I was outside talking to one of my neighbors, engaged in the usual banter: the weather, the economy, a little about our personal lives, most of the topics that sprinkle everyday conversation. Our discussion was cut short, however, by the piercing shouts of several neighborhood girls, apparently in the middle of a heated argument. The fact that they were carrying on in such a manner in public was bad enough, but I was absolutely appalled at what they were saying. The vulgarities spewing forth from their disgusting mouths were enough to make Howard Stern and Sam Kinnison blush. F-bombs, c-words, b-words, whore, slut, even a few n-words were uttered. It was unbelievable to hear these girls, who couldn't have been more than 14 or 15, shouting such vile obscenities. While I stood in shock and disbelief, one of my neighbors, who had a young daughter within earshot of this nastiness, spoke up and advised the girls to watch their language, which was replied to with a blunt "F-you." It was disgusting.
I wonder when it was that such language became an acceptable form of communication among youth. As adults, we've all unfortunately had our moments when our word choices have been less than pleasant. We still spout the occasional s-word or b-word. Even as children we cursed, though we usually would silence ourselves after the first utterance and look around, hoping to God that no one heard us. Living in a small town, we knew it wouldn't take long for someone to report back to our parents about our bad behavior, and we also knew the punishment that awaited us when they found out. But these girls went far beyond anything I've ever heard in my life. No joke. It was the crudest, foulest exchange I've had the displeasure of hearing, surpassing even the worst obscenity laden dialogue on Jerry Springer or Jay and Silent Bob movies. Just horrible.
So, back to my point: When did this become acceptable? When did children lose that subconscious voice that told them not to do that? When I was younger, even in the absence of my parents, every choice I made would be prefaced with "what would my parents think?" In moments of anger, I still make that unnecessary mistake, but these were CHILDREN!! Does the youth of America not possess that internal sensor anymore? Even now, remembering their conversation, I still have a hard time believing it actually happened. Do they think it's cool, that it's appropriate to talk that way? I must really be out of touch with the times.
I worry also that their attitude stems from lacking the parental guidance we had. I know parents who use such language in front of their children, and it astounds me. Growing up, my parents would never have considered talking that way. Sure, when I got older, they were able to "cut loose" once in a while because they weren't as worried about influencing me anymore; after all, I was an adult. But even then, their language was never that atrocious. As my father sometimes says: "They wouldn't say s--- even if they had a mouthful of it." I wonder what these kids' parents talk like, and if they even reprimand their children for such behavior.
I then considered the more likely possibility that these girls just don't even think about what they're saying. Such inappropriate words have become part of their everyday speech, as second nature and inconsequential as my discussion with my neighbors about the weather. It was this consideration that really hit me.
What about me? Have I become so inoculated against that language? Yes, I know inoculated is generally used in reference to vaccinations, but when you think about it, letting such vulgarities become part of one's everyday lexicon is, in some small way, an infectious disease. Spend a few days with someone who talks like that, and see if your vocabulary isn't adversely affected. I don't think I speak so rudely or disgustingly. I do have a sick sense of humor, but have I ever been so obscene and nasty in public? I started analyzing my own vocabulary, and realized that, while I certainly don't talk quite so inappropriately, I haven't really thought about the way I speak. I definitely notice it when young children talk that way, and the way I think about them is certainly not how I'd want others to perceive me...especially now when I'm looking for a job, and am likely under constant scrutiny by potential employers. (After all, employers make it a habit to check social sites like Facebook when screening candidates, for those who aren't aware.)
So perhaps some good came from this unpleasant encounter; I reconsidered my own attitude and use (or misuse) of the English language. I think I need to make sure I monitor myself as well, or my commentary about other people's activities would be rendered meaningless. I can't say I'll never swear again, but I'll certainly be more aware of it and do my best to stifle it. If I see these girls again, I'll have to say: "Thank you. Your disgusting display of disrespect, vulgarity, and lack of inhibition has definitely made me want to be a better person...now fudge off."
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Relapse
Last night while driving to class with a friend, I saw a young man smoking a cigarette in the school parking lot. I groaned and said, "Ooooh, cigarette," to which my friend replied "You don't want that. They're yucky!" We both laughed and went on with the evening, and I'm sure my friend just took it as a joke. But in truth, if he hadn't been there to talk me out of it, I think I would've walked up to the student and asked for one. Life has been difficult lately, and now I'm faced again with an affliction that I had hoped would never resurface.
Boredom and stress. That's a pretty effective summary of life lately. Countless hours watching mundane new shows, sitcom reruns, and talk shows; cleaning my apartment with a Monk-like obsession; walking endlessly up and down the streets of my neighborhood, only to return to the same place. I've gone to the park, I've visited friends, whatever I can do to alleviate my despair and anxiety without spending an insane amount of money which I clearly don't have. A movie at the theater costs $10.00, an amount which seems petty, but when combined with the cost of gas (and the fact that I usually go alone), is just too great an expense for too little enjoyment. School work keeps me busy for a while, but you can only reread a text so many times until the words just become a jumbled mass of nonsense and you lose interest. Boredom, along with the stress of being unemployed, can be a dangerous combination for someone with an addiction, and I am not immune to those effects.
I was a smoker. A very heavy smoker, in fact. I could go through two or three packs of cigarettes like a lawn mower cutting down weeds. There was no particular purpose for it. Even on my good days, I had to light one up. It became part of my identity: Joshua Nolan, single, accountant, intelligent, smoker (though the last two would seem to contradict each other). It took nearly a dozen tries before I was able to quit about three years ago. I remember the relief I felt when I finally walked away from that habit, and aside from a couple of small slip-ups, I was free of the addiction...until recently.
My previous blog mentioned the effects that unemployment has had on me. Desperation, lack of confidence, lethargy - all of them keep going in cycles, and grow more intense with each attempt and subsequent rejection. Along with all that, the inability to do most of the things I enjoy (mostly due to cost), have left me with few options to keep myself out of this fog. At some point, a person will try anything to just break up the monotony and to relieve some of the stress. And in trying to keep myself occupied and avoid these feelings of worthlessness, I find I'm slipping up again.
Whenever anyone quits something as addictive as cigarettes, it's inevitable that they will occasionally have that urge, that craving that permeates the entire mind and body. I experienced those feelings several times, and was always able to fight them off. But now, the desire is almost unbearable. I don't know why now, of all times, I'd feel the need to start smoking again. Lord knows it's certainly not helpful for my financial situation, and the health effects are even worse.
