Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

Daily Gift

Posted: April 27, 2017 in Uncategorized

This is a reminder to my older self – stop taking life for granted. Appreciate every second of it. Every single day is a brand new 24 hour gift to do whatever you want. Stop spending that valuable time on people or things that/whom are unimportant. I’m surrounded by amazing people and, all things considered, have a pretty amazing life – time to appreciate it and do something with it. It’s not just a civic duty, it’s personal obligation. Watch the video, no need to elaborate here.

Added bonus, you can now put my face and voice to all of the incoherent ramblings found in this blog or whateverthefuck. weird.

 

The odd title of this post translates to “good errors’ in Latin. I spent the past five minutes searching for Latin phrases similar to Carpe Diem without directly using carpe diem…because cliches are stupid. And five minutes later, this is the lackluster phrase I came up with. You know I’m going to explain why, but can we first take a moment to appreciate the juxtaposition?

 

 

Ellipsis and we’re back.

 

I’m not going to lie to you, these next few paragraphs contain the meaning of life in them. I mean it. They’re THAT profound. And by profound, I mean that I’m just slapping away at keys.  While I’m at it, let’s talk about the meaning of the Latin phrase, bonum errores. As aforementioned, that translation in English means ‘good errors,’ like a cheeseburger that’s going to ultimately cause heart failure, but tastes fantastic while being consumed. Or a lost $20 bill you later find in your jean pocket out of the dryer. Good errors. In the near future, I could potentially be making a myriad of good errors. In fact, it’s certain. Since my early twenties I’ve obsessed over the idea of traveling the world but it hasn’t ever really been feasible for one reason or another. If it wasn’t a lack of time it was a lack of money, and if it wasn’t a lack of money it was a lack of means to travel, and if it wasn’t a lack of means to travel, it was a lack of balls to just pick up and go, and if it wasn’t  a lack of confidence, it was a lack of stability. At present, all of those things are accounted for and I’ve already begun planning. I’ll be traveling the world. I have enough equity in my house to be able to travel for a handful of years without running out of money. Or, I could rent out my house and just travel for a couple months at a time, without losing assets. At this point, that’s the last thing I’m concerned with – both scenarios are attached to money and that’s exactly WHY I’ll be traveling – to let the fuck go. I’ve worked my face off, sitting behind a computer screen, and for what? I have a lot of stuff, things, possessions – but when I’m on my death bed, I’m not going to be telling tales about the Prada loafers I once had, or the multitude of BMWs in my garage over the years. Well, maybe the BMWs will still come up. But memories of traveling the globe, seeing things and places I never thought I would – THAT’S noteworthy. THAT’S the story I’d like to tell. And chapter 1 begins at age 33.

The timing couldn’t be more perfect. I’ve made a ridiculous amount of money over the past few years so money isn’t an issue. I have no kids. I have no wife. I’ve put in my time and built a pretty phenomenal life for myself, and traveling the globe has always been my bucket list – the entire thing. And at 33 I’m going to make it a reality. By myself. There are 73,819,043,458 reason why TO make this happen, and maybe two reasons I shouldn’t. The two reasons: spiders in other countries, and not being able to dress up every day. That’s it. In exchange for getting over those two items, I’ll be able to stand in front of a pyramid in Egypt, built before technology made things easy, thousands of years ago and STILL standing. What the fuck, 2016. I’ll be able to see the island of Santorini which, based on pictures, is so beautiful it doesn’t even look like an actual place. I’ll be able to see Rome and Venice and Tuscan countryside. I’ll be able to see Thailand’s coast…from a hammock. On the beach. A fucking hammock on a Thai beach. I’ll be able to stay in castles in England and Scotland. Castles. Even typing this out seems surreal. I’m pretty sure I just giggled whilst typing castle. A fucking castle! How many of you have ever stayed in an actual castle!?

I’ve been blessed beyond words. This year was the best year of my life and the most fun I’ve ever had. So thanks, 2016, but 2017 is about to beat the shit out of you. The fun I’ve had this past year has been more so, ‘dude I can’t feel my face…carry me back from the beach,’ sort of fun. Going out and partying sort of fun. Seeing lots of things state-side sort of fun. I have a thousand amazing memories from this year and 999 terrible ones. None of that will amount to exploring Earth. I’ve never been so excited for anything in my entire life, and now’s the time to make it happen.

