you say tomato, i say you are sexually attracted to men

something about the rain in San Antonio, or maybe the ground--in that it (the rain) doesn't soften the ground--something about that whole tableaux (the rain hitting the ground for days and the ground resisting it's ability, it's physical duty, to soften under such treatment), well, it speaks to the nature of the people who live here. Surely, it can be explained by the lack of the sky's perspiration, sweat, over such a dry-hot clime, and the resulting stubbornness of the earth, like a hungry, overtired child refusing a peanut butter sandwich and a nap.

stubbornness, me so humbly thinks, is the key word. a resistance devoid of logic, given the situation. ignorance, some call it. intolerance, others. but a simple replacement of empathy, as an instinct, with stubbornness, is a fair way to explain some observable behaviors of the people one encounters in this city. so much for southern hospitality.

let me now, for specific reasons, give you reason to disregard my judgment of the ground and people of San Antonio, Texas. I have only been called a 'faggot' once in San Antonio. I have many times been called the same in the Chicagoland area. even since middle school. as recently as last spring, i was waiting for a bus when a car occupied by two young men drove by, the passenger with no provocation (save for some insecurity and maybe a need to be distractingly cruel in front of the driver, whom he may or may not have been secretly attracted to, though it's not my place to speculate) shouted 'faggot' at me. it's something i have grown accustomed to, sadly. i guess i just have that face.

when, though, now, today, i was driving by on base (Fort Sam Houston, home of the Combat Medic), at a required and strictly enforced speed of 20 MPH, i was called a faggot by one of two men, walking side-by-side on the sidewalk to my right, i had greater consternation. i was dismayed, though not surprised, anyway.

i suppose my judgment of those more 'stubborn' in Illinois is more focused on the people and not the place, because i love the place, and i am able to cast them off as rude or bad seeds or whatever cliche gets the comment to roll rain-on-duck-like off my back. and the fuck me part of it is that the people who insulted a stranger, me, today, are likely not from Texas. They are displaced soldiers, likely in training, i pray (because such immaturity can not, please, go past training into those who kill or save lives for us). but my lack of attachment to this hard earth part of the world causes me to cast a wider judgment on the place itself. a silly reaction stemming, in some don't-analyze-me-you're-not-my-shrink-so-drop-it way, from the hurt i like to think doesn't penetrate me but obviously does if i'm writing all of this just because someone called me a faggot.

21 days, a half hour ago. that many days before we head home, then to a new home.

it rolls off the tongue in an artful way, the word. you need a northeastern accent to pull off the term 'queer.' but faggot stings. especially if said in the bumpkin way, sharply: 'fay-git.' and it's sad how much it affects me in such an obvious way. i present myself as unhurt and flaccidly, yawningly, above such a pitiful attempt at insult. inside, i fume. it can last days, has lasted years cumulatively, the amount i am upset. it gives potency to a term used by such people who can easily be called insecure and more harshly be called inbred yokels.

i wish that my armor could only be penetrated by those who criticize real attributes of mine. but an off-hand shout by a stranger serves, here, to display how easily i am penetrated. my rant denouncing this behavior, well, it shows something. my own insecurity. my frustration over wanting to stop the car, put it in reverse, kick back to drive, hop the curb, and show the young man the power of the word he so loftily uttered. or is it my unwillingness to stand up for myself because of some over-intellectualized excuse that responding is just giving the man what he wants, even though that is just a bullshit way of masking my fear of physical confrontation?

but shit, who knows. who is the bigger man? the one who swells up in his chest when he belittles a stranger? the one who shrinks densely with anger when belittled? mostly, and most obviously, neither. it's something that has no bigger man. it, the name-calling, the stubbornness, the intolerance, the insecurity, the petty reaction, only serves to shrink humanity into some infinite regression. it makes us small.

the man steps to the side of the lectern, swirls his hand daintily from his brow downward as he bows to raucous applause. the audience acts out of reflex, slowly ingesting the sourness of his speech.

so much for posting every other day. i tend, in my insecurity, to assume that no one even reads this anymore.