But I won't lie; in recent months, I've indulged in that addiction more than once. Despite conquering this disease after so many attempts, and being so proud of myself back then, I find myself once again drawn to the feeling of calm and relaxation when I light up a cigarette. I can't say for sure what moment reignited my affliction; there have been many ups and downs in my life over the past year. But somehow, when I wasn't paying attention, I fell back into this habit. I haven't reached the level of chain-smoking like I did when I quit the last time, but I know I will if I don't stop soon.
I'm disappointed in myself, as I should be, and I'm sure several other people are. The pride I felt at kicking this habit is now gone. Instead of the comfort I was seeking, I've found more reason to dislike myself. I hate feeling weak, but realizing that I'm susceptible to such indiscretion and foolishness proves that I am. Sadly, that disappointment makes me want to smoke more, but I can't. I have to stop it now, before I end up back where I was. Smoking is a nasty, unhealthy, expensive, dangerous habit, and I won't risk ruining everything for which I fought so hard. I just hope those who know me can understand my weakness, and bear with me as I try yet again to defeat it. I certainly don't need to be chastised or berated. That only makes my self-loathing worse.
Boredom and stress certainly had their roles in my relapse, but I think another problem exists: complacency. When we fight an addiction, and succeed, we become comfortable with thinking that it's all over. As we continue with our lives, we don't suspect that those afflictions will affect us again. We're all better now. We forget about the demons that once controlled our lives...but they don't forget about us. It only takes one sip, one puff, or one roll of the dice to reawaken those monsters. And we're forced to begin the struggle all over again. Though I'd taken the occasional drag during moments of high stress, I still deluded myself into thinking that I was fine. I could control my cravings, and just indulging once wouldn't hurt me. I couldn't have been more wrong. Hopefully, with God's help and the support of my friends, I'll be able to stop again, before it's too late.
Boredom and stress. That's a pretty effective summary of life lately. Countless hours watching mundane new shows, sitcom reruns, and talk shows; cleaning my apartment with a Monk-like obsession; walking endlessly up and down the streets of my neighborhood, only to return to the same place. I've gone to the park, I've visited friends, whatever I can do to alleviate my despair and anxiety without spending an insane amount of money which I clearly don't have. A movie at the theater costs $10.00, an amount which seems petty, but when combined with the cost of gas (and the fact that I usually go alone), is just too great an expense for too little enjoyment. School work keeps me busy for a while, but you can only reread a text so many times until the words just become a jumbled mass of nonsense and you lose interest. Boredom, along with the stress of being unemployed, can be a dangerous combination for someone with an addiction, and I am not immune to those effects.
I was a smoker. A very heavy smoker, in fact. I could go through two or three packs of cigarettes like a lawn mower cutting down weeds. There was no particular purpose for it. Even on my good days, I had to light one up. It became part of my identity: Joshua Nolan, single, accountant, intelligent, smoker (though the last two would seem to contradict each other). It took nearly a dozen tries before I was able to quit about three years ago. I remember the relief I felt when I finally walked away from that habit, and aside from a couple of small slip-ups, I was free of the addiction...until recently.
My previous blog mentioned the effects that unemployment has had on me. Desperation, lack of confidence, lethargy - all of them keep going in cycles, and grow more intense with each attempt and subsequent rejection. Along with all that, the inability to do most of the things I enjoy (mostly due to cost), have left me with few options to keep myself out of this fog. At some point, a person will try anything to just break up the monotony and to relieve some of the stress. And in trying to keep myself occupied and avoid these feelings of worthlessness, I find I'm slipping up again.
Whenever anyone quits something as addictive as cigarettes, it's inevitable that they will occasionally have that urge, that craving that permeates the entire mind and body. I experienced those feelings several times, and was always able to fight them off. But now, the desire is almost unbearable. I don't know why now, of all times, I'd feel the need to start smoking again. Lord knows it's certainly not helpful for my financial situation, and the health effects are even worse.
But I won't lie; in recent months, I've indulged in that addiction more than once. Despite conquering this disease after so many attempts, and being so proud of myself back then, I find myself once again drawn to the feeling of calm and relaxation when I light up a cigarette. I can't say for sure what moment reignited my affliction; there have been many ups and downs in my life over the past year. But somehow, when I wasn't paying attention, I fell back into this habit. I haven't reached the level of chain-smoking like I did when I quit the last time, but I know I will if I don't stop soon.
I'm disappointed in myself, as I should be, and I'm sure several other people are. The pride I felt at kicking this habit is now gone. Instead of the comfort I was seeking, I've found more reason to dislike myself. I hate feeling weak, but realizing that I'm susceptible to such indiscretion and foolishness proves that I am. Sadly, that disappointment makes me want to smoke more, but I can't. I have to stop it now, before I end up back where I was. Smoking is a nasty, unhealthy, expensive, dangerous habit, and I won't risk ruining everything for which I fought so hard. I just hope those who know me can understand my weakness, and bear with me as I try yet again to defeat it. I certainly don't need to be chastised or berated. That only makes my self-loathing worse.
Boredom and stress certainly had their roles in my relapse, but I think another problem exists: complacency. When we fight an addiction, and succeed, we become comfortable with thinking that it's all over. As we continue with our lives, we don't suspect that those afflictions will affect us again. We're all better now. We forget about the demons that once controlled our lives...but they don't forget about us. It only takes one sip, one puff, or one roll of the dice to reawaken those monsters. And we're forced to begin the struggle all over again. Though I'd taken the occasional drag during moments of high stress, I still deluded myself into thinking that I was fine. I could control my cravings, and just indulging once wouldn't hurt me. I couldn't have been more wrong. Hopefully, with God's help and the support of my friends, I'll be able to stop again, before it's too late.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Visiting an Old Friend
Outside running errands today, I decided to make a stop to see my mother. It had been a while since I spoke to her, and figured that I should take a moment to spend some time with her. Turning down the street toward where she now resides, I felt apprehension and a bit of sadness. I've talked to her my entire life, but the more recent conversations have been one-sided. She doesn't answer when I speak, and doesn't offer advice like she used to. Hers is not a home of fine curtains and family photos hanging on the wall; it is one of earth and grass.
My mother has been gone for over four years now. She lost her battle with cancer on June 15, 2006.
It wasn't the first time I'd lost someone dear to me. I lost my brother nearly 12 years ago rather suddenly, and that alone was one of the biggest tragedies I had to endure up until that time. He had quite an impact on my life, and it took a long time to cope with that loss. But I've been able to move on from his death. I can accept it as part of reality. Different people have different effects on one's life, and while I've been able to handle the stress of losing my brother, I've found losing my mother has been even more difficult.
My mother was one of the healthiest people I ever knew. Even now, I can’t recall when she ever had so much as a cold. She was the strong person in our family. My father liked to consider himself the one in charge, but we all knew better. Mom called the shots, and any decision regarding our family went through her. She was invincible.
