RNG Strikes.

From the moment we're born until the moment we die, the world around us seeks to deceive us into believing that certainty is the norm and that all deviations are the rare anomalies. But all too often the true nature of our world reveals itself; that the only certainty we have is uncertainty in everything. When the winds blow too hard, all of us are prone to be swept away with it. Wisdom and caution can help us, but it can never save us. Every day we live is borrowed time, so enjoy every moment and grab every opportunity. Live like you're going to die tomorrow because you might. Work like you're going to live forever because you might. Don't take a single moment for granted because every moment granted is nothing short of a single blessing. Thank your gods that you or your loved ones weren't victims this single random act, because you could have been.

Don't let the fear overtake your wisdom because neither will save you and one will make you look very foolish.

“Everything we care about lies somewhere in the middle, where pattern and randomness interlace.” 
― James Gleick, The Information: A History, a Theory, a Flood

I hate you all.

This is, as usual, just the musings of a madman. There may be hateful language and for that I am not sorry. There may be colorful language and for that I am not sorry. You may not have the fortitude to look at things as they truly are and, for that in particular, I am truly sorry.

Over the past number of years I've come to realize that my spoken word is poor. Sadly, I am a man and oftentimes all of my spoken emotions turn into anger. That sucks and there's nothing I can do about it because that's how I was born. This does, however, make getting my points across rather difficult at times. I'll stop now and thank my wonderful half for helping me in those situations every step of the way. Today, however, I'm going to take matters into my own hands and hope that the intended will make their way here and read what I have to say. I've been holding it in for the better part of a decade.

To protect the innocent, I'll call these two people "Derek" and "Andrew." Oh. Shit. Well, so much for protecting anyone. It's not like they're innocent, or else I wouldn't have to write this tonight. Anyway, I had these two friends, Derek and Andrew. Over the many years the three of us have been gaming together, there have often been disputes, disagreements, and overall creative differences. We've been able to overcome these not because of working through our differences, or finding middle or common group, but because of my own submission to ideas and suggestions for the sake of the group. Sure, I can be bull-headed, mean, and an overall jerk at times. But if there's one thing I've always been proud of is my ability to be a part of an ensemble and throw my all into making that work.

It has been difficult, but it has worked. These two people I'd considered to be my best friends for a very long time. For the most part, it was easy sailing. For the rest, these two have shown me time and time again that they are, without a doubt, fair weather friends.

I'll start with Derek. My gay superhero. Since reuniting about four or maybe five years ago, I have discovered one thing about Derek: when all is said and done, Derek isn't concerned about anybody except Derek. When Derek isn't happy with his guild, he urges me to make my own. When Derek wants to play a game, he urges me to play a game. When Derek wants to do something, he doesn't give up until he's doing it, and to hell with what anybody else wants to do. To the most recent example, my other half and I decided we were going to play WoW again. We'd had many bad experiences with guilds and drama and raiding and we hadn't played in almost a year. We wanted something to do together. A close friend of mine offered Kelly and I a realm/faction transfer to play with her. We both accepted. I simply told Derek I was playing, and that was that. I didn't actually expect him to come back and play with us, and to be honest I was actually hoping he wouldn't. But once he had, I had a family to take care of again. Yes, you bastard. I saw it as a family even though you saw it as a means to an end. Once Derek had decided that my old friend's guild wasn't right for him(Or rather, once I had decided that all hell would break loose if he was there much longer) I knew it was time to leave. I broke the heart of one of my oldest friends because I was hellbent on taking care of the people I gamed with; the people I was loyal to. Unfortunately, what Derek never really understood is that once I've made a guild, the number of people I am responsible for increases for every person that joins me. I wanted to raid with my friends and I wanted to raid with my new guild mates, those to whom I promised a raid. I also needed to work and unfortunately the place I work is only open at night. I was unable to move shifts and I was forced to make a terrible choice. In the end, I chose to keep with my weekend raid, because I knew(know) that I can teach people the 101 of raiding, and hopefully send them Derek's way in order to form a crack team of people who can really make good things happen. To my dismay, Derek would have none of that. After I'd decided that I would teach the new raiders, he took is as a personal betrayal. He'd begun looking for guilds and, being the good friend I am, encouraged him. I wanted him to do what he had to do because I knew that when conditions were right, he would come back and things would work out for the best. Once again, I found myself almost hilariously wrong with my hopes of my old friend. I'd fallen serendipitously into a number of people who could make the raid nights that he wanted. I knew this is what I'd been waiting for. I could finally get things back to normal and Derek would get the raid he wanted. But no. Derek decided that it was in his best interests to stay in the guild he had joined. After I listened to him brag to my guild mates about the gear he had gotten after he'd "sold out" I kept quiet. As he asked me to help him upgrade that gear, I silently tried to find a balance. Even after he insisted that I pay for gear to help me and my friends after I had provided him with almost the same, I shut up and paid him. But the devastation I felt, the insult,  the slap in the face of friendship that I felt after he blatantly refused to return because of stupid pixels in a stupid game, was too much for me to bear. I'd finally had it. I asked him not to return for awhile. He threw many insults at me, most of which were out of anger and I admit that I did not focus on. Derek, I love you. You're my brother and you always will be. But I can't put myself in a situation where you can hurt me again. I put everything into my friends and even as I write this I'm nothing short of heartbroken.