we are winding down. 25 days until we head back into town. tonight, i am excited. thinking about the big move in a less stressful way, i can't wait to finally sleep in a bed with my wife. more than midday naps, anyway.

report day is August 2nd, and graduation is July 23rd. so, some time in between there, we will be in Chicago.

we will be keeping busy with shower and coming home/going away parties, eating good chicago food for the last time in a while, and seeing friends. if you are a friend, make a date. we only have a week.

i am starting to better understand how Colleen has been feeling the past six months. i miss getting to see Matt on the weekends, my brother and mom. i miss my dad telling me about bullshit around the building and whether or not our usual mail carrier must be on vacation. i miss work. everyone there. well, not everyone. i'll stop by.

Colleen and i found a place that serves chicago-style food. the dogs had bright geen relish, but they were not vienna beef. more like ball park. the italian beef tasted like a beef. by beef i mean fart. close enough though. a good pizza cannot be found.

ok. sort of scattered thoughts tonight. the point is that i miss chicago. i am nevertheless excited for the new home we will have in killeen tx for the next 3 1/2 or so years. don't worry, we will visit. fuckers. (mom, this last bit was not meant for you. the visiting part, yes. not the profanity bit.)

running water.

been a while. a stressful bit of time. but everything, now, is beginning to come more securely into place. my new place had some issues with not being totally livable when i first moved in. shower and sink were not installed. i survived for a few days by showering at another house. finally, the bathroom is completely finished. sink installed. i'm living like a real human being.

39 days until graduation. Fort Hood is in the middle of nowhere, but there are three Dairy Queens in the town adjacent. so, there's that. no Chipotle, though. we may have to go a distance for such luxuries.

Dave is in town for a wedding and various touristy things. about to go get him to hang out and all. tune in later for maybe a story or something about texas living. i don't know.

fuck texas.

so much to report. caps, be damned.

first of all, this weekend was just great. family was in town. terry and jess, ski and caitlyn, mom and dad in law, and jimmy. we did a lot of shit.

we saw the alamo, which was surprisingly cool. by cool i mean that the temperature inside was way cooler than i expected, but the place itself was sort of lame. by sort of i mean very. we went to the zoo, which was hot as shit, but supercool.

we ate at a few nice places. got shitty service at cracker barrel. and the food itself is never anything to write home about. cracker barrel has always sucked. it's the lame waiting room with all of the lame shit to buy that wins people over. the food is less than mediocre. the service? ahh, the service. let's just put it this way, i could serve at the cracker barrel and nobody would blink an eye.

also, this weekend, we went to the mall. not a bad mall, actually. we saw robin hood, which was awful. but i tend to want to keep  that a secret so i can recommend it to people i hate. we went mini-golfing. i got second by one point. i had stomach issues though, so i blame my score on my urgency to finish.

colleen and i made the most amazing homemade cinnamon rolls ever. cinnabon can suck a dick.

we probably did a bunch of other shit i cant remember. there was a lot of walking around and the riverwalk was there somewhere. a lot of fun, though. that's the point.

would i rather spend the weekend in my bed with my wife watching bad movies and rifftrax? well, yes. but it's nice to have some variety. plus, i learned this weekend that i quite like my in-law family. terry is hilarious, and a great story teller. jess is down to earth in a scary, "where did you come from" sort of way. mom-in-law is just awesome. she keeps the peace and makes me feel welcome, no matter how lost i get us. dad-in-law is just like my dad in so many ways, so i feel, you know, okay around him. like my dad.

colleen, my amazing wife, is just extraordinary. she puts up with my nervous driving fits. she makes every boring event (walking slowly through the alamo, etc.) more fun than anything. as long as i am with her, i will enjoy absolutely anything. it was a great weekend because she was there to high five me every time we made a zoo pun, or an alamo pun, or an applebee's pun, or anything at all. she keeps me happy, keeps me from wanting to smoke. the best wife i've ever had.

in other news. i have been kicked out of my room in this god forsaken house. the main reason is that i don't do my dishes until the morning. (by the way, i am wishing now that we had signed some sort of agreement that says you can't kick me outt just because i don't talk to you or i'm not friendly.) also, the dude who lives here, danny, has a problem with the fact that i have my wife over.