My mother was one of the healthiest people I ever knew. Even now, I can’t recall when she ever had so much as a cold. She was the strong person in our family. My father liked to consider himself the one in charge, but we all knew better. Mom called the shots, and any decision regarding our family went through her. She was invincible.
All of that changed in 2003, when she was first diagnosed. Suddenly, the strong, vibrant woman I called Mom started fading away. I watched as the color slowly faded from her face more each day. The hopeful, happy expression in her eyes turned to sadness and despair. She even lost her voice during the course of her chemotherapy. She had such a beautiful alto voice, but it became weak and raspy as her body was ravaged by the cancer, and by the treatments that were supposed to save her.
The time since her death has been difficult, even after so many years. The fact that my aunt died on the same day this year only served to bring back even more of those memories. It was only a few months ago that I was able to summon up the courage to actually visit her gravesite and tell her "goodbye". But even though that moment helped to relieve some of the pain I was feeling, I still don't believe I've completely accepted it. Going to see her is still a struggle, but I decided today that I had to do it.
It was a brief meeting, just long enough to tell Mom how I and the rest of the family are doing. I sometimes think it is a meaningless gesture, since if she truly is watching down on us, she already knows what is going on in our daily lives. Maybe I do it more for myself than for her. I reminded her again how much I love her, and how much I miss her. Part of me wishes that she could answer me, even if only one time, but I know that's impossible.
My drive home was somber. I didn't return immediately to my apartment; I spent almost an hour driving around. I've been trying to limit any unnecessary usage of gasoline since losing my job, but today I didn't have any concern for that. I needed to reminisce.
For most of my life, my mother was my point of reference for everything. Like I mentioned earlier, any decision went through her. Even if she wasn't directly affected by the choice - which classes to take, how to approach someone about an issue I was having with them, which car would be the best to buy - my mother had to be consulted. Not that she expected it...that was just way I handled everything. In the years since her passing, I have had to adjust - quite reluctantly - to not having her guidance. Though I was 26 when she died, I realized just how much I depended on her input. I didn't always change my mind based on what she said, but her opinion always mattered to me nonetheless. Now, I can't ask her anything. I still do, but she doesn't answer. They say everything happens for a reason, and her death did have the effect of making me grow up and depend more on my own judgment than hers. But I wish God had found a kinder way of teaching me that lesson. I still blame Him. Sometimes, I even think I hate Him...
Walking back into my apartment, for a second, I wondered what Mom would think of my place. Would she like it? Would she have picked the same furniture? Would she comment on my lackluster housekeeping? (I do clean a lot, but certainly not as much as she did.) Would she get along with my cat? My choices are my own, but a small part of me always wonders what she would do. It may be pathetic to some people, to still hold so tightly to someone who's been gone for so long, but I've never been good with change, and even worse with loss. The solace my father gets from knowing she is in Heaven doesn't provide the same comfort for me. I want her here, and will probably always feel that emptiness.
While my mother was still alive, she told me all the time how proud she was of me. I can only hope that with each passing day, and with each decision or choice I make, that I still make her proud. But hope is all I can do, because despite what other people may tell me, I'll never know for sure.
It was a brief meeting, just long enough to tell Mom how I and the rest of the family are doing. I sometimes think it is a meaningless gesture, since if she truly is watching down on us, she already knows what is going on in our daily lives. Maybe I do it more for myself than for her. I reminded her again how much I love her, and how much I miss her. Part of me wishes that she could answer me, even if only one time, but I know that's impossible.
My drive home was somber. I didn't return immediately to my apartment; I spent almost an hour driving around. I've been trying to limit any unnecessary usage of gasoline since losing my job, but today I didn't have any concern for that. I needed to reminisce.
For most of my life, my mother was my point of reference for everything. Like I mentioned earlier, any decision went through her. Even if she wasn't directly affected by the choice - which classes to take, how to approach someone about an issue I was having with them, which car would be the best to buy - my mother had to be consulted. Not that she expected it...that was just way I handled everything. In the years since her passing, I have had to adjust - quite reluctantly - to not having her guidance. Though I was 26 when she died, I realized just how much I depended on her input. I didn't always change my mind based on what she said, but her opinion always mattered to me nonetheless. Now, I can't ask her anything. I still do, but she doesn't answer. They say everything happens for a reason, and her death did have the effect of making me grow up and depend more on my own judgment than hers. But I wish God had found a kinder way of teaching me that lesson. I still blame Him. Sometimes, I even think I hate Him...
Walking back into my apartment, for a second, I wondered what Mom would think of my place. Would she like it? Would she have picked the same furniture? Would she comment on my lackluster housekeeping? (I do clean a lot, but certainly not as much as she did.) Would she get along with my cat? My choices are my own, but a small part of me always wonders what she would do. It may be pathetic to some people, to still hold so tightly to someone who's been gone for so long, but I've never been good with change, and even worse with loss. The solace my father gets from knowing she is in Heaven doesn't provide the same comfort for me. I want her here, and will probably always feel that emptiness.
While my mother was still alive, she told me all the time how proud she was of me. I can only hope that with each passing day, and with each decision or choice I make, that I still make her proud. But hope is all I can do, because despite what other people may tell me, I'll never know for sure.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
The Conflict of Ethics and Legality
Needing a reprieve from my usual daily tasks, I decided to pop in a DVD and relax. Scanning through my collection, I came across Season 3 of Bones. Ah yes, Bones. Every person has his/her television vice, that one program that they just have to watch. For me, Bones is that vice. It's unfortunate that I don't have cable, which severely limits my ability to indulge in this visual addiction...but I digress.
For those who are familiar with the series, I'm sure they remember the naive, but brilliant Zack Addy. He's one of those characters that has the intelligence of Freud, Einstein, and Hawking, times ten, but lacks any social skills and is completely clueless as to the nuances of human behavior and interaction, aside from what he reads in books. (Actually, he's the male version of the female lead character.) As he says in the episode The Man In the Fallout Shelter from Season 1 (when asked about his religious affiliations): "Hey, I'm a rational empiricist all the way! Unless you ask my mother...then I'm Lutheran." He became one of my favorite characters, and as is usually the case when I like a character, he was taken off the show in the end of Season 3, aside from a couple guest appearances. The means of his departure from the show, however, presented a conflict that I think many people struggle with at some time in their lives, though maybe not to the extent that Zack did.