Andrew. Oh Andrew. My awkward little puppy. I won't share all the things I know about you here, because many of them were not meant for the public. But what's going here, I hope, will be enough to at least express how I feel and what I've said to you the things I've said. Andrew, my story today for you starts years ago with a guild called Menagerie. I won't go into everything that happened during that dark time, but the end result is that you did not stand by me in my moment of greatest need. You stayed with people who had not only beaten me up, but they threw me to the curb and didn't even toss my my hat. That day you proved to me that you were not truly my friend, but you were nothing more than an opportunist who could not be trusted when all the marbles were on the line. In spite of all of that, I did not(nor do I now) hate you. I was upset with you for a very long time, but let you back into my life at arm's length. That was okay. I expected little from you and that's what I got -- little. I always admired your commitment to the group you were in but realized over the years that said loyalty was only as important to you as how far that group was willing to take you. You did not break my heart like Derek did, not this time. You've done nothing short of what I've expected of you, and while it still hurts it is hardly debilitating as it was last time. You've only looked out for yourself, and I believe you always will. I know I'm writing less about you than I am Derek, and I do hope you're not jealous of the inequality here as you've been lately. But much of what I said about Derek applies to you as well. My only advice to you, Andrew, is to take the time to examine yourself, and look for the mistakes you've made in your lifetime. You are talented, and you have a bigger heart than most people who've met you are willing to believe. But you keep all of your good qualities hidden behind this survivalist who trusts and respects no one. You will not make it far in your chosen field if you're not willing to give other people a chance. You are not perfect Andrew, and you should not expect others to be either.

This may sound antagonist towards someone I care about, but I say it with the utmost love. It is because I care so much that I can be honest. It's because once I've chosen my friends I do not easily dismiss them.

Derek and Andrew are two of the most selfish, pig-headed, dirtiest people I've ever met. But they are still my best friends and I love them dearly and they can rot in hell until they're ready to apologize to me.

You don't get an image, but only a quote. I'm at work, hah!

"All of us know people like this--people whose rigidity serves to protect a certain inner fragility, who cannot bend precisely because they are at risk of breaking. For that matter, all of us are people like this sometimes. No matter how psychologically resilient we may be, facing up to our own errors time and again is tough. And sometimes we just can't. Sometimes we are too exhausted or too sad or too far out of our element to risk feeling worse (or even just feeling more), and so instead we wax stubborn, or defensive, or downright mean. The irony, of course, is that none of these feelings are all that great, either..." - Kathryn Schulz, Being Wrong: Adventures in the Margin of Error

...thrust upon them.