All of that said, it’s time to explore the other half of bonum errores. Mainly, the errores part of the expression. While this journey will be amazing, it will also come at the cost of tangible things, be it my job, or my house – or both. If I decide to travel long-term, I’d have to sell my house to pay off everything I owe and afford all travel expenses for a few years. So that sucks. I’d also have to quit a six-figure job, which seems absurd. But one of the most important lessons I’ve learned this year is that being “successful” on paper really nets just that, being successful, on paper. So what. Having tangible or paper success has netted me a whole bunch of stuff I can’t tell stories about. I’m full of way too much passion and intensity to let THAT be my story. So there will be some collateral damage, but why wouldn’t there be? And at the end of it all, will I really care? I’ve already come to terms with losing every physical belonging I have to gain the experiences I will from traveling the world. I’ll see places I’ve only dreamed about. I’ll taste foods I’ve only seen in magazines. I’ll meet people I didn’t think really existed. I’ll SEE historical artifacts and places I’ve only read about. And I’ll meet Brazilian and Swedish models, because that’s also part of the drill. It’s my story, I can create whatever I want. Shut up.

The beginning and end of this journey will, in every sense of the words, be life changing. I’m not doing it to find myself or to gain some spiritual awareness I’ve been lacking my whole life. I’m doing it because there isn’t a single thing holding me back, and a billion beautiful experiences to be had that can’t be accomplished from here. See ya, Arizona.

Also, because I’ll eventually be poor as shit, I’ll be creating a Gofundme page so feel free to donate to travel expenses. In return, you’ll get shitty blog posts from me daily, showing how amazing the rest of the world is while you sit at your keyboard sending me $5 at a time. Sounds pretty neat to me.

Bonum Errores.

 

 

I live a life I don’t deserve. It’s beautiful even when it’s not. There seems to be an endless amount of good constantly finding its way into my life and I’ve learned not to question it. I don’t need to know why they’re present to appreciate them. I do, however, make habit of discarding them just as often as they come. Why would anyone do that? Maybe the disadvantage is the delight.

Most people struggle to find happiness or even gain a grasp on what happiness means. It’s subjective so there is no right or wrong answer, just a feeling. I’ve been handed that feeling on a silver platter. Not sure how or why, but I’m always aware of the what, when and who. The whats seem to stick around the longest, the whos never do. That brings me to my disadvantage, a strange juxtaposition I’m not sure I want to question, but will anyway because that’s what I do. (These disordered thoughts are basically a jumbled conversation in my head spread out in some sort of uniform on…paper/screen. I talk to myself. The words reply.) My disadvantage: my life is too good. There, I said it. I don’t mean that to sound pompous and shitty. No. What I mean is that because my life is so great and because there’s a constant stream of beauty in it, I become reliant on it and take advantage without appreciating what my life actually consists of. I expect it to always be good, and it always is. While that’s not necessarily a bad thing, my lack of appreciation for everything that comes my way is. I trade in dream cars for newer and faster dream cars. I trade six figure employment for higher six figure employment. I discard Armani shirts for Tom Ford suits. I replace perfect girlfriends with…other…perfect…girlfriends. And there’s my plateau. Humans. My want for something bigger and better and newer doesn’t affect possessions because they’re inanimate – they have no feeling, they don’t care what I do with them or how soon I replace them or how much attention I pay them. Humans, though, notice. They’re animate and filled with emotion and feeling and heart and soul. I love the fuck out of the human condition, but I also love that I am confident and comfortable in my own happiness. There again lays the juxtaposition – a delightful disadvantage, it seems.