First, a quick background. During Season 3, the forensics team in Bones is faced with a series of murders perpetrated by a cannibalistic killer who is aptly nicknamed Gormogon. The killer targets members of secret societies. It is discovered in the last episode of Season 3, The Pain In the Heart, that Zack has been recruited by this sadistic madman. While Zack never participates in his cannibalistic activities and doesn't condone them, he is convinced that Gormogon's reasoning is acceptable - attacking members of secret societies to eliminate their supposed detrimental effect on the human existence. During the episode, he and his lab partner, Hodgins, create an experiment to recreate one of the murder scenes. Though Hodgins insists on being the main person to conduct the experiment, Zack refuses to let him do so. The ensuing experiment is actually a setup concocted by Zack and Gormogon. Zack is injured during the experiment, and in the subsequent investigation, he is caught by the members of his own forensics team.
I've watched this episode repeatedly, but only after watching it today did I realize why I'm so drawn to this one. Zack presents a very serious and confusing issue. Though the methods of his actions are certainly unacceptable, what about this ethical intent? During the last conversation between Bones and Zack, Bones uses logic (since that is really the only thing to which Zack responds) to derive Zack's purpose: He believed that eliminating members of secret societies "would have an ameliorating effect" on human beings. Zack understood, perhaps incorrectly, that secret societies were trouble. (I say incorrectly because who really knows the intentions and activities of "secret" societies.) Both Zack's friend Hodgins' incessant paranoid scenarios and Gormogon's reasoning convinced him even more of this fact. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is where the debate really takes place. Zack committed a serious crime...but is he necessarily a bad person, especially since his actions didn't include the grotesquery of cannibalism? (In which case, I would likely have a much different opinion.) His actions were detestable, but his reasoning wasn't the destruction of life (as was Gormogon's, in my opinion) - it was the preservation of humanity. So, was he in the same boat as the murderer he was assisting, especially since he eventually helped catch the killer?
Another issue is this: What are we as individuals willing to die for, and what would we kill for? In moments of self-defense or the defense of those we love, I think for many of us, it's a no-brainer. I certainly wouldn't let someone injure me, nor would I stand by idly as someone I care about is being hurt. Those who know me are well aware that I'm almost ferally protective of my friends and family. But does this mentality extend to ideals? People are tangible, interactive parts of our lives - individuals with whom we share a personal bond and are able to have that bond reciprocated. Our beliefs, however, are not the same. You can't talk to a belief. You can't bond with it, laugh with it, cry with it, or go out drinking with it. Therefore, are ideals and beliefs as important as real human beings, and do they carry the same weight when faced with life or death situations? In the episode, even Zack realizes the flaw in his reasoning when Bones reminds him: "Yet you risked it all so you wouldn't hurt Hodgins," referring to their experiment. For Zack, despite his firm, and in his opinion, logical belief of what he was doing, he couldn't risk hurting someone he cared about. Where would each of us be willing to draw that line? And is Zack a better person than us for being willing to do what he thought was necessary, or worse because of his specific actions?
As a human being, I would never condone or commit murder, so don't misconstrue my argument. My point is this: Where do we form the template and division between ethics and legality? Do bad actions necessarily mean a bad person? Is there really any belief that is worth the cost of a human life? It probably seems strange that a simple episode from television could encourage such intense thinking and debate...but you know me. I spend a lot of my time thinking. :)
Well, that's my thought for the day, for whatever it's worth. I think I'll go back to my routine which I've so brilliantly avoided with this blog. After all this contemplation, perhaps I should find another puddle to jump in.
For those who are familiar with the series, I'm sure they remember the naive, but brilliant Zack Addy. He's one of those characters that has the intelligence of Freud, Einstein, and Hawking, times ten, but lacks any social skills and is completely clueless as to the nuances of human behavior and interaction, aside from what he reads in books. (Actually, he's the male version of the female lead character.) As he says in the episode The Man In the Fallout Shelter from Season 1 (when asked about his religious affiliations): "Hey, I'm a rational empiricist all the way! Unless you ask my mother...then I'm Lutheran." He became one of my favorite characters, and as is usually the case when I like a character, he was taken off the show in the end of Season 3, aside from a couple guest appearances. The means of his departure from the show, however, presented a conflict that I think many people struggle with at some time in their lives, though maybe not to the extent that Zack did.
First, a quick background. During Season 3, the forensics team in Bones is faced with a series of murders perpetrated by a cannibalistic killer who is aptly nicknamed Gormogon. The killer targets members of secret societies. It is discovered in the last episode of Season 3, The Pain In the Heart, that Zack has been recruited by this sadistic madman. While Zack never participates in his cannibalistic activities and doesn't condone them, he is convinced that Gormogon's reasoning is acceptable - attacking members of secret societies to eliminate their supposed detrimental effect on the human existence. During the episode, he and his lab partner, Hodgins, create an experiment to recreate one of the murder scenes. Though Hodgins insists on being the main person to conduct the experiment, Zack refuses to let him do so. The ensuing experiment is actually a setup concocted by Zack and Gormogon. Zack is injured during the experiment, and in the subsequent investigation, he is caught by the members of his own forensics team.
I've watched this episode repeatedly, but only after watching it today did I realize why I'm so drawn to this one. Zack presents a very serious and confusing issue. Though the methods of his actions are certainly unacceptable, what about this ethical intent? During the last conversation between Bones and Zack, Bones uses logic (since that is really the only thing to which Zack responds) to derive Zack's purpose: He believed that eliminating members of secret societies "would have an ameliorating effect" on human beings. Zack understood, perhaps incorrectly, that secret societies were trouble. (I say incorrectly because who really knows the intentions and activities of "secret" societies.) Both Zack's friend Hodgins' incessant paranoid scenarios and Gormogon's reasoning convinced him even more of this fact. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is where the debate really takes place. Zack committed a serious crime...but is he necessarily a bad person, especially since his actions didn't include the grotesquery of cannibalism? (In which case, I would likely have a much different opinion.) His actions were detestable, but his reasoning wasn't the destruction of life (as was Gormogon's, in my opinion) - it was the preservation of humanity. So, was he in the same boat as the murderer he was assisting, especially since he eventually helped catch the killer?
Another issue is this: What are we as individuals willing to die for, and what would we kill for? In moments of self-defense or the defense of those we love, I think for many of us, it's a no-brainer. I certainly wouldn't let someone injure me, nor would I stand by idly as someone I care about is being hurt. Those who know me are well aware that I'm almost ferally protective of my friends and family. But does this mentality extend to ideals? People are tangible, interactive parts of our lives - individuals with whom we share a personal bond and are able to have that bond reciprocated. Our beliefs, however, are not the same. You can't talk to a belief. You can't bond with it, laugh with it, cry with it, or go out drinking with it. Therefore, are ideals and beliefs as important as real human beings, and do they carry the same weight when faced with life or death situations? In the episode, even Zack realizes the flaw in his reasoning when Bones reminds him: "Yet you risked it all so you wouldn't hurt Hodgins," referring to their experiment. For Zack, despite his firm, and in his opinion, logical belief of what he was doing, he couldn't risk hurting someone he cared about. Where would each of us be willing to draw that line? And is Zack a better person than us for being willing to do what he thought was necessary, or worse because of his specific actions?