Dear friends,

The following disclaimer, as usual, cautions those readers with overly heightened sensibilities to go eat breakfast while the rest of the big kids go behind the bridge to smoke a bag. This is my blog and I will say what I want. Everything here is my own opinion and nobody else's. Deal with it.

The formalities out of the way, I'd like to discuss a little thing called loyalty. We don't normally think about such things unless said loyalty is either exceptional or broken. Sadly, I'm no different from the masses in this one, and I have had quite unfortunate experiences as of late.

Loyalty, as defined by the great dictionary on the internet is a "faithful adherence to a sovereign, government, leader,cause, etc." and "an example or instance of faithfulness, adherence, or the like." But how does one truly define what that means? Should you follow a person blindly into the cold, dark, oblivion never to be seen again on a fool's errand? No, of course not. There are big differences between stupidity and loyalty.

No. No no no no no!

Loyalty is the ability to stand up to someone you love and tell them they're wrong. It's the firm desire that even though you may upset them, you're going to help them grow. You're going to slap them around when they need it, and you're going to comfort them afterwards. It's that deep love you feel for another that you cannot just idly sit and watch them destroy themselves and the people around them. Loyalty is love in action.

Loyalty is in every chance you a person. It's every lecture you give and every heartache you suffer. It's in one person's ability to look past the hard candy shell and see the chocolate center they know is there. It's holding them in your hand while you wait for it to melt(Yeah, M&Ms really do melt in your hand. Don't let the commercials fool you). It's taking that chance on someone even when you know you're going to have the same results. Loyalty is hopeful optimism in face of defeat.

Loyalty is the giving of oneself to something that may be better than the self. It's looking at your own wants and your own needs and then looking at what the right choice is. It's the actions we take when our backs are against the wall. It's the choices we make when no one is looking. It's looking to the future, not the past. It's knowing the difference. Loyalty is the courage to put the life of another above yourself and the trust that they'll do the same.

Loyalty is knowing when enough is enough. It's the ability to see something for what it is and be able to walk away from it. It's knowing that unless you're willing to cut off an arm, you're going to die. It's actually doing so. Loyalty is the wisdom to know when to walk away.

Loyalty, in any of its forms, is one of the most difficult concepts for a human being to truly grasp and understand. We are selfish and needy and are inclined to act without considering others. We're impatient and impulsive. These qualities often serve us well, but rarely when working together with others. I fail at it sometimes, but I always get back up and try again.

I learn from my mistakes.

I have learned from my mistakes.

“Keep away from people who try to belittle your ambitions. Small people always do that, but the really great make you feel that you, too, can become great.” 

― Mark Twain

Two Fish walk into a bar... one gets scorched and served for dinner.

As usual, I will start my post off with a variation of the usual disclaimer. To those of you who are sensitive to language, do not read this. To those of you who are averse to understanding the views of others, do not read this. If you hate me, either read this or don't. I don't give two fucks. Parents, leave your kids in the car with the windows cracked open, cause the rabbit hole goes deep-- Just like your wife.

I'll start out tonight with a question. Have you ever disagreed with anyone? I'll give you a moment to think it over and now it's over because I know the answer is yes.

Now for another question. Do you think that arguments and disagreements and creative differences are bad things? In most cases, the answer is yes. Most of us think they're not good, and so they end up that way. But  that's not always the case.

Take for example a intimate relationship between two people. To make it easier for me to relate to as I write, we'll say this couple is a man and a woman. It's widely accepted that we tend to couple with those who are most like us. We agree on many things. We tell the other person things that we want to hear and they, in turn, tell us what we want to hear.

You may be thinking to yourself that such is the recipe for a healthy and loving relationship. I'm right, aren't I? Well, if you know me then you'll know I'm totally going in the opposite direction with this. Much like the honey badger, I don't give a shit about your psyche. I do what I want.

What happens to couples who have huge disagreements and argue a lot? They break up. They get a divorce.  They break their families. The recipe is right, mostly. It's people who are wrong.