What all of this rambling really means is that my life is absolutely amazing and I know at the end of each day it will continue. I’m not a billionaire. I’m not a model. I’m not a humanitarian. I’m just happy. But that ‘happiness’ is starting to deteriorate the sum of its parts. I’m not saying I’d like to be unhappy. That’d be stupid. I’m saying I love 18 year old MaCallan scotch in a Seahawk’s whiskey glass. I’m saying I let a lot of beautiful parts of my life go because I think I’ll still be happy afterward. I’m saying I push out amazing people because I know there are other amazing people to keep my life balanced. Consider Newton’s cradle: one ball hits another which sets the ball at the opposite end in motion, and the back and forth continues, equaling each other’s force, continuing in harmony. That’s my life. Picture it. That’s fucking boring. No change. Never out of line. Never off track. If one ball is removed, what happens? I wouldn’t know, I just replace them. But the replacements are lacking. They’re empty. They fill the void in the pendulum, but my heart is not a pendulum. The culmination of these beautiful messes impacts only the heart, the body remains the same.

 

Slamming Doors

Posted: November 1, 2016 in Uncategorized

When one door closes, another opens, right? What happens if that door is slammed shut? Does another still open afterward? Is the effect still the same? These aren’t rhetorical questions, I really don’t have the answers. Obviously these are metaphors and have no tangible answer, but I’ve asked Jesus, Buddha, Krishna and the guy who works third shift at the gas station, and none seem to have an answer – or haven’t answered. So I’m asking you, internet page, does slamming doors shut continuously mean that others will never open?

I’ve said it a thousand times before and it remains true, I’m pretty blessed and my life is some sort of a fairy tale. That said, though, I’m still a human and I still encounter my battles, they’re just few and far between. But when they do arise I’ve noticed they’re a lot more dramatic and impacting than they would be for most. Not sure if that means I’m a drama queen or what, but I seem to be really good at blowing things out of proportion and slamming multiple doors shut, continuously. I’m not even sure how there are still doors to BE shut to begin with. Metaphorically, someone closes a chapter of their life by ‘shutting’ that door, right? I don’t. I slam the shit out of them. I want everyone around me for a 185,398,245 mile radius to hear the door being slammed and know that it was my doing. I want the person on the other side to hear the rumble and be too afraid to even look back at the door, let alone consider trying to pry it back open. And no one does. No one looks back. No one tries re-opening the door. I usually sit and wait for a bit and hear nothing. I see nothing. No squeak or cracking of the door’s hinges. No shadow underneath the door sill. No heavy breathing. No crying. No talking. Nothing. I slam doors so hard and so fast it seems to not only eliminate whoever is behind that unique door at that very instance, but reverberates to other doors being closed from the aftermath.

So I ask, not if there’s a difference between closing and slamming doors – obviously there is. But how? How do you close a door and assure that chapter’s done without having to slam it? I don’t know that I’ve ever closed a single door in my life, and I’m old as shit, so that’s a lot of doors. All of them have been slammed. And it isn’t just because I’m a black-or-white kind of guy, all-or-nothing type, it’s because I really don’t know how to segue into new doors without others being slammed the fuck shut. I need a life coach. Or patience. Or understanding. Or maybe just a reason not to slam anymore doors shut. I’ve grown accustom to the sound and feel. It doesn’t affect me anymore. I’m not startled by the slam. I’m not jolted by the vibration. I’m not afraid of the emptiness or quiet that lingers afterward. That’s what scares me. It isn’t the not knowing how, it’s the not caring THAT.

I’m never really alone as I’m surrounded by people all day long. And even when I’m not, there’s Reagan, always at my side, loyal as can possibly be. But he has a time frame attached to him. No matter how many times I’ve joked about finding a medical miracle and enabling him to live forever, it’s not realistic (at least not yet). When he passes, what am I left with? WHO am I left with? There are only so many doors left that people are willing to walk through, and I’m trying my damnedest not to slam them shut, too.

 

 

What if?

Posted: October 19, 2016 in Uncategorized

What if I told you I need you right this second? What if I told you I needed you thirty-three years ago? What if I told you I’m useless to myself and everyone else in existence without you? What if I couldn’t say at all?

I’ve fought battles I didn’t know I was fighting, with opponents who didn’t know they were fighting, on playing fields that were meant for loving. Your void lead me to these battles like a tiger chasing it’s prey. But pray I did not. Love I did not. Care I did not. Learn I did not. And grow, I did not.

I found passion in a deep and hidden corner on the blackest of nights. I found love in a smile named death. I found perseverance in a dream called struggle. I found humanity in a dog named Reagan. I found warmth in stripping down naked.