As a human being, I would never condone or commit murder, so don't misconstrue my argument. My point is this: Where do we form the template and division between ethics and legality? Do bad actions necessarily mean a bad person? Is there really any belief that is worth the cost of a human life? It probably seems strange that a simple episode from television could encourage such intense thinking and debate...but you know me. I spend a lot of my time thinking. :)
Well, that's my thought for the day, for whatever it's worth. I think I'll go back to my routine which I've so brilliantly avoided with this blog. After all this contemplation, perhaps I should find another puddle to jump in.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
The Limbo of Unemployment
Another day begins, and I once again am trying to figure out where it will lead. In just the month and a half since I became unemployed, every day seems to be like this. Uncertainty and a little desperation are the prevailing emotions. When will I find work? Will I find work? When is that company going to call me back? Will they call me back? How long will this last? While having so much free time is a novelty that I should relish, I find more often that I am unsatisfied, and almost depressed, about my current situation, and I probably should be.
Unemployment, like almost anything, has its positives and negatives. There is a sense of freedom that comes with not adhering to rigorous, impossible deadlines and schedules. You don't have to fret about finishing that tremendous project that management invariably needs "yesterday", as the phrase goes. For those who were unhappy with their previous job, as I was, there's a feeling of relief once it's over. On some days, I also have the ability to just do nothing. While that certainly isn't a productive attitude, it is a luxury that, as working members of society, we are rarely afforded. On the days when I am productive, I do have much more time to focus on my schoolwork, as well as the great comic book and animation projects I've recently started with a friend. I can sleep in (though I rarely do), and I even have more time to work on this blog. The benefits, however, are becoming less enjoyable.
The first problem with unemployment is finances. I am able to collect unemployment benefits, but compared to my previous earnings, they are almost laughable. Unemployment compensation is only meant as a means of sustenance until one can secure work, but in establishing a new budget for myself, I wonder if that is even possible.
It takes nearly three weeks of payments just to cover my rent, leaving very little for utilities, personal expenses, insurance, and all the other odds and ends. Once all those are covered - barely - I can forget about any disposable income. The occasional luxuries I used to enjoy are now a distant memory. My indulgences in restaurants and movies are replaced with Ramen noodles and old DVD's that I've seen hundreds of times. The inability to do the things I enjoy only makes my situation worse. I could just as easily go to the park or read a book, but even those cheaper alternatives become mundane after a while. Even the cost of gasoline has to be considered, which further limits my options for any sort of travel. In the end, I can survive, but that's about it. But there are more than just finances that I have to deal with.
Another issue, perhaps a bigger one, is the emotional and mental effects that unemployment has on me. There is a constant feeling of lacking direction. I mentioned earlier that not having to adhere to tight schedules is a good thing, but in the short time of my unemployment, I'm finding that I miss it. When you work, you have a mission every day. If you accomplish nothing else in that day, you at least know that you worked. You can be proud of whatever you did that day, even if the rest of the day is spent lounging on the couch. With work comes a sense of satisfaction and purpose. My days lack that feeling, that drive that pushes me each day. Feeling that I have no direction has an adverse effect on the things I still can do. My thought processes at school suffer. I can't think as clearly when I'm trying to write, because my mind is preoccupied with the element that is now missing in my life. It's discouraging at its best, depressing at its worst, and there's more to it.
Finding a job, as a good friend recently told me, is like "winning the lottery." As such, my numerous applications, e-mails, and phone calls have been anything but successful. After so many attempts and subsequent failures, I begin to question my own ability. I used to be confident in what I did - accounting, for those who are wondering. I felt that I was good at it, and it was the right path for me. But in the last few weeks, having no offers, and only one interview (which failed), I'm starting to wonder if I really am that good.
The current economy is terrible, and there are hundreds, perhaps thousands of qualified people applying for the same jobs. It would be best for me to focus on that aspect of my situation; I should consider the economy's effects on unemployment instead of blaming my own ineptitude. I can't help but think, however, that I'm just not as good as I once believed. Despite the wealth of knowledge I have in my field, it just doesn't seem good enough anymore. Employers know what they want when they review applicants, and I'm seeing more and more that they just don't want me. I've been told repeatedly that the "right job" is out there, but knowing there are so many people out there better than me, I've started to doubt that I'll even be able to get that supposedly "right" job that's just for me. Being unemployed is a large blow to one's ego and confidence, and with each rejection, those parts of me are slowly dwindling.
Unemployment, for some, can be a blessing in disguise. Mothers or fathers who have children to occupy their time are grateful that they are able to cherish each moment of their lives. Other people who have the means to do so spend their time traveling and exploring the world. I have my own things to keep me busy, but in the end, I am more often feeling lost, discouraged, and unsure of what will happen.
In the movie Along Came a Spider, Morgan Freeman's character, Alex, tells his partner that "you do what you are". Right now, I do nothing. And sometimes I worry that, consequently, I am nothing.
Unemployment, like almost anything, has its positives and negatives. There is a sense of freedom that comes with not adhering to rigorous, impossible deadlines and schedules. You don't have to fret about finishing that tremendous project that management invariably needs "yesterday", as the phrase goes. For those who were unhappy with their previous job, as I was, there's a feeling of relief once it's over. On some days, I also have the ability to just do nothing. While that certainly isn't a productive attitude, it is a luxury that, as working members of society, we are rarely afforded. On the days when I am productive, I do have much more time to focus on my schoolwork, as well as the great comic book and animation projects I've recently started with a friend. I can sleep in (though I rarely do), and I even have more time to work on this blog. The benefits, however, are becoming less enjoyable.
The first problem with unemployment is finances. I am able to collect unemployment benefits, but compared to my previous earnings, they are almost laughable. Unemployment compensation is only meant as a means of sustenance until one can secure work, but in establishing a new budget for myself, I wonder if that is even possible.
It takes nearly three weeks of payments just to cover my rent, leaving very little for utilities, personal expenses, insurance, and all the other odds and ends. Once all those are covered - barely - I can forget about any disposable income. The occasional luxuries I used to enjoy are now a distant memory. My indulgences in restaurants and movies are replaced with Ramen noodles and old DVD's that I've seen hundreds of times. The inability to do the things I enjoy only makes my situation worse. I could just as easily go to the park or read a book, but even those cheaper alternatives become mundane after a while. Even the cost of gasoline has to be considered, which further limits my options for any sort of travel. In the end, I can survive, but that's about it. But there are more than just finances that I have to deal with.
