Post-shower thoughts

As is the daily routine, I wrapped up my workout at 24 and came back to the batcave to regroup. Well, that's always the plan, but it never works out that way. I tell myself to fix something to eat as soon as I get in, but I still don't end up eating until at least two hours after I'm done working out.

I tell myself to hop in the shower as soon as I walk through the door, but that doesn't happen, because I'm usually listening to Galloway and Company on the way home. It never fails; I get in, turn on 103.3, so I can keep listening to Mr. Randy, Ian, and Matt and then plop down to finish reading, or doing whatever else besides fixing something to eat or taking a shower.

Finally, I head to the shower, take what feels like the greatest shower of all-time, and as I'm drying off, something comes over me. It's a startling revelation, and once it hit me, it kinda calmed me down from the state of mind that I've been enveloped in for the past few weeks.

Things went exactly the way they did (close to two years ago), because they had to. You were at a job you hated everyday and absolutely did not want to be at. There were some days that were positive, but mostly, you didn't want to be there. You weren't prepared to quit, so you kept doing it. Eventually, they laid you off, and in that moment, while they were saying how much they regretted "having" to do it, it was one of the happiest times of your life, and looking back, it was best to absorb every bit of those feelings, every bit of being somewhere and doing something you hated for that long to know you never want to feel like that again.

There have been moments of frustration, anger, confusion, all the shit people go through every day. There have also been times of joy, happiness, and laughter despite the fact I've never been more broke in my life. It affects everything I do, which has been a blessing and a curse. Hell, it forces you to get creative. It's given me an unfathomable amount of free time. Seriously, there has been no reason for me to say "I can't or won't do this, because I don't have time." Shit, if there's one thing I've had plenty of over the last couple of years, it's time, and it's allowed me to do everything under the sun.

All of this is happening, because it has to. It doesn't make sense to stay pissed about it, which I've done a pretty decent job of not doing, although I have had my days recently of just shutting down. Sure, it gets annoying to look at the gas tank and wonder why it seems to live on E when I just filled the damn thing up a few days ago. Yeah, it gets old to have to scrap and find a way to fix something to eat like I'm back in undergrad again, but at the same time, it's humbling. It gets aggravating to apply for positions, reconfigure the ol' resume, type up a gazillion cover letters, only to get rejected, but in the words of The Great Negro Philosopher Ron Washington, "that's the way baseball go."

In previous years, I had no idea what I could do that would bring me joy and happiness everyday. I just knew there had to be more to life than working some punk-ass jobs and going through the motions, but since I didn't know what brought me joy, I kept working some punk-ass jobs and going through the motions. Now, I've figured it out, and I'm putting as much energy as possible into not only finding a job, but starting a career. Eventually, it'll work itself out, even if I don't know when that is.

I don't go out much anymore and have become even more of a hermit than I was when I had bread and was working all the damn time, but it feels like it's the right thing to do. It's just about going through this time and once things get better, with my gas tank staying on full, keeping bills up, being able to buy some sneakers, sending my mama and them some money just for the hell of it, or simply going out to a nice restaurant for dinner, I'll remember this as a chapter in my life that simply had to happen for it to be fully appreciated.

6/14/11 @ 6:42 P.M.

Memories

From Dictionary.com:

mem·o·ry   

1.
the mental capacity or faculty of retaining and reviving facts, events, impressions, etc., or of recalling or recognizing previous experiences.
2.
this faculty as possessed by a particular individual: to have a good memory.
3.
the act or fact of retaining and recalling impressions, facts, etc.; remembrance; recollection: to draw from memory.

Memories are what we make them. If one chooses to keep remnants of them around, they're sure to surface at some point, and judging from some things I've stumbled upon just now, it's more than evident that it's time for some of these to be dismissed from this joint.

Memories are what we make them in the sense that if you have a decent memory, the events, people, and places will more than likely reside within you somewhere...even if they're tucked deep and far away. Trying to fight it is futile, regardless of how strong you are and how many times you've been able to get past things in your day.

Still...you can do something about the reminders. Those can find a way to your nearest receptacle, and while it may be harsh, it's truly for the best. You're at a place in your life where peace of mind is the priority, the mission, and the goal above all the rest.

Memories are cool for what they are, but in some cases, they should be nothing more. The reminders should be done away with, all the while doing the best to maintain good vibes with little-to-no reason to be anything but positive about why it's being done. Besides, the idea is to move forward and to remember that the fun has truly just begun.

6/9/11 @ 12:36 P.M.

Irresponsible

I committed an irresponsible act today. I went to the bookstore with the intentions of finishing the Johnny Cash autobiography that I've been bullshittin' around with for far too long.

After paying for my Caramel Macchiato and one of those big-ass Reese's Pieces peanut butter cookies, I took a stroll around Barnes and Noble to see what they had that would catch my eye.

Immediately, I was drawn to a book called The Autobiography of an Execution by David Dow. As is the case with previous books, I picked it up, was intrigued by the description, and put it back on the shelf, while making a mental note to buy it later.

For some reason though, I picked the book back up and headed to my table with it, opened it up, and flipped through the first two pages...

...two hours later, I was still reading it. The book started getting creased up, pages were bending, the whole nine. Once I realized I was reading it that long, and totally neglecting the one I brought with me, I put it back where I found it and left.

It's irresponsible, because I know reading a book that long = go ahead and buy. However, I didn't do so, and because of that, I feel like an asshole.

Sorry, Barnes and Noble. Next time I come in there, I'll buy the book. I promise.

6/9/11 @ 12:32 A.M.

Charge it to the game

Today I saw something come my way...

...a blast from the past, if you will; albeit not that long ago...

...I had zero desire to respond...

...so I didn't.

6/8/11 @ 2:10 A.M.

This is only a test

...that's how the lil' delay in action goes, right?

A few moments taken out just to keep you on guard until things get back in order.

*sigh* This test continues...

6/2/11 @ 12:45 A.M.