So...
Well, where to start...
Oh... I signed the papers. Yesterday actually.
My appetite for video games is slowly returning. I'm not sure I'll ever reach the level at which I was, but I'm ok with just being interested again -- wonder if anyone'd be interested in playing sometime...
It seems I lost my P.I.T.A. (Personal Idiot Translator Archive) some where... I guess I'll have to contact the manufacturer.
*
While we make every effort to be prompt, the P.I.T.A. sometimes doesn't take effect immediately. We thank you for your patience.
Tough to get back to where you aren't...
It seems lately that more and more often I catch myself reminiscing about friends I haven't spoken to in far too long. As the thoughts and memories, both joyous and otherwise, bombard my mental landscape I'm dissapointed I've allowed so many friendships to fade...
The more I think, the more I desire to restore those relationships. Then reality brutally reminds me I am no longer the man I was... not to mention those friends are most likely not the people they used to be. Time has that odd effect.
I suppose there's only one way to start...
_________________________
"Hi... my name is angelo, and we used to be friends..."
*
Grin.
I'm generally a pretty upbeat guy. The past few months I've done my best to appreciate the good things around me, of which there are many, and cope with the less enjoyable. In the last twenty-four hours I've been forced to grin. Yes, forced. It's the type of grin that when you finally realize just how stupid you must look it fades for a moment only to return even more forcefully when you are reminded of what made you begin in the first place.
The first was during worship. Well, after worship, actually. God is good.
The second was instigated by merely hearing I had caused a friend to smile.
Sick to death.
Oh, how absence makes the heart grow fonder...
or, in my case, care less.
______________________
It's rather astounding how upsetting it can be when someone isn't upset when you want them to be. I don't usually measure things in percentages. I'm not generally that mathematical (my wife never believed I had any mathematical talent), but over the last five months I've found a particular area of my thought process that really can't be accounted for in any other way. I've kept a running tally of my day to day desire for my wife to return vs. my lack of desire for the same.
I'm sure now of the ground upon which I stand, but I can't say as of yet whether or not I'm pleased to be standing here.
*
Once upon a time (a story inspired by a story that was only somewhat meant to be read by someone.)
Once upon a time there was a boy. He had a life. and it was good.
The life that he once knew exploded into tiny fragments. Sends shrapnel in each and every direction. Wounding his heart deeply. Yet, it was good, only he didn't know it yet.
One day while tending his hands that were gashed from cleaning up the pieces, he found a community of friends where he just happened to fill a need... answering phones. His worries where forgotten and the mess was left. And it was good.
The distraction continued and the mess grew unbeknownst to him. But he found friends. And it was good.
After months, the distraction concluded and life and the mess rushed in on the boy, but still he ignored them and clung to his new friends as his only distraction. And it was not so good.
The mess had grown teeth. They cut and ripped at the boy's flesh leaving little undone, but the boy gritted his teeth and clung to his friends. And it was not so good.
Until one day the boy forgot his link to his friends at home. Alone in a world of teeth. Center stage against an enemy he could find no cover from. His thoughts laid waste to him that day. And surprisingly, it was slightly better then not so good.
A few days passed without the link, and the boy waged an unending war on his thoughts. Slowly, without even realizing, the mess began to fade. And it was good.
Never did he forget his friends. Often the boy thought of them and hoped that his absence was not too much. But the boy was mindful of the wounds to his heart and worked diligently to erase the thoughts that continued to pain him. And it was good.
Then one day the boy stumbled across a note. It wasn't, but was, meant for him. His friends had been wounded while he was away cleaning his mess and fighting his battles. The wounds to his heart, not fully healed, began to ache as he read. Each word pushing the shrapnel deeper. Upon the reverse of the note were phrases penned by multiple hands. Some painful, some confused. The boy staggered back. And there he stands. Is it good?
Careful Skeptic
A close friend once called me
a careful skeptic. Miracles don't come
from eggs, I might say, chickens do.
One morning I talked to a young man
who had broken up with the mother of his child;
He cried about not seeing the baby
and the loss of equilibrium
forced by his confusion.
More than forty years of life
have given me some place in this space.
So we talked about dignity, of the values that
keep one strong when everything else falls apart;
He listened, began to smile, said he would try,
and left, paying for breakfast.
I'm sure he wished an angel would stride with him through the windswept road.
I don't know about angels; I do know
the miracle germinating at any crossroads
is what's learned
- Luis J. Rodriguez
deep thoughts
Two lamps in the window...
A rainbow over dry land...
Red skies at night.
____________
My appetite is back.
*
Stupidity intact
Upon the meaty section of his left hand, the piece where the pointer finger intersects with the thumb, a perfectly round layer of white skin lay exposed. The outer layer of flesh that had protected this particular three quarter inch spot had been seared away... rather inexplicably, I might add.
________________________________________What boys will do on a guy's night with a well smoked cigar on hand.
*