Another issue, perhaps a bigger one, is the emotional and mental effects that unemployment has on me. There is a constant feeling of lacking direction. I mentioned earlier that not having to adhere to tight schedules is a good thing, but in the short time of my unemployment, I'm finding that I miss it. When you work, you have a mission every day. If you accomplish nothing else in that day, you at least know that you worked. You can be proud of whatever you did that day, even if the rest of the day is spent lounging on the couch. With work comes a sense of satisfaction and purpose. My days lack that feeling, that drive that pushes me each day. Feeling that I have no direction has an adverse effect on the things I still can do. My thought processes at school suffer. I can't think as clearly when I'm trying to write, because my mind is preoccupied with the element that is now missing in my life. It's discouraging at its best, depressing at its worst, and there's more to it.
Finding a job, as a good friend recently told me, is like "winning the lottery." As such, my numerous applications, e-mails, and phone calls have been anything but successful. After so many attempts and subsequent failures, I begin to question my own ability. I used to be confident in what I did - accounting, for those who are wondering. I felt that I was good at it, and it was the right path for me. But in the last few weeks, having no offers, and only one interview (which failed), I'm starting to wonder if I really am that good.
The current economy is terrible, and there are hundreds, perhaps thousands of qualified people applying for the same jobs. It would be best for me to focus on that aspect of my situation; I should consider the economy's effects on unemployment instead of blaming my own ineptitude. I can't help but think, however, that I'm just not as good as I once believed. Despite the wealth of knowledge I have in my field, it just doesn't seem good enough anymore. Employers know what they want when they review applicants, and I'm seeing more and more that they just don't want me. I've been told repeatedly that the "right job" is out there, but knowing there are so many people out there better than me, I've started to doubt that I'll even be able to get that supposedly "right" job that's just for me. Being unemployed is a large blow to one's ego and confidence, and with each rejection, those parts of me are slowly dwindling.
Unemployment, for some, can be a blessing in disguise. Mothers or fathers who have children to occupy their time are grateful that they are able to cherish each moment of their lives. Other people who have the means to do so spend their time traveling and exploring the world. I have my own things to keep me busy, but in the end, I am more often feeling lost, discouraged, and unsure of what will happen.
In the movie Along Came a Spider, Morgan Freeman's character, Alex, tells his partner that "you do what you are". Right now, I do nothing. And sometimes I worry that, consequently, I am nothing.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Puddles: A Regression Back to Childhood
It was a morning like most others. My alarm woke me from a dead sleep while darkness still blanketed the sky. I say alarm loosely, because I actually haven't set my clock for over a month. My alarm is my cat, and he is rather effective at his new-found task. Furry paws batting at my face, accompanied by a relentless meowing. "Hey, good morning," Finny says to me...or maybe it's "Wake up, jerk. I'm hungry." I don't really mind. Though I didn't go to sleep until about one in the morning, I lately haven't found need for more than four or five hours of sleep each night.
I stumble lazily out of bed, with Finnegan not more than a couple feet ahead of me the whole way. As I slowly make my way from the bedroom to the kitchen, he keeps looking back at me. "Are you coming, or what??"--"Yes, Finny. I'm getting there." (Ok, so I talk to my cat occasionally...) When I pull out his bag of cat food, Finny's excitement becomes even more noticeable, almost tangible. In my hands I hold his ambrosia, his food of the gods. They should make a cat food called Ambrosia. Most cats do think they're gods anyway.
My breakfast consists of the usual random cereal that I blindly reach for from the top of the refrigerator. It's Froot Loops this time. "Yay! I love those!" My anticipation is quickly subdued, however, when I take the first bite and realize that they've become stale. "I don't think I bought these that long ago..." No matter. I'm hungry and have no desire to make something else. Besides, I'm not a picky eater, evidenced by my rather plump physique.
Shortly after eating, I have one of those "lost" moments. "What the heck am I going to do?? Oh right, I have that research paper to continue working on. Eh, whatever." I decide to step outside for a few moments and breathe in some fresh air. I don't bother putting shoes on. I'm not sure why I made that decision, but I suspect it was probably made for me, for reasons I would soon discover.
It's humid outside this morning, but the temperature is still low, and the cool breeze is enough to keep it comfortable. Neighbor kids trudge along with their overloaded, scoliosis-inducing backpacks. Parents scurry about in their frantic daily routines. "Gotta pick up the clothes at the dry cleaner. Got that meeting at one o'clock. Little Timmy needs to be picked up after school. Still have to figure out what to make for dinner." While being unemployed right now is an inconvenience, for a second, I'm thankful I don't have all that prework fuss to worry about.
I step out onto the grass, still wet from yesterday's series of torrential downpours. The blades of grass creep up between my toes, and the sensation makes me giggle. My feet squish the earthen sponge below me. My attention is now drawn to the ground rather than the neighborhood activity around me. I stop abruptly, however, when I come to the edge of a shallow puddle. It's unremarkable in appearance, just a standard collection of rainwater that has yet to be imbibed by the ground. Though it's quite dirty, I can see my reflection. "Wow, when did I get so old?" I'm not really that old, only 30, but there are times when it seems my age would be better expressed in dog years than human years. Life recently has been such a cavalcade of ups and downs, success and failure, satisfaction and disappointment, that I fear it has started to show on my face.
My initial instinct is to turn back and start my day. Spending the entire day wandering aimlessly will accomplish nothing, and who is a man if he does nothing? But as I continue staring at myself, a wave of abandon hits me. I look up just long enough to see who is around. There are a couple of older women standing outside smoking their morning cigarettes and consuming what I assume is coffee, perhaps with a little alcoholic spike to them. Who knows? A sly grin spreads across my face, and in a moment of childish revelry, I launch myself into the puddle feet first.
The water is cold, and I wonder if I may have just inadvertently sent myself into shock by exposing myself to such a drastic decrease in temperature. But no, I'm fine. The water is just deep enough to cover my ankles, but the splash is sufficient to bombard me with muddy droplets clear up to my thighs. I look pitiful, standing there in my t-shirt and sleeping shorts. Athletic shorts, actually, but I use them for night wear. I probably look like a homeless ne'er-do-well. Then it hits me...
Laughter. Uncontrollable, uninhibited, honest-to-goodness laughter. The kind of laughter that brings tears to your eyes, and sends your stomach muscles into spasms. It's an amazing feeling, being so carefree. Chills run through my body as I laugh at my own stupidity. "What the heck possessed me to do that?" I quickly look back at the old women standing outside, who are now staring at me like I have roaches crawling out of my ears. I don't look away. I proudly wave at them and say "Hi!" They glance at each other briefly, then turn back to me and wave back, smiling. It's a stark contrast to the response I got from the woman in the gas station last night, and it makes me smile even more broadly.