We constantly believe that we have to support the other person in a relationship even when we know they're incorrect. We tell them that their attitude towards a group is right because if we don't, they'll be upset with us and it could put our perfect worlds in jeopardy. What about the kids? What about us? I really like this person so I'd better just suck it up and pull the ol' nod'n'smile and hope the subject changes!

That's such a wrong way to approach things. Everyone will disagree eventually. Everyone will find that one thing about another person that drives them crazy in a bad way. Every couple will get tired of each other if they can't step back and say 'you're wrong' about something.

It's OK to be wrong. Hell, it's OK to be right. Everything about your opinion is OK because it's yours. It's a tell-tale sign that after everything you've done, everyone you've met, and ever place you've been, that you've still got enough of yourself left to say "I believe" to any given matter. Fight about it. You might even be right. But don't forget to accept that you might be wrong, too. Open your mind to the possibility that somebody besides you could have a better grasp on something than you.

Learn.

But when you're right, don't be so fucking mean about it. Teach others. Help them to understand but for the love of baby Jesus don't shove it down their throats. Give those facts, quote those instances, poke your tongue out. Just don't get mad if they don't see it your way.

This is by no means an excuse to be bull-headed. You need to understand when to back down. You need to be able to tell someone you love "I don't agree with you, but I still think you're great," or "You'll full of shit but let's do something more fun and argue about this another day after we've thought about it."

You will not always agree with your mate. But why should you? They're you're OTHER half. Do you understand what that means? Even if they're you're BETTER half, they're still your OTHER half. That means you're also half. You don't get a whole by combining two of the same halves. That's boring. That's the true recipe for disaster.

Two of the same puzzle pieces do not fit together.
Yang doesn't spin without Yin.
You wouldn't know day from night if you only had one or the other.

Don't be ashamed of your differences. You should celebrate them. Take a day away from your boyfriend/girlfriend/bifriend/shemale/hermaphrodite/cross dresser once in awhile and just remember who you are. Revel in being you, because NOBODY ELSE CAN.

"There are not more than five musical notes, yet the combinations of these five give rise to more melodies than can ever be heard. 

There are not more than five primary colours, yet in combination

they produce more hues than can ever been seen.

There are not more than five cardinal tastes, yet combinations of

them yield more flavours than can ever be tasted."

― Sun Tzu, The Art of War

It's a real doozy

Life is full of interesting experiences. Oftentimes we walk head first into these, and yet most times we tend to not know they're coming. It's like when you're about to jump down the slip-n-slide but instead you take one step too far, slip on the plastic, and go headfirst into your neighbor's fence.

The latter of the two just happened to me yesterday. In my school days, I obviously spent a great amount of quality time with educational facilitators. More than I usually would've liked, actually. But during my adult life I've voluntarily enjoyed way too much time with them. For anyone who doesn't know, my fiance is a teacher and I'm her sounding board. It's a perfect relationship, right? But I digress. In the past decade I've become fairly well-versed in the teaching field.

And then they asked me to actually do it.

Last night I stood in front of 5 middle school kids and had to transfer information from my head into theirs. Easy, right? I've spent the past 17 years of my life ringing handbells and helping to teach the younger ones the finer techniques. I should've had absolutely no trouble doing it on my own without The Ringleader and The Bell Diva steering the rudder, right?!

Wrong.

You could know exactly what you're talking about and have an entire outline both in front of you and in your head and you will STILL goof it up. That first time standing in front of a few kids was absolutely one of the most difficult experiences of my entire life. I was stuttering, dropping things, and altogether fumbling my way through 90 minutes of pure terror. Five sets of eyes watched me intently. Yes, me. Hell, most days I can't keep a thought for more than a few minutes with going off on a major tangent, and yet while I was showing them how to slam a bell into 4 inches of foam, my brain was pacing back and forth to find the next logical lesson to tie into.

They knew I was nervous; They were great sports, though. They humored me when I messed up and were overall a great audience. I'm still kind of shaky just remembering last night, but it was a hell of a rush. I feel like I did something of a good job. My instructors didn't stop me, and the kids didn't tell me I was an idiot --Mission accomplished!

