The weeks fly through me

The weeks seem to pass by so quickly nowadays. It sort of feels like I take two or three days at a time, they blend together one after another in such rapid succession. It's Monday now but I know that Friday will come before it should, and yet another week will have passed through me, another week older, another week aged.

The problem is not that time moves quickly, the problem is that I do not move so quick. I'm not fast enough to keep up, each day is filled with lackluster responsibilities, focusing on a future that keeps delaying itself, moving itself ahead of my grasp week by week, day by blended day. I'm tired and I'm cold and I'm tired of running alone. For once I wish all 24 hours would pass as slowly as they seem. Each minute be lengthened, or at least my capacity for it be lengthened. I long for a time when each tiny minute is bursting with opportunity, with anticipation, it's sides flexed, pregnant with hope, spilling itself into the next minute.

First the weeks come quickly, then when four of them have passed comes a month which passes with seemingly the same speed as the week. And with each passing one, older, older, older.

Though I will never be able to slow this spinning globe, or slow the sun from appearing overhead, I can quicken myself to catch time. To grasp the minutes before they slip from my fingers and begin and end without me. I can take advantage of every opportunity, rushing and rolling through the setting days, breathing, knowing, praying that I may be as full of opportunity as were the weeks that I've traveled before, and bursting with the hope and opportunity of the minutes, weeks and years that light the way before me.

God, breathe into me the determination, perseverance and discipline that you require. Make me a man crafted in your image. God, let me make you proud.

shutupdate

I'm sick of complaining.

(how ironic is that I'm COMPLAINING about complaining?)

School is pretty much over. Barring the failure of my senior capstone project, I should be on my way to graduate-hood and even more uncertainty.

A college graduate. Wow, I always kind of "knew" it would happen, that one day I'd actually finish the job, but I've never really considered the feeling and implication of it actually happening. The change is purely psychological for me, some people I know are getting new jobs, new opportunities, making more money as a result of their graduating, but me, my life is the same.

Now, I suppose I get the smug satisfaction of being able to SAY I'm a graduate, and now on those little annoying surveys I can check the"college graduate" bubble instead of "some college," but, since I'll still be checking the very top income bubble, I can't help but feeling like my life hasn't changed much.

Other than that, some interesting prospects coming my way in other avenues of life.

Word.

What is a man?

I'm finding myself asking the question: "What makes a man?"

Is it the money or keys in his pocket? The people that can validate his existence? The woman in his bed, the god that he loves, the family that he's started, the house he pays for, the school he attends?

His work? His hobbies, his clothes, his friends, his past, his future?

Man is not any of these things, but all of them at the same time. We are our decisions and we are what we are right now. I heard a seemingly redundant, yet poignant quote recently,

"Who we are now, is who we are" -

Which makes perfect sense and no sense at the same time. We are transient beings, incapable of visiting the seconds that have just ticked by, and at the mercy of those yet to come. We are temporary and we are conditional. The multi-geared machine working within us chugs and churns daily as our lungs expand autonomously keeping the ball afloat, and keeping us moving towards... what?

What are we moving towards and where are we going? Time is not a destination, for most of us it is a guaranteed happening, but if we're waiting for a certain time to elapse, I'm thinking we're going to miss the most important stuff along the way.

Who we are now, is who we are.

I've been lucky enough to share parts of my life (and of theirs) with some amazing people. In the past 10 years (oh my God) I've dated three very different, but all equally amazing girls, and I consider myself extremely lucky to have had the opportunity to share parts of their lives. Though it seems each one of the relationships ended poorly, the only regrets I have are in the way I treated each of them.

I don't know what I've done to have been so blessed with relationships. I just sincerely hope that I'm not a permanent dark spot in each of their memories. I'd rather not be a darker filter through which they view their memories.

Maybe I'll write each of them a letter telling them how lucky I am to have had the opportunity to date them, thank them for their time and wish them the best. Though, that might POSSIBLY be construed as a weird, half-drunken apology for my misconduct, and we can't go around apologizing to people. Seriously though, I'm a lucky man to have experienced love, given and received it back, shared tears and hopes and made transparent plans which ultimately fell through.

There's an excellent song by The Postal Service called "Nothing Better" which surmises my relationship with Sarah perfectly. The irony is that long before I ever identified with the song, while I was still making fun of the band, Sarah would turn it up and sing loudly with the female vocal line (another point of irony: I came to find out the girl singer is Jenny Lewis of Rilo Kiley, a band I've recently come to love) and for months I heard the song over and over and over. Now, I'm not going to assume that I know exactly what Ben Gibbard means through the lyrics, but I can take a likely guess, and give him all of the credit for brilliantly capturing the idiocy of the character in the song. Also, I must thank him for letting me know that I'm not the only idiot on earth.