I step out of the puddle, my feet now soaking and my body trembling from the combination of cold water and chilly winds. I walk back to my apartment door, a bit more hurriedly. "Dang, I'm freezing!" When I get inside, Finny looks up at me and meows "You're a moron," then turns away and goes back to his breakfast which he has yet to finish. I chuckle again, and think about what just happened.
Children make it a point to jump in any body of water they encounter. Is it simply because they like being dirty? Do they enjoy aggravating their parents? No, it's none of those. It's freedom. It's a simple attempt to enjoy the simple pleasures in life. All too often, we as adults become engrossed in the banalities of daily existence. We forget how to just enjoy life. I realize that, while responsibility and commitment are necessary to exist, it is also necessary--crucial, in fact--to allow ourselves an occasional deviation from those commitments, even if only for a few seconds. Kids don't care. Their life is all about those deviations, and now I understand again why they do such irrational things.
So yes, it's been an interesting morning, and one that I won't soon forget. Now, back to my kitchen. I have some muddy footprints to mop up. Maybe I'll leave them there for a little while, just as a gentle reminder...
NOTE TO READERS: When you are out with your children, and you see the anticipation in their eyes when they approach a small pond or puddle of water, remember how it must feel to be a kid again. And before you reprimand them, remember how it was to enjoy such easy, simple pleasures. I encourage you to go a step further; do it yourself. Jump in with your child. Show them that mommy and daddy are human too, and that it's ok to be silly. Or just do it when you're by yourself one day. You may find more benefit from it yourself than your child will. I know I certainly enjoyed it.
I stumble lazily out of bed, with Finnegan not more than a couple feet ahead of me the whole way. As I slowly make my way from the bedroom to the kitchen, he keeps looking back at me. "Are you coming, or what??"--"Yes, Finny. I'm getting there." (Ok, so I talk to my cat occasionally...) When I pull out his bag of cat food, Finny's excitement becomes even more noticeable, almost tangible. In my hands I hold his ambrosia, his food of the gods. They should make a cat food called Ambrosia. Most cats do think they're gods anyway.
My breakfast consists of the usual random cereal that I blindly reach for from the top of the refrigerator. It's Froot Loops this time. "Yay! I love those!" My anticipation is quickly subdued, however, when I take the first bite and realize that they've become stale. "I don't think I bought these that long ago..." No matter. I'm hungry and have no desire to make something else. Besides, I'm not a picky eater, evidenced by my rather plump physique.
Shortly after eating, I have one of those "lost" moments. "What the heck am I going to do?? Oh right, I have that research paper to continue working on. Eh, whatever." I decide to step outside for a few moments and breathe in some fresh air. I don't bother putting shoes on. I'm not sure why I made that decision, but I suspect it was probably made for me, for reasons I would soon discover.
It's humid outside this morning, but the temperature is still low, and the cool breeze is enough to keep it comfortable. Neighbor kids trudge along with their overloaded, scoliosis-inducing backpacks. Parents scurry about in their frantic daily routines. "Gotta pick up the clothes at the dry cleaner. Got that meeting at one o'clock. Little Timmy needs to be picked up after school. Still have to figure out what to make for dinner." While being unemployed right now is an inconvenience, for a second, I'm thankful I don't have all that prework fuss to worry about.
I step out onto the grass, still wet from yesterday's series of torrential downpours. The blades of grass creep up between my toes, and the sensation makes me giggle. My feet squish the earthen sponge below me. My attention is now drawn to the ground rather than the neighborhood activity around me. I stop abruptly, however, when I come to the edge of a shallow puddle. It's unremarkable in appearance, just a standard collection of rainwater that has yet to be imbibed by the ground. Though it's quite dirty, I can see my reflection. "Wow, when did I get so old?" I'm not really that old, only 30, but there are times when it seems my age would be better expressed in dog years than human years. Life recently has been such a cavalcade of ups and downs, success and failure, satisfaction and disappointment, that I fear it has started to show on my face.
My initial instinct is to turn back and start my day. Spending the entire day wandering aimlessly will accomplish nothing, and who is a man if he does nothing? But as I continue staring at myself, a wave of abandon hits me. I look up just long enough to see who is around. There are a couple of older women standing outside smoking their morning cigarettes and consuming what I assume is coffee, perhaps with a little alcoholic spike to them. Who knows? A sly grin spreads across my face, and in a moment of childish revelry, I launch myself into the puddle feet first.
The water is cold, and I wonder if I may have just inadvertently sent myself into shock by exposing myself to such a drastic decrease in temperature. But no, I'm fine. The water is just deep enough to cover my ankles, but the splash is sufficient to bombard me with muddy droplets clear up to my thighs. I look pitiful, standing there in my t-shirt and sleeping shorts. Athletic shorts, actually, but I use them for night wear. I probably look like a homeless ne'er-do-well. Then it hits me...
Laughter. Uncontrollable, uninhibited, honest-to-goodness laughter. The kind of laughter that brings tears to your eyes, and sends your stomach muscles into spasms. It's an amazing feeling, being so carefree. Chills run through my body as I laugh at my own stupidity. "What the heck possessed me to do that?" I quickly look back at the old women standing outside, who are now staring at me like I have roaches crawling out of my ears. I don't look away. I proudly wave at them and say "Hi!" They glance at each other briefly, then turn back to me and wave back, smiling. It's a stark contrast to the response I got from the woman in the gas station last night, and it makes me smile even more broadly.
I step out of the puddle, my feet now soaking and my body trembling from the combination of cold water and chilly winds. I walk back to my apartment door, a bit more hurriedly. "Dang, I'm freezing!" When I get inside, Finny looks up at me and meows "You're a moron," then turns away and goes back to his breakfast which he has yet to finish. I chuckle again, and think about what just happened.
Children make it a point to jump in any body of water they encounter. Is it simply because they like being dirty? Do they enjoy aggravating their parents? No, it's none of those. It's freedom. It's a simple attempt to enjoy the simple pleasures in life. All too often, we as adults become engrossed in the banalities of daily existence. We forget how to just enjoy life. I realize that, while responsibility and commitment are necessary to exist, it is also necessary--crucial, in fact--to allow ourselves an occasional deviation from those commitments, even if only for a few seconds. Kids don't care. Their life is all about those deviations, and now I understand again why they do such irrational things.
So yes, it's been an interesting morning, and one that I won't soon forget. Now, back to my kitchen. I have some muddy footprints to mop up. Maybe I'll leave them there for a little while, just as a gentle reminder...