I've always had a great respect for teachers and their ability to stand in front of worse groups everyday. But after having a taste of what it's really like, I feel an increased admiration and wonder. It takes a special kind of person to do this.

I can't wait to do it again.

Hoody out.

"It is the supreme art of the teacher to awaken

joy in creative expression and knowledge."

- Albert Einstein

It can... learn?

Before I start, don't lecture me for not updating this often. I only write when the mood strikes me or I have something to say. That being said, if you're actually eager to read what I've jotted down, then I've got some bad news for you...

Anyway, it's been an interesting year. I've had quite a number of experiences, revelations, conversations and fights and good/bad times. I've talked to a LOT of people and I've done a lot of thinking about my own life and the lives of those around me. This is where I point out that I'm not a 12 year old girl turning into a woman.

I think I might be growing up.

Terrifying though it may be, it was actually an interesting transition. Yes, I have less patience now. I think it's because I've finally realized that I do way too many for way too many people with way too little thanks/love for it. That hasn't, nor will it, stopped me from continuing to do the things that I do. In fact, it's kind of made me more persistent in my endeavors to stay myself. I've redoubled my efforts and made a few changes.

One of these things is the realization that the only paths that have ever worked for me are the ones I make myself. I've lost a lot of years in my young life trying to do things in the way others have. Not because I've wanted to fit in. Oh no, never ever that. But it's simply been because I either haven't had the means to try another way or I wasn't aware that another way existed. A wise man told me a long time ago that I marched to the beat of my own drum. I always thought it was his way of calling me strange. Don't get me wrong, I -AM- strange. But I see the deeper meaning of it now, so many years later.

Something else I've learned, something I've been learning my entire life, is that if I have enough time to bitch about something, then I have enough time to do something about it. I've had my ups and downs. What I've never really been able to admit is that they're mostly my own fault. Maybe I wouldn't be diabetic if I had taken care of myself, maybe I would have a super awesome career right now if I had finished ITT Tech, maybe I wouldn't have had to settle for ITT Tech if I hadn't been such a derp in high school, and maybe I wouldn't have been such a derp in high school if I hadn't let others' expectations weigh me down into apathy. All those past things don't matter anymore, but they're examples of choices I made that've had dire consequences on the my life. I could spend as much time as I want being depressed and bitching about it -- and trust me I have -- but there's really only one solution; do something about it.

Do you hear that, people who make excuses for everything? Man up and do something about it.

Do you hear that, passive-aggressive bitches? Grow a spine.

Do you hear that, people who love to play the victims? Stop living on the pity of others.

Do you hear what I'm saying? Do something about it.

But of all the things I have learned and taken in, one truth has been harder to understand than others for me. That truth is that most people are not very empathetic. It's a true shame, because if most people could, for even a brief moment, capture the experience of others in order to garner just a little wisdom about it, not only would individual lives benefit, but the entire world itself wouldn't face many of the problems it does. But unfortunately all we can do, those of us who can see the world through glasses labeled "Everyone Else's", is simply accept that there are only a few of us in the world and that's really all there is to it.

Though I realize everything I've just written, it is easier said than done. I fail. I fall back into old habits. I make choices I know I shouldn't make. The problem isn't failing. There's nothing wrong with failing. There's nothing wrong with BEING WRONG. To me, there are only two real sins we can inflict upon ourselves.

1) Not learning from our mistakes.
In ever story, every movie, every book and video game and anime, there is a lesson to be learned. Real life is the same way. Learn from fucking up. It's something we are all so very good at.

2) Giving up on yourself.
Losing faith in yourself is the only way to truly lose. It's so easy to give in to that sweet apathy and indifference when you've lost. It's frighteningly easy.  But the only difference between those who "make it" and those who "didn't make it" is the ability to brush yourself off and do it again.

"Stand up and walk. Keep moving forward. You've got two good legs. So get up and use them. You're strong enough to make your own path." - Edward Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist

...and they LIVED happily ever after.

