this is so much the case that we break.

I actually had a thought that I wanted to share originally, and I wasn't quite sure how to get to it, to illustrate it...

It is. . .

The shit that we believe, if put into communication, words, images, and we assume would be hurtful, to ourself or others, if left unfiltered, will do what?

- by some notion it could set us free.
- it could have the opposite effect and incarcerate us...
- perhaps the deep and dark is to much to handle, "digest", or "process" 
- and maybe a little more truth, a little at a time, might hurt at first, but could change the giver and receiver.

The problem then becomes, how much is right/enough/appropriate; If we were to expose it naked, raw and unedited, would those that receive this information about us ever be prepared to accept, understand, live with what comes out.  How can we decide?

Who could truly handle this?  What does it say about a person that "doesn't want to hear it..." and live happily in ignorance of ________ (whatever it might be).

Aside: We want to be liked, loved, listened to, and the consequence of making a decision to illustrate  anything (good or bad) weighs heavily on us when it involves affecting others' opinion of us.

The effect on a 'loved one' to face complete honesty, and remain untainted by what could be (subjectively) an 'awful truth'.  

Perhaps dropping any sort of emotional bombshell should be relegated to a top secret test range, far from the public eye, out of harm's way before detonation. 

The thought that follows is: Do we really all need to have another outlet for deep emotional shit, that may be harmful if handled by one's closest to us (who may be dealing with much of their own?)  Therapists see other therapists, right?  It would be like taking their work home to their spouse and laying it all on them when it is not their choice... It is why Al-Anon or Narc-Anon is separate from the family, loved ones.  Finding the right place to face the truth and to still find acceptance (in all our flaws) is. . .

perhaps necessary to keep us sane.

I have had to take a breath.

I am not sure if I am ready.

The few days back in the world I have had are not un-normal, they are just seen through different lenses.  To be honest, there is no way that I feel entirely comfortable writing about what I hold inside as my fears...

Imagine an eleven year old that finds himself, doing homework, toiling away at night under a warm goose-neck lamp.  At the desk in his room, he does not know that the three hours he spends with the books, the numbers, the words, is far more than his classmates would ever imagine spending themselves. 

In the light of day, away from school work, he finds that he enjoys walking, exploring the streams and creekbeds, hopping from rock to rock. Always looking for the minnows and crayfish, observing the occasional snake swimming, turtles sunning, and water-striders skimming across the surface of eddys and pools.  Books are forgotten, the speckled sunlight filtering through the leaves above and the burble of the passing water below is fully engrossing. 

These places are where he keeps his feet dry; where he feels different, sometimes lighter.  The seemingly ankle deep water he trudges through nearly everywhere else he doesn't much notice anymore.  He is to shy to ask if anyone else feels a little annoyed at how the weight of the water slows them down.  Perhaps it is only me, he thinks. 

College, and he finds that he has many interests, and indulges in some and dabbles in others.  The water is rarely noticed, though when he does, it is waist deep.  He has learned to leap along, up and down staircases on his way to class or to work. He is fast and strong and agile, very different from his grade school years; yet still takes the time to lose himself in the woods, walking for hours, sitting on a rock, waiting for nothing more than the sounds, and smells and textures of light and earth that surrounds him.

Work, for years, so many things, so many places, and the water stays shin deep.  It is rarely even noticed; and with the speed and skill with which he has learned to travel you would never know there was a current about his feet. 

Now, having fallen overboard, (or did he jump?) he has never seen deeper waters, and all that he had learned to deal with in wading for all of these years does not prepare him.  Yes, he knows how to swim, as there were hours alone that he has found to swim, even to tread water takes little effort.  But it turns dark, and the waves are tiring, nothing like a swimming pool.  Treading water, arms and legs and mind swirling in the dark water, he cannot see land.  Land could be in any direction, he does not think of the stars, never looks up, as the waves bob him up and down.  What will happen when he gets tired, is unable to think, unable to fight the temptation to stop treading water.  He makes his peace, says his quiet and unheard good-byes to friends and family, yet he treads and paddles.  He surprises himself as he stops, he asks for help, out loud.  Cold and tired and nearly drained, he feels strong hands around his arms as he is pulled out of the water...

Reminded of Captains Courageous as he has little chance to contact the outside world, aboard a ship, safe, far from shore or anyone that knows him.  He must resign himself, keep busy, and becomes a part of the crew.  He lives awhile on the sea, constantly reminded of the water that once held him, thankful for his luck, and hopes that he will never have to feel that sense of alone ever again. 

- M/O