But, I’ve not yet found you. What if I told you I’ve searched inside and out? What if I told you I’ve searched in the highest of highs and lowest of lows and came up empty?

What if, oh Strength, you’re not to be found at all? What if I don’t evince enough of you to even know where to begin?

 

I don’t know that I’d consider myself a wordsmith, but I am infatuated with impressive vernacular and diction – it’s sort of an aphrodisiac for me – a cerebral enticement that cannot be controlled. But that doesn’t mean I’m a wordsmith. A wordsmith would use the word, ‘druthers,’ in a very nonchalant and smooth placement that goes unnoticed. I don’t and can’t. I threw it out there right from the beginning as I’m not hiding your druthers or mine. Nay. In fact, I’m exploiting them in a celebratory way you’ll understand by the end of this jaunt.

My preferences on all things life have netted me a ton of awesomeness and equally so, an abundance of heartache and pain. I’ll take it – the good with the bad. I like what I like, I want what I want, I need what I need, and no one gets to tell me otherwise. And the same applies to YOU – your preferences are your own, and others may have a bearing on them, but influences are just that – influences. They don’t control or change your wants and likes without YOU consciously or subconsciously changing them, accordingly. There’s nothing wrong with that as influences only have as much power as we give them, and that’s what I wanted to chat with you about. We’re all our own person that’s been comprised of a billion different situations to lead us right here, reading this garbage blog, or in my case, writing it. We all have different stories, triumphs, failures and outside influences to make us our own. I’ve recently become infatuated with the opportunity that life brings. You’d think this would just be a given, but it isn’t. We all take it for granted. I take it for granted. I’ve made a pact with myself to no longer do that. I vowed to no longer take any opportunity life grants me for granted and to not just appreciate all of the opportunity I have, but to live said opportunity. I don’t want to just appreciate things from afar and spend time in thought – what I could or couldn’t do with all of the opportunity I have – rather, to hone and live them, every single goddamn day I have on Earth. Quick interlude: it’s been extremely difficult to not interject expletives left and right whilst vomiting my thoughts here, and I’m not sure if I’m sad or proud of it. More later – interlude over. I want my life to be full of substance and meaning and the obvious road to both is indulgence. Indulge. Just do it. Over and over. And then once more for good measure. These beautiful little openings to amazement are surrounding you even right now – grab ’em!

I just read that last paragraph and felt a little sick to my stomach, it’s a little touchy-feely and preachy and I don’t think I like it. Not yet anyway. That’s not where I’m going with this. I wanted to bring to light life’s bevy of opportunity. I’ve fallen flat on my face and had situations blow up in my face left and right recently. My poor face is a mess, apparently. Regardless, I’m not mad or regretful over the past few months’ circumstances, I’m thankful. I’m okay with taking some bumps and bruises along the way because each one of them leads me closer to my druthers. I’m not even sure what they are, but I’m learning. I’d bet none of you know, either. You probably think you do but it’s either because you’re an idiot or haven’t experienced enough. Go do that! More of it! I’m infatuated with life’s opportunities, even if they lead me straight to heartache and disappointment. I’m not even sure how my heart’s still beating as it’s been drained a lot recently. That’s OK, though. Again, I’ll take my lumps if it leads me closer to my Why, my What, my WHO.

My likes and wants and needs are what make me ME. I’m excited about who I am and who I have been and will be, and more importantly – could be. Every person you surround yourself with will have some sort of a bearing on who you are and who you become, and I love that. I love that I have the option of deciding who stays and who goes, who’s worth opening up to and who isn’t, who’s a positive influence and who isn’t. I’ve been told a lot lately that it makes me a negative and reserved person to have those views. Uh, you’re dumb. If there’s no positivity to be had, why keep the company? If someone isn’t for YOU at all, let ’em go and don’t look back. Loved ones are loved ones because they offer something amazing that can’t be replaced – the ability to help you become better. And vice versa, you’re in other people’s lives because you offer that same substance to them. That’s an amazing symbiosis that leaves me in awe.