The song begins with a dramatic plea for a lover's return:

"Will someone please call a surgeon
Who can crack my ribs and repair this broken heart
That you're deserting for better company?
I can't accept that it's over..."

I'm assuming (hoping) that the dramatic rhetoric is purposeful in that it paints the portrait of a desperate guy who doesn't really mean what he's saying, and doesn't really know what he wants.

" Tell me am i right to think that there could be nothing better
Than making you my bride and slowly growing old together"

Marriage proposals are serious business and I'm guessing the character doesn't really mean what he's saying, he's just trying to desperately to hang on to the girl who has decided to move forward without him.

The voice of reason, coming from the girl character though, is what gets me. When she comes in with:

"I feel must interject here you're getting carried away feeling sorry for yourself
With these revisions and gaps in history
So let me help you remember.
I've made charts and graphs that should finally make it clear.
I've prepared a lecture on why i have to leave"

She's telling him that he's not seeing the picture in it's entirety. He's creating for himself the history between them, and obviously ignoring the problems that caused them to drift apart.

Again he pleads:

"Tell me am i right to think that there could be nothing better
Than making you my bride and slowly growing old together"

But this time, she answers, almost interrupts him (in the song it's a beautiful overlapping verse) with:

"Don't you feed me lines about some idealistic future
Your heart won't heal right if you keep tearing out the sutures"

Her first line seems angry and bitter, and from personal experience I'm guessing that she's been through this before, likely with him. She knows that he promises her things and for some reason can't deliver.

The second line though, is like a final piece of advice encompassing not only their previous relationship, but a benediction for his future. She's leaving, and there's no changing that, but she offers her last bit of thought perhaps as a reflection on the reason they broke up, or just truly as a forewarning of entering another relationship before he's healed from this.

His last attempt:

"I admit that i have made mistakes and i swear
I'll never wrong you again

Is met with resistance and finality:

"You've got a lure i can't deny,
But you've had your chance so say goodbye
Say goodbye"

I guess that was a pretty cheesy thing; to extrapolate meaning from a contemporary song as though it's in the canon of classics, but for some reason the song resonated with me.

I just know that's how I was with Sarah, I wanted her wholly and purely but could not figure myself out enough to ever deserve her. She realized it, and rightfully moved on.

She always loved that song.

We're verified by the accomplishments of our families and fathers. Always in such shallow transit, continually searching for our own words to validate ourselves. A gentle boasting hurts no one but bodies build up in the empty floors of our deepest wells.

Mostly ourselves. It's too late. It's too late. It's too late.

You've been reinvented. You are the new beginning. A fresh and clean slate from which to build anew. This poorly laid foundation has crumbled and come crashing. Please believe me, why would I ever lie to you? We have such history together, it wouldn't make any kinds of sense for me to lie.

My finite timeline

I just realized that it is almost mid-April, which means it's almost mid-year, which means it's almost halfway through 2007. The paper days seem to be falling off the calendar like one of those cartoon montage sequences used to transition between years. It's scary the way it happens and I'm having mixed feelings about it.

This whole concept of time makes me feel really small. Like I'm just the tiniest cell coursing through the veins of this huge moving body of humanity. I feel insignificantly out of control and because I'm flying so quickly, I feel the definite end approaching. I hate the resounding cliche of "life is short" but it really, truly is.

It's short, and it's fast.

Life, in all it's myriad events is shorter than we'll ever know. I just hope that at the end of it, I can say truthfully that I have few regrets.

List of wants

I want to have a realization. ANY realization about anything. I'll take one brief moment of clarity, just a quick peek at daylight through the heavy-curtained clouds.

I want to know someone, and I want to be known. I suppose I want to know myself.

A dry spell

I'm not sure if it's the dreariness of the weather or my current season of life, but I find myself detrimentally introspective today. Compound this with the total of 3 hours of tooth-sore sleep and understandably, I'm in a weird mood. I'm starting to hate the uncertainty of my age bracket. I feel like I'm seeing everything through a tinted telescope, where the image through the lens is so much sadder and further away than it appears.

I feel like my ship is running aground, crashing into the harbor still sea-bound and water-tight, not yet ready to be docked. An uncomfortable place for any ship.