but no, he didn't say anything to me about it. he told his dad, the owner of the property. he doesn't want me to have my wife over for a few hours a day, even though he is usually not even here. the only reason i moved to san antonio was to have my wife over. and he doesnt want me to leave dishes in the sink, which i wash every signle morning(he hasn't washed a single dish that i have dirtied, nor has he been left without dishes to use). he leaves pizza boxes sitting in the livingroom for days and days until i throw them out. i take the trash out every day. his trash, that attracts bugs. i stay in my room, and i use the kitchen, and i have my wife over, and that is it. i am a bad tenant.

and he didn't say a word to me. he had his father come by and tell me to leave this morning. his father threatened to kick my wife out of the army because he knows people he can call. i would love to hear that conversation. "her husband waits until morning to do the dishes. she is not fit to defend our country." he also gave me a whole rant about this house being a christian house and there should be no fornication. i won't get into that. no contract though. so what can i do?

fucking texas. why did i think this was a normal place?

i found a new place and i am leaving shortly to move in. i have everything packed in the car, again, and i will hopefully live with decent people who don't consider it inappropriate for me to see my wife for a few hours a day. and i will sign a GD contract.

address to follow soon.

Fort Home.

Let's talk about Texas.

Texas is not the south. Yes, it is in the southern part of the United States, but it is not the south. South is Georgia, South Carolina, Alabama, Mississippi: places with strong surviving factions of the klan, white towns next to black towns. Yes, I admit, in Texas there are more pick-up trucks than one man can count, and a meth addict can be spotted outside your local grocery store asking for gas money (I didn't know, but wouldn't be surprised, that gasoline is an ingredient in meth). And there are probably a good amount of klan members in Texas. But shit, man, it's a big state! There's bound to be a couple klansmen. It's not GD Atlantis!

The point is, Texas is not the south. Texas is more like the west, but not even that. Much like Chicago is not Illinois, Texas is not the United States. The people here don't wear overly tight pants and shop at boutiques. If they do, they belong somewhere else (see "Dallas is not Texas," yet to be written). People here wear shirts in public, and if they wear wife-beaters, they are of a lighter color than their skin (see "Die Hard"). Texas is something big and beautiful. Smart, and not GD backward! It is unfair to group this state in with the south. Texas screams "Fuck you!" just the way I like.

To the point, ignoring that nonsensical rant above, we found out today that Texas will be our home for the next 3 or however many years. Fort Hood. Right in the middle. Just far away from every big city that a trip is not out of the question. It will be amazing.

We are already planning the move and looking at places to stay if we can't find a place on base. Something beautiful is settling into place. Our married life in a single home. A real first home together. I can't express how excited I am.

driving versus arriving

I am thinking tonight of that first night I spent on the road, heading to Texas. The drive that day was wonderful. No stress or fatigue. Just the excitement of getting a mile closer to my wife every minute.

She called me around 6 or 7 to check on my progress. I was somewhere in Oklahoma, deciding that I would drive farther than expected. The progress I made that day, along with the news that I would be able to see Colleen Friday night, caused me to make the decision to turn a three-day trip into two days.

It meant that instead of spending the evening in the Dallas area with old friends, I would end up driving through Dallas in the A.M. and arriving in San Antonio at 3.

There was that moment on Thursday night though, where GPs took me off the interstate and onto a 60mph road. I told myself that I would stop at the next Days Inn I saw. Then I saw one and passed it. I was too excited. I passed two Days Inns, listening to David Sedaris audiobooks, thinking about how every mile driven at night is one less to drive in the morning. One mile closer to a new home, my wife, the new life we have started.

And now it's been three weeks. Our new life involves a lot of cooking and eating. Our amazing chemistry in the kitchen seems to mirror our life together. Planning meals, preparing, completing them. Still, though, the eating is never as fun as the cooking. And maybe it's because that's where we are right now. We are cooking, preparing, working on some great meal not yet fully enjoyed. Still in training.

Don't get me wrong, the meals are delicious. We are excellent cooks. But the meals might not taste as good as when we make them in our own home, eat them on our own dishes, then digest them in our own living room.