NOTE TO READERS: When you are out with your children, and you see the anticipation in their eyes when they approach a small pond or puddle of water, remember how it must feel to be a kid again. And before you reprimand them, remember how it was to enjoy such easy, simple pleasures. I encourage you to go a step further; do it yourself. Jump in with your child. Show them that mommy and daddy are human too, and that it's ok to be silly. Or just do it when you're by yourself one day. You may find more benefit from it yourself than your child will. I know I certainly enjoyed it.
Monday, September 20, 2010
In the Absence of Common Courtesy
At a gas station this evening, making my usual late night caffeine-laden beverage purchase, I turned to a young woman who was standing behind me in line. In my usual congenial manner, I said to her "Good evening." I would've expected a likewise response, but was quite surprised to have my gesture rebuked with a look of disgust. I am certainly no expert in reading facial expressions, but if I had to guess what she thought at that moment, it would probably be "Who the heck are you, and why are you talking to me?" I averted my gaze from her, and resumed my purchase. Walking out of the gas station, I glanced back at her, still appalled that someone could be so blatantly disrespectful. And that got my mind to working, as does pretty much every event in life.
What does it say about us as a society when we can't acknowledge the practices of common courtesy? While each of us has our own busy routines that must be addressed each day, have we become so self-involved that we can't even take a brief moment to extend simple pleasantry to another person? And when someone else decides to do that for one of us, is it really so difficult to return the gesture? Even though my life can be hectic and stressful, I don't see the need to disregard another person's kindness. In the most difficult moments of life, I find those moments even more appreciable.
I can't comment on what was going on in that woman's life this evening. Maybe she'd just fought with her boyfriend or husband, and was on some personal mission to hate all men. Maybe she'd lost her job today, and was more concerned about her own poor fortune than my petty small talk. Or maybe she found my appearance unappealing. I'm not the most attractive person to walk this earth. Far from it, in fact. But whatever her reasons were for being so unpleasant, I still found her response to be quite offensive. (Maybe she found mine to be the same.)
But in the end, I guess the most important thing is how I perceive myself. Despite the fact that this woman was uninterested in my act of courtesy, I know that I at least made an effort. For a few seconds, I attempted to connect to someone I didn't know. Perhaps that is what really matters.
What does it say about us as a society when we can't acknowledge the practices of common courtesy? While each of us has our own busy routines that must be addressed each day, have we become so self-involved that we can't even take a brief moment to extend simple pleasantry to another person? And when someone else decides to do that for one of us, is it really so difficult to return the gesture? Even though my life can be hectic and stressful, I don't see the need to disregard another person's kindness. In the most difficult moments of life, I find those moments even more appreciable.
I can't comment on what was going on in that woman's life this evening. Maybe she'd just fought with her boyfriend or husband, and was on some personal mission to hate all men. Maybe she'd lost her job today, and was more concerned about her own poor fortune than my petty small talk. Or maybe she found my appearance unappealing. I'm not the most attractive person to walk this earth. Far from it, in fact. But whatever her reasons were for being so unpleasant, I still found her response to be quite offensive. (Maybe she found mine to be the same.)
But in the end, I guess the most important thing is how I perceive myself. Despite the fact that this woman was uninterested in my act of courtesy, I know that I at least made an effort. For a few seconds, I attempted to connect to someone I didn't know. Perhaps that is what really matters.
And So It Begins...
Where does one begin a blog? I suppose the simplest method would be an introduction. "Hello, my name is Josh, and I'm a blogger." It may seem strange to introduce myself in an AA-esque manner, (Is that even a word? Oh well, it is now.) but in truth, my addiction to writing has brought me here. Let's face it. I'm a Facebook junkie. In the past few months, I've found posting on Facebook to be almost as routine as eating breakfast, taking a shower, or doing laundry. Perhaps more so, however, because those other things are done once a day. Facebook, on the other hand, has become an hourly attraction for me. Every mundane detail of my life has been documented in detail in the annals of my Facebook account. But while it is an effective way to share little day-to-day experiences, I often find my thoughts much too numerous and extensive to be condensed into a simple 420-character post. Also, I've become concerned that such repeated postings are likely a source of aggravation for some of my friends. I need to find a more effective method of expressing my opinions, ideas, and thoughts, and perhaps a blog would be a good solution.
The decision wasn't solely my own. I'm also starting this blog under the recommendation of a few good friends. They seem to think my writing ability and way of thinking is something worth sharing with others. I have my doubts about that. While those close to me may take an interest in my ramblings, I'm not sure other members of society will find them as entertaining. But I know my friends are also aware of my need to have an outlet; furthermore, they're aware of my love of writing. I've always found a sense of catharsis in writing, much like an artist finds an outlet in painting, or a race car driver finds happiness in the thrill of loud engines insanely flying down the racetrack at ungodly speeds. I guess this option makes sense, right?
So, here I am. There's not much to tell about myself. 30 years old. Simple apartment in a small town, co-inhabited by a lovable, though sometimes obnoxious, cat. A single man constantly searching for meaning in the chaotic events of life (hence the name of the blog). I don't know where this blog will go, or if it will have any relevance to the people who choose to read it. I should warn anyone who doesn't know me that exploring the sarcophagus of my mind can be a confusing adventure. My thoughts are random, sometimes a single word or sentence, sometimes an almost epic compilation. If you choose to join me, then you've been cautioned. :)
Special thanks to the people who made this suggestion. Just remember...you asked for it.
The decision wasn't solely my own. I'm also starting this blog under the recommendation of a few good friends. They seem to think my writing ability and way of thinking is something worth sharing with others. I have my doubts about that. While those close to me may take an interest in my ramblings, I'm not sure other members of society will find them as entertaining. But I know my friends are also aware of my need to have an outlet; furthermore, they're aware of my love of writing. I've always found a sense of catharsis in writing, much like an artist finds an outlet in painting, or a race car driver finds happiness in the thrill of loud engines insanely flying down the racetrack at ungodly speeds. I guess this option makes sense, right?
So, here I am. There's not much to tell about myself. 30 years old. Simple apartment in a small town, co-inhabited by a lovable, though sometimes obnoxious, cat. A single man constantly searching for meaning in the chaotic events of life (hence the name of the blog). I don't know where this blog will go, or if it will have any relevance to the people who choose to read it. I should warn anyone who doesn't know me that exploring the sarcophagus of my mind can be a confusing adventure. My thoughts are random, sometimes a single word or sentence, sometimes an almost epic compilation. If you choose to join me, then you've been cautioned. :)
Special thanks to the people who made this suggestion. Just remember...you asked for it.
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