I don’t want to feel like I’m a terrible person because I like or want something that someone else doesn’t, even if it’s someone close to me. I don’t want to look back and regret decisions I’ve made because of outside influences – I want to be able to take ownership of every decision I make and feel great about it. The onus is on me. I’ll take that responsibility and run with it until I’ve found my druthers. Search with me.

 

9066.

Posted: February 20, 2016 in Uncategorized

If you’re of Japanese descent or have studied any portion of Japanese OR American history, the number 9066 probably rings a bell – a shrieking, screaming, painful, echoing bell. On this day, 1942, President Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066 to remove ALL Japanese Americans to ‘internment camps’ so as not to cause issue during the time of war against the Axis Powers. Roosevelt and the US Government thought that there were Japanese spies in America so naturally it made sense to incarcerate them all. You know, just to be safe. This Order hits home with me as I’m a Japanese American. I’m thirty-two and wasn’t around in ’42, obviously, but my grandparents and their parents were. This is not a discourse on the importance of their lives or Executive Order 9066. No, this is no such thing – this is simply a change of tone.

 

The term ‘internment camp’ is, while politically fitting, socially incorrect. They were incarcerated. Jailed. Prisoned. Restrained. Restricted. Ripped of their American freedoms. Growing up I was taught a lot about freedom in general, not just because of my Japanese ancestry, but because it is WHY we are all here. America was to be a place of religious, social and political freedom without persecution – no fear of British or French infestation. You come, you work, you create, you’re free. To this day that is why I wake up every morning. It isn’t to make a lot of money and buy awesome things so I can look good for other people – it’s because I know I’m free. I’m free to do or say whatever I want, however I want, whenever I want. All decisions come with consequences, however, but I think that’s a pretty fair trade – don’t make a bunch of horribly bad decisions, keep your freedom. I’ll take it. That said, the Japanese American CITIZENS in 1942 did nothing of the sort; no bad decisions, no war crimes, no spying or betrayal, not one traitor found. Let me type that again so it sinks in – not one spy was ever found. Ever.

 

When these families were incarcerated they weren’t asked, they were forced. They lost their businesses, homes, money, belongings and more importantly, their freedom. These aforementioned items were never given back. Not after war. Not after finding a total of 0 spies. Never. My great grandparents owned a hotel in downtown Spokane, where I was born and raised. They lost it. They owned a home. They lost it. They lost everything they had earned with their two hands and free will. My grandpa, the most honorable man on Earth, ever, chose not to riot and throw fits and get mad. Rather, he chose to join the 442nd Regimental Combat Team for the US Army. Please read that sentence again. My grandfather, a Japanese American citizen, whose parents were incarcerated by the US Government, chose to fight FOR said government, against his own nationality – the Japanese. Again, re-read that and let that sink in. Can you even fathom that? Is it even registering? Until publicly being awarded a Congressional Gold Medal in 2011 for his role in the 442nd, my grandpa swore up and down he was a medic, cook, mail room attendant etc as he wasn’t to share his actual role. Turns out his job was intelligence, to seek any indication of Japanese American citizens passing information to Japan. He didn’t take this position to rat out his own, to gain American influence. Only he knows why. But knowing him, I’d bet my life it was for freedom. Freedom for his family, for their families, and their family’s families. He believed SO much in the concept of freedom that he fought in a war against Japan, as a Japanese citizen himself, while his parent’s sat restrained and empty of their belongings, FOR the very country that defamed his very name. How. Much. Honor. Does. That. Take. I still to this day cannot fathom how. And that is the reason for this post. How? It’s so easy to be angry today and every February 19th from hereon forever. It’s a reminder of a terrible wrong done to an innocent people who meant nothing but to take advantage of the American dream the world has always been taught.

 

I can’t lie, typing some of this out made me a little angry. But only for a second. My grandpa isn’t angry. My great grandparents weren’t angry. If you listen to or watch any of the thousands of interviews of those who were incarcerated or whose families were, not a single one of them seem mad. Why? Freedom.

 

Instead of reading all of the Facebook posts remembering today, The Day of Remembrance, I’m choosing to remember today in a positive light, not an angry one. It’s SO easy to be angry about it. But I’d rather respect it and respect those who suffered through it so that I can sit here typing my words freely without any worry of incarceration or treason. Today I’m not mad, today I’m honored to be a Japanese American.