The excitement that kept me going that first night of driving has not gone away. Every day is more exciting. We're still working towards some destination, but, you know, I love road trips.

Fucking no smoking restaurant

Apparently I love to cook. It's all I do lately.

Today I made chicken satay with grilled vegetables and an amazing peanut sauce. Yesterday I butter-fried strip steak and twice-baked potatoes. I have grand ideas for the weekend. The food itself is impressive without being difficult to prepare. But most of all, I love being in the kitchen, chopping, zesting, stirring, etc.

It's something fun.

This has been a great week. I get to see Colleen every night for a couple hours. It's just enough time for me to quickly finish whatever meal I spent the day preparing, us to eat said meal, and a bit more time to lie around and catch a moment of laziness. Those two hours are the only bit of the day worth writing about. The rest of the day has a lot of grocery shopping and mariokart.

In other news, I hate waking up in the morning and not just lighting a cigarette. I hate getting out of the shower and not just lighting a cigarette. Meal after meal, I hate not just lighting a cigarette. And now, about to get to bed, I hate not lighting a GD cigarette.

Good night.

mondays with barbasol

i did something.

i'll get to that.
i've decided now to revert to my old style and not capitalize the beginning of sentences. just take note of the periods. i hope they will suffice.

before i get to it, the thing that i've done, let me tell you about my week.

it has been a bit of time since i last wrote. i told you about applying for jobs and fixing the car(Frank, from here on out), and such. Frank is running like a dream. well, like a chevy dream. you know.

this weekend was the most amazing few days i have had in a good long while. i picked my wife up on saturday morning at 7:30AM, and we spent the entire day together. we were lazy, we went so many places, we watched tv. we did so much. you don't know how great a day it was. let me explain.

the normal day with Colleen is a weekday. she is released at 6pm and i meet her at 6:15 or so. we race to my home and spend some quality time, have some fast food dinner, and i take her back by 8:30. we take some time to lie in bed and pretend we aren't counting the minutes. but those few moments themselves are amazing anyway.

so a full day. over 12 hours, is a gift from the heavens.

we had a great time, saturday, driving into the actual heart of san antonio to find a chick fil-a. it wasn't there. fucking shitty gps. but on the way we noticed a thai place, so we went there. it was very decent.

so much else happened on saturday that i won't say because, come on, you blood suckers, some shit is just for us. big shit though. shit you wish you could know about. truly amazing stuff.

sunday, we prepared food. we did other stuff too, but all i can remember is being in the kitchen with my wife. she prepared guacamole and fruit salad as i chopped veggies and cooked meat for fajitas. i remember the preparation of food more than the meal. only with my wonderful wife, colleen, can the cooking be more satisfying than the eating.

and i think of the metaphor of the dance. the song. if the object was to get to the end, then the fastest player would be the winner. but the object of the song, the dance, is not to finish. it is the dance itself that is the point.

so yeah, i love my wife. she is a great dancer.

getting to the news. i did something.

i shaved. all of it. the soup strainer and all.

Stand by.

I'm losing my pale.

I spent yesterday getting work done on the car. There is a Firestone on base, and I made a noon appointment to replace the serpentine belt and get new brakes. The car was done at 6:30. I brought a book along, expecting having to wait a couple hours. Trouble is, I left it in the car, then gave the keys to Firestone, so it served no purpose.

There were no chairs in the Firestone for me to use, so I sat outside at a picnic table under a tree. I got lunch, sat, went to pee, sat, sat, sat. Colleen got released at 6pm, so I walked over to see her and get dinner. Her foot is injured, so walking is not exactly fun. We caught a cab to get dinner at the bowling alley on base. Did you know, by the way, that every Army base seems to have a bowling alley? Anyway, we ate dinner, got the car, and paid very close to 500 for the whole deal.

Apparently, the brakes were fucked. Needed new rotors and all that jazz. The belt, with labor, cost 100. But there's no more squealing. So the money was well spent, but it still sort of takes the air from your lungs for a minute as you hand it over.