Let me start this with my normal disclaimer. The views expressed in this blog are mine and mine alone. I'm not here to hold your hand, coddle you, or overall make you happy. I'm just passing on some things I've learned over the years. If you don't like it then you may as well stop reading it. If you disagree with it I really don't care. These are my thoughts and stories; You can't have them.

Now that the silly stuff is taken care of, let me ask a rhetorical question; Have you ever had an experience in that you never wanted to have to deal with, but had always known, eventually, that you would? Don't worry, I have too. Now I'm going to touch briefly on a few of my own tales of woe that I've survived over the years. Most have absolutely no happy ending and deal with death. If that's too much for you, stop reading now. I promise I'm going somewhere with this, so just bear with me.

Early on in life I felt the icy touch of death's merciless embrace. Not personally, of course. But at the age of nine years old my baby sister Cori-Anne was taken from me. It was the week before thanksgiving and I was off of school. I came downstairs and found my grandmother crying. I don't remember everything that happened, but I know I had lost someone I loved. I didn't really understand what that meant at the time except that she wouldn't be around anymore. I was sad, of course, but it was nice to have all my cousins and aunts and uncles around.

In seventh grade, I believe, I lost my uncle Neil. He was my grandmother's brother and was around 70 years old or so at the time. At that moment I lost my first role model. I absolutely loved him. He was so much more awesome than every other aunt and uncle I have. He was athletic, intelligent, brilliant, and had that old school swag that you totally associate with Frank Sinatra. He was everything I wanted to learn from but left before I could take any of it. I've yet to meet a person with more class than him. I felt so sad afterwards, I hardly talked to anyone.

But to make matters worse, a few years later I almost lost my grandmother. During the summer of my 10th grade year, we could out she had an aneurysm in her head the size of a golf ball. So she was left with two options; she could either have a surgery with a 10% chance of success or she could wait until the tumor exploded and killed her anyway. Well, you can't say my grandmother isn't ballsy. She said her goodbyes to all of us and went under. It was terrifying. She was under for nine hours. I sat in the waiting room the entire time waiting. It was the most terrifying day of my life. She made it out, amazingly. But it was a harrowing experience that none of us walked away from unscathed. Plus the half a year of being in a recovery ward and me staying at home mostly by myself. It was tough.

Tougher, though, was the morning in January 2001 where I went downstairs and found not only my grandmother crying, but my mother and my aunt Nadine sobbing. Nadine's daughter Chrissy, AKA my best friend in the whole world, my oldest sister, and my favorite cousin had died that night of... stuff. I'd rather not talk about that. I wasn't the only extra kid my grandmother raised. Chrissy and I were partners in crime. We fought not only each other, but everybody else. She had moved out a few years previous and I barely saw her anymore, but our bond never really broke. Well, suffice to say I dropped to the floor the moment I was told and cried. Then I cried more. And more. And then before I knew it I was standing on the alter at church singing. And then I was crying again. I'm fuzzy on some of the details these days, but I know I sang the entire thing. Not well, mind you. I'd have never made it without Kelly(Lol she didn't even like me back then) and Mr. D singing up in the loft with me. But I got all the way through it. To this day though, I can't think about this without nearly bursting into tears.

All the way through it until a year and a half later, just after I graduated, I lost my second best friend in the entire world. Her name was Cindy and she was my cousin too. She was about 15 years older than me but I got along with her better than most people my own age. I spent most of my summers at her house because she had a computer and I didn't at the time. We played cards together and she dragged me to Denny's all the time where we'd talk about life's meanings. I think she's the reason I'm a night owl. But suddenly, poof! She's dead. Hell, I'd been hanging out with her the day before at a family birthday party. It completely blindsided me and suddenly I was crying again. But then I wasn't. The tears were gone. It was weird. So I sang again. I made it almost all the way through before reverting back into a sobbing ball of emotion with absolutely no chance of finishing. But I did. Finish that is. Again. I sang off another one of my best friends.