 

Resolution…Evolution?

Posted: December 31, 2015 in Uncategorized

I think New Year’s resolutions are ridiculous. They’re limiting by default – why choose to work on one thing one time a year? Don’t bother. I think it’s sensible to have goals, but consistently and plural, goalS. Anyway, not posting to minimize your self-minimization. I’m posting to appreciate the shit out of this year, not just negate it by focusing on next year. I’m not ready yet.

 

In my early teens I couldn’t wait to become an adult, I thought life would be so  much more structured and simplified. That was a joke. My twenties were a mess of bad decisions, a destruction of my moral compass and a lack of ambition on pretty much all levels possible. It was awesome, but far less than structured and simplified. Thirties. The thirties are where it’s at. Pretty sure Sam Cooke was referring to your thirties in, “That’s Where it’s at.” Thirty was great, thirty-one was, too. Thirty-two has been a dream. Every morning I wake up waiting for something to go wrong, like this is a dream or I’m vicariously living someone else’s life and I’m just in some sort of delusional grandeur indefinitely. Nope, it’s my life. And why shouldn’t it be? I’ve worked my balls off, whatever that means. Just sounded fierce. I’m less attractive than I was last year. I’m 11lbs fatter, and it’s definitely not muscle mass, at all…ask my man pooch. I’ve cultivated a few gray hairs that I’m REALLY excited about in a go-the-fuck-away kind of way. My used-to-be-sort-of-awesome hair is now far outdated but I’m too comfortable with myself to change it. I wore tennis shoes four times this year. Four! Haven’t done that since pre-facial hair years – I dressed like a nard. I wear dress pants OUTSIDE OF WORK! Yeah, it’s true, not a joke. Try to stay calm, I’m not done yet. I haven’t shaved in two years probably and it hasn’t given me anxiety. And I’m Asian. Whaaaaaat? Point is, I’m uglier, fatter and have far less to offer the universe and it gets consistently worse every day from here. BUT. But…

 

I’m not complaining at all. This year was the absolute best year of my life by far. I don’t want to come up with goals for 2016, I’d just like to spend time in thought appreciating all things 2015. Yours might have sucked and you might think I’m a pompous asshole because I’m boasting about mine. What would that tell you about yourself? Read on. I’m not boasting because I know times are tough for everyone, everywhere, for a billion different reasons. All the more reason to feel so much gratitude for my year – I could have it so much worse. I could be struggling. I could be unhappy. I could be bitching and moaning and finding excuses why not to move forward instead of reasons to be happy. A super smart, maybe brilliant woman once asked me if ‘I wanted to be right or I wanted to be happy.’ Being wrong has never felt so great. I made a lot of bad choices, did a lot of wrong, turned down a lot of right, but I’ve never been happier.

 

I won’t list out specifically what’s made my year so phenomenal because it’d cheapen these words, plus I’m too lazy and don’t want to, because haircut. None of this was meant to be boastful, either. If, instead of being happy for someone else’s awesome year, you took this as a reflection of your own, you’re welcome, I just unintentionally psychology’d the shit out of you. Psychology’d. It’s a real thing. This is my sappy Cancer showing (NO pun intended, at all – Cancers are emotional vajays), but at least once a week I watch Jim Valvano’s ESPY Award speech from 1993. If you aren’t familiar with who he is or why this speech is critically important to YOUR life, watch it. Focus on the 2:20 mark, he lists three things I’m going to go do now in reflection. Be safe, kids. Happy 2016…I guess. Jk fuck that, happy 2015!

 

Quit searching wiktionaries and online thesauruses. Stop pretending you’re reading this because of the title. No one knows what it means. Except the author, because he’s absolutely fucking brilliant, and modest.

A haiku is ephemeral beauty in brevity. A fatty cheeseburger is ephemeral brevity. A one-sided vinyl record is ephemeral brevity. Your attention span is, in some way, ephemeral brevity.