The sitting and waiting wasn't as horrible as one might imagine. The only downside is that I apparently got brutally sunburned. The face is pink and all, but my neck resembles a radish covered in blood . . . and other really deep red stuff. I'm having trouble with the similes today.

Until next time.

good thing i brought my four-color pens.

someone's got a case of the mondays. i missed glenn beck today due to the extended post-pizza nap i took, and it just threw everything off.

but seriously folks. i applied for two jobs today. a local community college is looking for writing tutors for the summer. it's the perfect job for me. works with my resume, which i have to update. let me say this. updating a resume is the least fun activity known to me-man. it's level with hot-poker sodomy. i hate it. and my last resume was saved on my old computer, which crashed, so i need to create one anew. it blows. but the college job required an online application, and no resume is required. i will bring one if i get an interview, though. probably a good idea.

the second job i applied for is at Bill Miller BBQ. it's a small bbq joint about 2 blocks from my house. if both jobs pay similar, i would rather work at the bbq joint. for one obvious reason. i know how to get depressed at the poor grammar of America's youth and the future of our nation. i do not, though, know how to make good brisket.

so, we will see what happens.

there is this new flavor changing gum i have to try. science never ceases to amaze me. i mean, it's one flavor, then it changes to another flavor? are there computer chips in there or what? makes me want to put my hand over my heart as the national anthem plays in my head. similar to the feeling i got when i learned that kfc was replacing its buns with pieces of fried chicken.

goodnight, fellows.

Bugs, Bruises, and Big Bob.

Apparently, screened windows are for yankee faggots.

The weather is inordinately cool today in San Antonio. Currently 70 degrees. It's a perfect day to open every window in the house and get a good breeze running through. Some fresh air. But there's something about Southern Texas not everyone may know: the bugs are big--and great enough in number to fill out their own census forms. Flies cause bruises.

So yes. No screens. There is not a single screen on a window in this house. Birds could just hop right in. A curious squirrel perhaps. It seems bizarre to me.

Okay, nothing else to say really.

Okay, one thing. If you're ever in the San Antonio area, Check out Big Bob's Burgers on Harry Wurzbach Rd. It's a fascinating place. Now, I have been to Radio Shack, but it's not really a shack. More of a traditional store. Recently, in fact, they've taken to shortening the title to The Shack, as if it were some local hang out for the teens. I'm not even sure they sell radios anymore. Who buys radios? Anyway, I attribute Radio Shack's lack of ability to expand in size from shack to, say, a Circuit City, to its poor name choice. But I am way off point.

Yes, there are places with shack in the name, but they rarely resemble shacks. Joe's Crab Shack is simply a large restaurant. Shack's don't have tablecloths.

But Big Bob's Burgers does not have shack in it's name, and it is the argument of this writer that such a label would never be more appropriate. Big Bob's Burger Shack also has a bit of a ring to it.

The roof of this "restaurant is made of corrugated steel. It is lit almost entirely by christmas lights wrapped around the support beams holding up said roof. The walls used to be white, but a thick layer of grease and dirt give the atmosphere a certain indefinable charm. You order your food in an area similar to a small town pawn shop, but instead of old golf clubs, wedding dresses, and the occasional live grenade, behind the glass is a filthy kitchen with filthy people cooking filthy food.

But the food. Good gravedigging christ, the food is something else. Fries are arguably the best ever. The burgers are large and have a confidence to them that suggests, "I could give a shit if you like me. I know I'm the shit." And that's the ultimate feeling one is left with after dining with Big Bob. There is so little about the place to impress the customer. There is aquite a bit that would frighten a customer. And that's the sort of attitude I enjoy in my burgers.

I can imagine a super low budget commercial. Paying by the second, Big Bob would have a 5 second commercial. It would be him, standing in front of the shack, wearing a loose, stained t-shirt that he got in the mail from Marlboro, and he would simply say: "Big Bob's Burger Shack. Parsley is for queers."

one great week down.

It's been a week since I arrived in San Antonio to be with my wife. I can't accurately express how great the week has been. Nothing incredible has happened. We've done no exciting things. But I am here, and close to Colleen, and happy.

Colleen likes Whataburger. This makes me happy. Sonic has yet to win her over, but it will, maybe.