I hate admitting weakness; I'm noticing that I only admit the faults that I'm either: A. Comfortable with or, B. Pretending to have in vain attempts at humility. I know I come across as a pretentious ass some of the time and for that I'm truly sorry and very embarrassed. Truth is: I'm an empty vessel. The face of uncertainty blanketed in a cold and condescending stare. I don't mean to stare, honest.

Right now I hear the faint Beethoven symphony of the ice cream carrying van orbiting the neighborhood outside my office. The wind blows every few minutes and reminds my warm skin that lethargy has no place in the work place. No place at all. My tooth hurts and my lack of dental insurance provides no small obstacle in the way of rapid repair, so the realization that only time or money (or both) is going to make my tooth feel better is also a little depressing. I am shirking my test-taking responsibilities for blogging, which is probably not on my list of "things that make you feel better". I feel like writing is more of a responsibility than the healing catharsis I wish it were. I fancy myself talented, but the reality is that I'm painfully mediocre.

Seriously I'm over it. I don't know who's right in this situation? I can't help but feel suffocated, and I'm sick of feeling selfish for making decisions contrary to what she wants. I'm so so so sorry. I'm sorry that I took a chance and took control.

I'm taking myself out of the game, it's proven too difficult.

The way God sees the world

I want to see the world the way God sees the world. The way the yearning mountains stretch and extend, pointing back into their creator. The swirling and stirring strength of the oceans that survive all of us. I want to feel the depth of glory, to dive headfirst in to the deep. We are but small unrefined beings tethered by gravity to this beautifully imperfect planet. A beautiful world filled with equal parts evil and good, dancing and dodging like seasoned boxers. I want to see the world the way God sees the world. We see beauty in all of God's whispers, and sometimes, in the tiniest voice, we find beauty in the dirt, we find glory in the barren.

I want to feel the cool spring-water spray of redemption.

The contents of which have been immortalized.

One of my best friends recently gave me what is probably the best present I've ever received. I can't really thank you enough Mike.

I hope that I am half as good of a friend to you as you are to me.

A bigger purpose

"There's more to living than being alive"

I've heard these words in similar contexts and phrasings before, but the new Anberlin song kind of put a better tune to it (literally). I think people, maybe Americans in general have this habit and tendency to obtain things. By this I mean it seems like the goal of almost everyone I know (including myself at times) is to acquire things. The problem I'm finding with this practice is that things, by nature, are reinvented, usurped and surpassed regularly which leaves an empty and hungry void within the acquirer. Following this system, more things are purchased and outdated and the cycle repeats itself until we die, dissatisfied and emptied.

There's more to living than being alive. Maintaining homeostasis seems to be the goal of so many people. Just skating by and just surviving seem to be the basest of man's desires, but I just have to feel like we are meant for more. Call it a calling, call it a purpose call it whatever you want, but there's a feeling inside me that tells me that there is so much more out there for us than just making it through the day.

I just want to live for a bigger reason.

just watch it happen

Warm in a thick sweet blanket of fury we watch the stage wondering out loud: "do you think he's really happy?" I'm content in a fast-food fast action playground, as other lucid numbers walk past me in blurry-eyed succession. We greet each other politely, as temporary distractions, forgetting names as quickly as faces. Routinize the matter-of-fact as we patch the same holes we dig deeper.

I want to feel whole again, but was I ever really whole? Probably not but thats neither here nor there. A God shaped vacuum plagues my heart and given a shot, I'd like to make it bigger. To cut from my flesh the metaphysical state of transmission. Passing through a barrier to insult the next is like peeling flesh open to expose the root and upon finding it spitting to soak the wound.

I always knew I'd find this place. I kind of never knew when, but hitting the solid stone at the end of the well is the only place the water stops. I'll drown in the slow dripping eventually, as the even drops eventually steal my stillness.

whatever, goodnight.

I'm not sure what it is about me, about her, but something just doesn't feel right. Like sometimes i feel like i'm completely settling for security when what i want is the extraordinary. I don't want to believe that my best days are behind me. I'd love to look forward to something.

Anything?

I want a story to tell. I feel like every time i sit down and write (to noone, mind you) all i'm doing is writing pathetic prose, skipping lines and adding italics for dramatic effect. I really don't have a story or method to my daily life. I have complaints and half-assed self realizations. I pretend that i'm a good writer, when I as far as i know, I can barely spell anymore.

Do i want to be a Lawyer? Do i want to be a teacher?

Am i smart enough for either, or am i just lazy enough to call it a "couldabeen"

whatever, goodnight.

wondering outloud the things i should be considering.?