These two words simultaneously breached the bow of my frontal lobe earlier today, furiously, inspiring this mess of words. It’s odd to me that life itself is a death sentence. We all live, we all die. It’s the inevitable and there’s no way to stop it. Ever. Not even if you smell really, really great. Or have great taste in cardigan sweaters. It’ll continue for a certain, unknown period of time, and it’ll eventually stop. Sometimes it gives you clues beforehand that your journey might be coming to a close soon. And sometimes it gives no warning and that’s it. Done. You’re out. And what’s left? Everything. Every fucking thing. It’s never the end.

Each of our journeys are short in the grand scheme of things. But the things we create are what’s left behind for others, for eternity. So though life is in and of itself, ephemeral for each of us, it really isn’t. It lasts forever. In dreams. In words. In lyrics. In writings. In poems. In movies. In pictures. In memories. In candy bars. What?

I was sitting on my floor tonight going through all of my records – I have an unhealthy amount, and I love them more than I love you. Some of these artists astonish me every single time I listen to them. I’ve listened to each a couple hundred times over, but the amazement is always true. A lot of these artists like Louis Armstrong, Gloria Lynne and Smilin’ Joe left their marks behind decades ago, but they’re still here and now, though they are physically not. Sometimes I want to be angry about the human condition. My grandma passed away recently. She was no ordinary woman. She was the end-all, be-all of amazing women. She was in a league of her own and she was my everything. I was mad, I’m not sure who I was mad at, but I was mad that she left. Anger aside, I’m left with a bazillion memories of her that stay with me forever…or until I’m gone, which is the point of this I suppose. Life is ephemeral. And everything we do in our time here is done with some sort of brevity. So though loved ones and amazingly talented people pass every day, it is the things they left behind that give me some sort of ironic appreciation for the ephemeral brevity that is life. It is to be cherished. So do it. Right now. Get the fuck out of here and go appreciate something!

A lot of my recent posts have been absolutely dreadful, not just in a literary sense, but their entertainment value as well. They’ve been angry gibberish composed of nothing but misery, frustration and pessimism. I’m done with that for awhile. Here’s why – I hit some level of rock-bottom recently and have been slowly fingernailing (it’s a real word) myself up my self-built walls of garbage. That little bit of positivity it took to do so has paid off, at least currently. The funny thing about hitting rock bottom is that it isn’t fucking funny at all, in any way, shape or form, assholes. It’s the anti-funny. That’s what’s funny about it. But, when you’re there, you gain a different perspective, one that only has two directions – fall further and indefinitely, or, climb the fuck back up toward positivity. I did. And throwing out just a little bit of said positivity out into the Universe has landed me a bone, a metaphorical ‘it’s-going-to-be-fine-you-miserable-idiot’.

If there’s any credit to be given to myself it’s that my passion outweighs every last thing collaborating me. Turns out I’m more passion about life than I thought. Even when I’m genuinely miserable, I still love my life and the little that I have. I started to appreciate that a little more recently because, well, I didn’t really have much else to do. Just throwing out that positivity to the Universe has made a world of difference, ironically. I landed a new job that will save all of my financial issues. I’ve become a lot more content with being content, rather than reaching toward goals that aren’t realistic. I’ve also recently met people that have given my darkness a forever lit candle. Also, that’s the lamest line I’ve ever typed in my life. Ever. Don’t judge me. But seriously, met a lot of good people recently. One in particular has made me realize that life really isn’t as bad as I sometimes allow myself to think it is. Or, maybe this person just makes the shitty times worth trudging through with said person’s company along the way. I don’t know. What I do know, is that I’m happy. And even if this person is a temporary placement sent to me by some higher power or the Universe itself, it’s been reiterated, as it has time and time again, that everything happens for a reason. Maybe this person was supposed to meet me at this point in my life, the lowest I’ve ever been, simply to give me a reason to pick myself the fuck back up and kick life in the fucking teeth. And I have. And I will. Regardless what happens with this person, I’ve regained energy and a commitment to myself to STAY FUCKING HAPPY.

Don’t confuse yourselves, though. In no way am I saying that this person is my savior and I’m picking myself back up from depression because of said person. That, in and of itself, would make me weak and would negate everything I’ve just typed. I’m simply saying that 1) this person is fucking amazing, and 2) I wholeheartedly believe that this person and I were meant to meet exactly at this point in my life for a specific reason. And I’ll tell you, Universe, I’m thankful and will not let a good opportunity go to waste.