I have gotten to see Colleen five out of the seven days I've been here. Tonight will make it six for eight. Before this, the number was two out of some three months. Still, we have spent more days apart than together since we were married, but the disparity is surely shrinking. By the end of our first year of marriage, we will be on the good side of the ratio.

As for sleeping in the same bed, well that might take a bit longer to even out.

There is a cleaning woman at my house right now. Apparently we have a cleaning woman.

A new guy is moving in some time in the next week.

So yeah. One week down, 11 or so to go. Enjoy your National Prayer Day. That was today, right? or yesterday? Well anyway, pray your knees off.

It's funny cooking for yourself. I have cooked, yes, but always with the limited tastes of my dad in mind. Now, I can make whatever I want, and I can experiment, because I am the only one to have to suffer through it if it doesn't turn out.

Monday, I marinated a skirt steak in sriracha, garlic, and olive oil. I then butter fried it and put it on corn tortillas with homemade guacamole and fresh spinach. Tonight I fried catfish and slapped it on some flour tortillas with a homemade corn salsa(fucking amazing corn salsa) and sweet potato home fries. Something about Texas makes me want to eat everything on tortillas.

Last time i was in Texas I lost a lot of weight. Maybe the drugs had something to do with it. Maybe the priority of cigarettes and beer over food had something to do with it. But maybe it was just the opportunity to be on my own. I was 146 lbs when I left TX in 2005. I remember the number.

Right now I'm in the high 180s. But right now I'm in Texas, I am relatively on my own. I have all the time in the world, and all I do is sets of push-ups and sit ups and prepare elaborate meals for one. I have yet to go out and run because the heat is like hell and balls. Plus, I don't wish to get a tan.

I need a GD cigarette. I sometimes punch the air. I sometimes walk in a tight circle in my room. I sometimes squeeze my head with my palms and laugh in a very insane way. I don't smoke though. And it fucking sucks.

Until the next post, go fuck yourself, you fucks.

No smoking within 15 feet of a grumpy bastard.

I'm in San Antonio, sitting in the room I will be inhabiting for the next few months, and I need a cigarette. I stopped smoking on Saturday, and I am in a bad fucking mood.

This will be a quick update.

I had a great weekend with Colleen. We ate delicious, unhealthy food, watched tv, unpacked a bit, did laundry. It was the best weekend I've had in months.

My roommate Dan seems nice enough. He is a project manager for some construction company, so he is rarely home. When he is, he is pleasant enough. Although on Saturday night, I might have overheard him taking advantage of an extremely drunk girl. I am not entirely sure. Well, all I know is there was an extremely drunk girl over, and what happened I don't know. Maybe he gave her a cup of coffee and a ride home.

The other roommate is moving out today. His wife graduated from AIT this morning and they are packing. I never caught his name, so I just call him Bro. He's from California, and he acts like it. He has this Bill & Ted laugh that he employs after every sentence. It's precious.

I have nothing of great import to impart. Later.

Written from La Quinta Inns and Suites, San Antonio, TX.

When I started on my trip to Fort Jackson, South Carolina to watch my wife graduate from Basic Combat Training, I happened upon an accident that must have occurred less than a minute before I passed. It was 3 AM (I got an early start on a long drive), and I was less than a half hour into my journey, just about to pass into Indiana. There was construction on the road, so two cramped, uneven lanes were surrounded tightly on either side with large concrete barricades. The left lane had a shoulder about four feet wide. I have no idea how it happened, but around a sharp corner I saw an SUV facing perpendicular across the left lane, its front end smashed against the barricade, and smoke was just beginning to rise from the crumpled hood, like Snoop Dogg slowly letting bluntsmoke pour from his mouth. The point is, timing and random circumstance can sort of fuck your mind a little.

I could have been in the left lane and turned the corner, smashing unavoidably into the driver's side of the vehicle. I could have arrived a few moments earlier and been involved in the initial crash. Most importantly, I could have taken the smoky, ominous sight as some sort of, well, omen, and interpreted it as a reason to turn back. Those who know me well enough can trace a clear pattern of promptly justifying inaction, or at least limited action (see: all major life decisions -- or lack thereof -- 2000-2009). The funny thing about the accident is that I viewed it in a wholly different light than I would have guessed. I didn't even realize it until I reflected on it weeks later.