I just drank two beers and i'm feeling talkative, but have noone to talk to. Lately i've been thinking about going to law school. I'm still determining my reasons for wanting to go, and I have no idea where to start. I dont know if it's just the desire to want to make more money (the more i find out about lawyerdom, the more i realize it's definitely NOT guaranteed prosperity), i dont know if its the desire to want to stay in school in complete avoidance of "real" life. I dont know if its the vain and shallow conceit that drives me to want to impress people with my occupation (but really, how often does one ask "what do you do?"). It's rare, and even if the question arised often, who the fuck cares? I'm not going to devote 3 more years of my education just for bragging rights?

I'd much sooner say to the question: "I'm a teacher, I'm a mechanic, i'm a nurse or a janitor for that matter, what does it matter? What i do to make money does not make me, me). It seems like too many people equate employment occupation with self justification. A person is not determined by the amount of money they earn, or by the seeming "importance" of their job.
A person is justified by the way they treat their friends, the way they treat their family, the way they treat their God. A person is only a person to other people.

That probably doesn't make sense, refer to line 2 of this blog for an explanation.

noone reads this, but that's ok. I love you.

a standstill

Somtimes, well, most of the time, I feel like my life isn't developing at the normal rate. I grew up with my parents, uncles and older acquaintances getting married at about the age I am now. They were buying houses, going to family dinners, and washing their cars on Saturdays. They were working during the week and shopping on the weekends, taking boating trips and vacations.

Where am I in relation to this?

Not close.

I'm going to school (barely passing), working a marginal job which pays me occasionally. I do live on my own, which is a boon to my own existence, but begrudgingly. I have a world of credit card and school loan debt which piles up faster than it is paid off. I want a ring on my finger, a silver-colored promise of security. A small, shining announcement of my station in life. I want to e responsible for my family, and have the means to do so successfully. I want to take my nephews out on the weekends (have none).

Life in comparison.. Is disappointing.

the warm red hate dripped from my lip as she pulled away.

"i cant do this anymore" she said, "i mean, i wont"

It's crazy to think that we've made it this far alone, i mean just us, i mean just me, what do i mean?

"you're going crazy, sean"

Is she talking anymore? I though only of the dripping, and the kinds of shoes she was wearing. She never wore those shoes anymore, but i think they compliment her pants well.

"Jesus, look at me"
At this point i was completely out of the conversation, sitcoms i barely watched were registering more this.

home is nowhere now.

I'm growing to understand that home is not a physical place, but a place with outstretched arms and smiling eyes that close when you kiss. Home is where you want to be warm.

It's hard when you don't really feel like home exists anymore. The place I grew up has grown up without me, leaving me to float awkwardly like a ping pong ball in a blow-test tube.

Home exists, but I can't find it.

We (I) live in an awkward period of time, where it seems like we are always transitivity. This job to that job, this future to that future, this person to the next, years of constant movement. These years of instabilty are causing us to distrust the stable, grounded lives available to us. We are so used to constant fluidity, that we can't really appreciate the steadfast. We get bored with people, bored with jobs, bored with daydreamed futures. It's crazy and I hope it ends soon.

I just want to be content.

a new day for an old me

A new day for an old me. First day at a new job brings back years of compound insecurities. Hopeful
hopeful
hopefully waiting for something to be made to happen.
I have to make things happen this time. 23 is far too old to depend on others. I want to type the most dramatic sentence available to me. But

its gone it looks like its all gone.

i still think about her. Is it hindsight or mindsight thats doing it this time. Am i making things better than they were? Or am i worse than i was?

Rhetorical \\one sidedconversation

that looks cool.


i love you God

Dramatics and embellishment

Clandestine indigo viewing
A shade misunderstood
She walks a brown planet with dirty dust writing fingertips
On dirty cars
And our dirty plan is now made known
New eyes newly dripping with salty sadness
As the warm hate drips from the corner
Of my mouth

To pretend is pretense
A sad charade filled with even sadder players
Whose eyes drip this salty sadness
Though their smiles smile syncopated
And regulated, though their masks mask madness
To appearances: lovely
Painting black skies blue
Feeling failure in forever, regards
The reality.
The reality of supposition is their weakness
A marriage of true minds finds
The fear of falling, failing finding
The fewer friends now to feel the forms of love
And bitter babies cry constantly for
As the selfish ones fall
With, then within, then withal
Then without.
The cycle continues and years creep by
The spider’s fingers crawl into
Old men’s eyes,
And the salty sadness dries