What I learned from my vacation to Florida

Every time I go to visit my grandparents, and subsequently a cousin or two to fill the void of entertainment post the older's departure to bed, we usually engage in a very solemn and fulfilling tradition. Mainly, we have a lobster dinner. Ok, at least it's filling, if not fulfilling. And I think you may see that this is taking a turn for the more sarcastic than soul-searching. Either way, hear me out.

Here is the general order of dinner: we get a dozen clams per person, usually an extra for the smart one to go last (me!), then supplement our feast of full lobster with coleslaw and red potatoes. However, the one minor detail that I have left out, is that we have to choose a name for our lobster, before we take them, still alive, and drop them in the boiling water.

Names have varied over the years, over the course of live events. My grandmother continues to name hers after one individual who she was reminded of when seeing a large gorilla at the zoo many years back. But that is another story for another time. While I must admit my apologies for not being able to remember my former names, (with the exception of a certain ex...) (which would be able to catalog my life about as easily as an actual biography), I feel I must share the name of the lobster than died in the name of my hunger on the eighth of August, 2008. Yes, on the day the Chinese lucky number of 8 was immortalized with the opening of the Olympic games, this lobster laid down it's life. And it was delicious.

The name, which many of you are wondering at what point I will stop rambling and divulge, is that of... no, that would be too easy. I must first mention that this is usually last minute, though I'm sure my grandmother's decision was well thought out before hand. My cousin usually chooses someone who embodies the pop culture that he probably feels undermines true musical taste. At least he did on this occasion. He opted for Miley Cyrus as the name of the Maine beast about to meet it's end. Ironically enough, I choose someone from his homestate, though someone I also believe could undermine much of the future. Yes, the name of the lobster is none other than John McCain. (Yes, my cousin did point out that it would dangerous to devour a creature so old and... well, anyway) So, without further ado, I present to you, JOHN McCAIN!!!

Ok, it's not really a post about what I learned on vacation, but I still thought it was entertaining to share.

Obama '08

To Whom It May Concern...

I
I am tired
I am tired of fighting
I am tired of fighting for friendships, for attention from friends, for that one little ounce of "damn" that is given away to friends.
I am tired of fighting to prove myself to a boss that knows the office needs me to do more work but won't hire me till my part time hours are done so he doesn't have to pay me more.
I am tired of fighting a boss who gives me stuff last minute, past due, and expects me to do the work faster than actual engineers when I've only done this type of work for a few months.
I am tired of my friends living so far away and feeling like there's the inevitable "drift" and five years from now we'll have nothing to talk about besides the weather.

There are a thousand other things that I could list here to explain why I'm tired, and feel like everything I do is a struggle or fight. I don't have time, you don't want to hear it...

I am not going to reference any name for a couple reasons. The first is that inevitably I would leave someone off the list. Any list, either those that give me reason to push on day to day, or those that have added straws to the back of the camel. And feelings would get hurt, and people would get upset, and that's not my intension. What is my intension is that those that care know what's going on with me right now.

Quite frankly, I need a break. A rest. The peace that comes with the eye of the storm. For the next little while I am making no plans, I am keeping quiet, and not making group decisions. So if I seem reserved, or shy, or whatnot, that is the reason. I am tired of fighting the group, tired of plans being made and dropped, tired of worrying if something I say is going to upset someone, or feelings get hurt or something.

Don't get me wrong, I would love to hang out with people. And there are people that are the exception. Again, no names, but I hope you know who ya'll are. Cause ya'll are the reason that I have the energy to hope. I draw on the knowledge that if need be, you'd be there, and that keeps me going in this chaos.

But let me say that if you read this, and think I want to stay away from people, I don't. I don't want to lose any friendships, even those that are stressing me out. Give me a call and lets hang out. I'm just tired of feeling like I'm putting for the effort with little in return. I love my friends, and I want to foster such deep friendships, and all I ask is that you present to me the appearance that there's some reciprocation. And if that is too much to ask, so be it, and I wish you the best of luck in life.

And if this does offend you, have the courtesy to talk to me about it, and lets work through it. Maybe I misconstrued something, maybe I merely misworded something. Just talk to me.

Questions

Somehow I feel as if I've written this entry before. As before, please don't... ya know what, screw it.

If you died, who would show up? Who would be affected? Would there be more people saying "oh, what a shame..." than people generally concerned? Who would be glad that you no longer exist?

I'm fully convinced that we weren't created to be self-sustaining creatures. We need human connection to survive, let alone reach our full potential. Yet it seems as though at times I'm being called to shoot it solo. How many times can a person get dumped/rejected/kicked to the curb/generally ignored. Is it really that I'm not worth it?

It could be. Perhaps I've merely been kidding myself for twenty some-odd-years. I'm not trying to sound emo, I'm not trying to garner compliments or seek comments on this blog. Rather, I'm trying to take a hard look internally to see why what I see isn't what others see. Something's not adding up. Either I'm EXCELLENT at flying under the radar in every way possible, or there really are that many people FAR better suited that I even defy the odds of chance.

Which is possible. Mathematically, the odds of the Cubs winning a World Series, if nothing other than chance, for 100 years are 200:1. Maybe they just need another hundred. Who knows what my odds are, and if you do, please do share.

I know that I'm not the most personable person. I'm shy, sarcastic, and far too introverted. Yeah, part of that is merely my personality shaped by my past, but is that the only reason? Is the simple answer to all of this that I'm not personable?

What I do take solace in is that I believe in God. I keep wondering why I keep getting kicked around. Is it merely a string of bad luck? or are these merely trials to produce endurance?

And because I feel like it, an excerpt from RENT - Halloween:

Why Are Entire Years Strewn
On The Cutting Room Floor Of Memory
When Single Frames From One Magic Night
Forever Flicker In Close-Up
On The 3D Imax Of My mind

That's Poetic
That's Pathetic

Spring break was a few weeks ago. It feels like months. Seriously, it does. And I want it back. Not just the break, but what I've gained from the break. Or rather, what began at break.

Going home is always bittersweet for me. I grew up in one church, and with them putting minimal effort into creating a single/young professionals/etc group, I've followed some friends to another congregation. While this started near a year ago, only now have I begun to feel like I'm being broken into the group. And the main reason for that is a bunch of Harding friends that are there now. I feel like it's the link I needed to get back into the swing of things, and to look forward to this summer. (By the way, this summer is going to ROCK! I will make it so, trust me.)

But coming back from my ever prevalent tangent, and back to the title of this post/blog/note/random assortment of monkey typed words... Starting at Spring Break, and continuing onward through now, I've felt like the prodigal son. I've come back to the gate, asking if I may come in. I know how the son felt, merely asking for a spot among the servants, and probably feeling bad that the robe and ring and fattened calf were offered/given to him. He just wants to be home, not take away from his brother, just to see his Father's affection smile, not needing anything more. Just to be home, and feel the presence of his family, that's all that's wanted. And it feels good. No, it feels amazing in a way that words CANNOT describe.

Amazing

New Years Resolutions Update #4/5