This, me, I, is, am the person who decided to drop a college speech class because I had run out of xanax. The one who allowed a flat bike tire to go unfixed, although I had a new innertube in my closet, so I would have an excuse to turn down a friendly invitation to a miles-long ride for which I had long since lost the shape. I would wake up 40 minutes later than normal and call in sick because "It's going to be one of those days." Any excuse. I mean ANY.

There was a car stopped in front of the SUV and the driver was just stepping out as I passed. I guessed he was more likely part of the cause of the accident than a simple good Samaritan. I arrived in Columbia, SC at 8:30 that evening, driving roughly 18 hours. I didn't think about the accident except to recant it dryly as an interesting tidbit on my journey. But weeks later I thought back. Weeks later means last week, as I was packing and preparing for another long drive, this time to the west, where god calls us. I thought about the accident that started the trip. It was something empowering. This last sentence sounds ridiculous. Maybe not empowering. Affirming. Re-affirming? Something. The opposite of discouraging and frightening. Yes, something like that.

I felt, as I passed luckily, a little more invincible than the moment before. I had barely avoided tragedy, had zoomed passed like a golf ball through an impossibly dense grouping of tree trunks toward the green. A real momentum changer. (Golf is the best I can do when pressed for a sports metaphor.)

This trend of invincibility did not start on the Skyway. And I don't mean to suggest I think I am impervious to harm. I just feel less vulnerable, less afraid, than I used to. This constant fear of failure, pain, death -- heavily informed my decisions for a long, long time.

Drinking at home is safer and less embarrassing than drinking in a bar or at a party. Drinking itself is much easier than facing any social anxiety or . . . emotions that haven't been addressed for years. Criticizing others' work is much more comfy than putting my own up for scrutiny.

But something new has been occurring in my life. Most noticeably in the past 8 months or so. It started with one decision that was totally against my character. I asked someone out on a date. It was, I think, the first time ever. I am not one to scam for pussy or troll for tail or other gross ways to describe trying to get someone to agree to see you in a more intimate social setting. Never asked for a number, never gave one out. I always just sort of reluctantly fell into relationships. Mostly, I just avoided the issue altogether, finding self-loathing and blackouts way more advantageous.

And it was that one decision, the first move in a new direction, that has spurned something all new in my character: a slight diminuition of crippling fear. Since then, making decisions has slowly turned into a more participatory process, rather than having chosen the easy way out and just trying to come up with a good excuse for it. Now, fear is simply a variable, growing smaller with each choice I make for the better.

Now, one may think a good decision would have been to stop and help the passengers in the freshly crumpled SUV, but I'm not Jesus, people. I'm going one day at a time. I need to work up to shit like that. Right now, I'm focused on making people I know happy. Strangers are quite a few good decisions ahead of me.

But why did the car accident add to this feeling? Why does some random circumstance that I had no control over remind me of this new trend of taking control of my life? I guess it's because it made clear to me the change in my thought process. Old me would have at least pulled to the nearest ditch to stop and have a good cry, wondering if I should turn around. But new me didn't even blink. New me had already made the choice long before it arose.

I was on my way to see my wife, the one I asked out on a date. My first good decision. A real momentum changer.

The boring first post.

I have a room full of boxes and empty shelves. The list of things to do before I move to San Antonio is getting small. At this point, there are a few more "see you later" moments with a few more people, one more load of laundry, and then I'm off. So that's why we're here.

I intend for this to be the space where I keep in contact with those I won't see for at least the next few months, but possibly the next few years. I guess I will share day to day stuff, keep you posted on future plans as they develop, and digress about all the pointless shit you likely care nothing about. I'll also maybe do some storytelling. We will see. I'm embarking on a new thing now, in life, and in a new direction--I honestly have no idea what will happen here. However, I am ridiculously excited about what may happen. you know, in life. Not on this blogthing.

Next time I write, I will be in Texas with my wife. Stay tuned, bitches.