Arachnids? No Phobia.

I hate spiders.

Let me be clear...I'm not afraid of them. I don't have some deep, dark idea that they're going to bite me and kill me or something. Simply, I just don't like them.

When I lived back home, they would be everywhere in my garage and spin webs on my truck. A few times I found them actually hanging off my window sill, just waiting to fall onto my shoulder. Too many times I found myself in a fight, searching for the guerrilla arachnids. I thought once I'd moved that I'd be done with the truck-loving bugs, but it turns out I was just getting started.

Day after day, I wake up to find silky strands on my side mirrors and in the bed of the truck. I went searching for one about a week ago and found one...although, it turns out it wasn't the one I was looking for, but an additional one that I wound up attacking with Febreze.

Still not sure if I actually killed that one.
He'll probably be back.
They always come back.

I awoke this morning to strands all over my passenger-side mirror. They extended all the way up to the top of my door and back to the back of the cabin. I took them down, but I have a feeling they'll be back up in the AM.

I win the battles, but I think they may be winning the war.

Pumping Irony

So...

Day 2. I haven't tapped out yet, so that's good. The last time I tried to blog more consistently, things didn't go well. Carnage ensued. I've always struggled with being consistent with this thing. If you look back through my archives, there's no rhyme or reason. I'll go three months of writing and then take four off. Maybe that's why I think this little "every day" experiment will be good for me. Maybe I'll be able to talk some things out and bring humor to others. Who knows.

One thing of which I'm sure is that it'll be good for me to have an outlet for my writing. Right now, the extent of it is contained in the emails I send to clients letting them know I finished loading their data. To be sure, this job is a blessing. It just doesn't allow me to write anymore. My girlfriend has been imploring me to write more, insisting that "you brain is a muscle and if you aren't working it out, then it won't be strong."

It's true. It's not like I don't know that, but it's always good to have someone encouraging you. And, since I've stopped writing, I've felt like I've slipped a little both in conversation and written word.

So yea...I hope this helps. I think it will. My muscles may have atrophied a bit, but I can get back into game shape.

really?

So, I saw Julie and Julia on Saturday. Yes, I was coerced, but that's not the point. The woman in the story, the Julie girl, decided to blog every day for a year. It kind of got me thinking...could I do that?

Who knows, but I'm willing (or naive enough) to give it a shot.

So...here we go. Here's to hoping I don't run out of steam after the first week.

Lord, help me.



Day 1

maturity

Even as a child, people always thought I was older than I actually was. There was usually somewhere between a 3-5 year maturity projection for me. Much of it probably had to do with the fact that I was bigger than any other kid in my class until middle school and even then, I was right up there with the bigger boys. I've always been told that emotionally, I seem older too; choosing to stay at home over going out to the club or partying or something.

Unfortunately, that supposed maturity hasn't really ever shown itself in my relationships. My experience in that area is limited at best, so things haven't always been easy for me. I've been more apt to keep my feelings to myself and assume things would always just eventually be better. I was more apt to secede and blow over than confront and discuss. Any discomfort was probably more evident in my face than anything I'd ever say.

And then there was someone with whom I had absolutely no problem bickering. In fact, it started as a lot of bickering, but after time, it became apparent that the things that seemed to be differences weren't really. Appreciation. Respect. Admiration. There is discourse, dialogue. I'm not afraid to speak up and defend my point of view, which isn't a problem for me in general, but in front of a pretty girl somehow exits stage left. Yet, somehow in front of those eyes, it's still no problem. Mature relationship? Who knew?

Who knows where the rabbit hole goes, but it might be fun finding out.

An Excerpt

I just stood there, leaning up against the row of washing machines parallel to the ones containing my dirty laundry. I tried to listen to music, but for whatever reason, my iPod refused to play. I was stuck; forced to listen to the constant whir of the machines while my eyes followed the rhythmic pattern of the clothes.

I just watched, eyes focused, still and intent. It reminded me of what seemed to be my life at the time. No matter how much movement there was, it was going nowhere.

Being Thankful

I thank God for my mentor.

It's during my darkest times that it seems like he's always there with the perfect thing to say without even knowing what's going on with me.

I sent him an email on Father's Day. He's probably the closest thing I've got. Once again, he found a way to turn it around and make me feel good.

I don't know where I'm going with this. I guess I just wanted to say I'm thankful for him. He didn't have to be the influence he has been in my life, but he chose to be. I can only hope I act on the same opportunity if it's presented to me.

behind the curtains

Hello all (2 of you).

I'm siting here in my empty apartment with a glass of cheap Caberney beside me trying out something new.

A friend of mine, the illustrious Miss Johnica Reed (who is a pretty good writer, btw), did enough cajoling to get me to try to start writing more consistently.

"When I mention you to people, I tell them you're a writer."

I certainly live like a writer, as my singular chair sitting in the middle of a blank apartment can attest. I live check to check and still feel the stressors of my childhood, which I believed a college diploma and steady job immediately out of school could at least stay if not prevent. I have a t.v. which only works with a trusty digital conversion box attached to it like an I.V. drip. One of the boxes I used to transport my stuff from one side of the country to another is my endtable while most of the rest sit in my breakfast nook, waiting for the joy of getting some fresh Midwest air. I guess I'm somewhat the same way.

So far, living here has been interesting. Not interesting haha or interesting weird, but interesting like a Sidney Pollock painting. Everything has been thrown at me all at once and I'm still trying to figure out what means what. Is that splash of green over in the corner supposed to spell my longterm happiness? What about the little dots in all those colors down at the bottom? Is that representing all the new friends I've made or, rather, the ones I left behind even as they voiced their displeasure that I was actually leaving?

No doubt, my life feels a bit like an unfinished mosaic right now and all the pieces look way more daunting to put together than just watch them as they are. The good thing, though, is that I'm confident in God's plan for my life. I know without that, I'd be lost. When I think back over the last 16 months of my life, I can't imagine where I'd be without a Fatherly influence. It'd be bad for business, without a doubt. He is faithful.

It is that which I lean upon that gives me comfort in these uncertain times. The future is a blank canvas, waiting for me to start painting...better yet, an art show I've yet to see, unsure of the beautiful work the Artist has done.

A few months in, it still feels like the curtains are drawn.
I can't wait for the unveiling.
Should be awesome.