So funerals came and went and you'd think I'd get some peace for awhile. Alas, no rest for the weary. Two, maybe three years later I found myself sitting at the UPMC Presby ER waiting room for... two days? Yes, I think it was two days. That's how long it took for them to know that my aunt Nadine was going to survive the two consecutive strokes she'd suffered. Nadine -- aside from being my mother's best friend, the mother of MY dead best friend, and my godmother -- was the person I'd run to whenever me and Gram would fight, which was often. I'll tell you I spent a hell of a lot of nights there listening to her tell me why my grandmother was right without telling me my grandmother was right. She was my savior. She'd always stick up for me when Gram was being unreasonable. And I'd always secretly wished she was my mother instead of mine. But there she was with two blood clots in the back of her head. Good thing there were two, huh? The second one dislodged the first one and that's the only reason she survived. And I use the word "survive" loosely. She was blind in one eye, barely had any control of her limbs, and had the short-term memory of a gold fish. On top of that, her personality suffered drastically. Every time I see her my heart breaks because I can still only remember the aunt I loved so much.

Now if you really read everything up until now, you either have a deep interest in my life or you're REALLY in this to find out where the hell I'm taking this. For those of you who chose option A, thank you. You're ability at lying to yourself for my sake is phenomenal. For everyone else, I'm working on it.

Most of you reading this have no idea that these stories are a part of my life. I rarely talk about them because honestly, there's not a lot left to be said about it. I never wanted to dwell on any of it because most of the people involved in these stories are dead and gone. But if you know me, you have an idea of what my personality is like and a little of what makes me tick. But you didn't have to know these stories, did you? No, you didn't. My friends still know me as who I am now because of the things I've said and done. These dead people are gone; these scars I keep do not define me. They empower me.

There's not a day that goes by that I don't remember these events. All the people I've mentioned here have helped to shape me by their lives or their deaths. But not anyone else's, right? These people don't mean a damn thing to you, and yet it's almost as if you know them because you know me. We're defined by who we are, not by our parents and our relatives or our friends. We're judged; we're remembered by the choices we've made, not the ones they made. We're the sum of our experiences, not of our ancestors.

In these silly lives we're stuck living there are so many things we have no choice in. We don't choose our families. We don't pick the weather each day. None of us chose to go through the tragedies that every one of us has gone through. Those things are beyond us. But what we are in control of; what we can choose for ourselves is what we do with them. They're a weight we carry forever. We miss them. But our biggest choice is whether or not we're going to let those weights crush us, or are we going to use them as building blocks to step on; to use those experiences to make us stronger. That's our choice. That's our burden.

Nobody's going to remember the ones who died to make us who we are. Nobody's truly wondering what tragedies have forced us to mature, grow and overcome. They see the finished product and appreciate it for what it is. Our choice and our responsibility is what to show them. Will the world remember us as crushed, vanquished, overcome by the heavy burdens that fall on us, or will it remember us as that interesting drifter who carried it all in a handkerchief tied on a stick.

How we survive is what makes us who we are.

Hoody out.

Just a quickie

So I've been doing things lately; lots of things. I've been doing stuff with the handbells and the kids therein; working most of my evenings down at the Post-Gazette; having friends over on the weekends; Minecrafting and SWTOR'ing. There's been no lack of activity in my life and that's strange as far as my life goes. Those of you that know me can testify that my life generally consists of me and a computer.

And yet I feel this gaping hole in my life which is irritating me to no end.

After years of self-examination and trying(keyword) to look at my life objectively, I believe this has to do with me being something more or less bi-polar. Have I been diagnosed? No, not at all. But I do know a little bit about it. The hardest and most dangerous time for anyone with bi-polar are the times in the middle; the calm. There's no great burden; no trouble or enemy or terrible situation that we must somehow overcome. Likewise there is little going on that is exceptionally exciting or entertaining to grasp our attentions. We sit in the middle.

Or maybe it's just me looking for trouble. I do look for trouble, you know; I thrive on it. I believe it's in my genes or something. Who knows? Either way, I'm ridiculously bored with life and I need something shiny and new. That's all I wanted to share.