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Basically, I’m a slob.

I have reached that point that I reach every few months — when I would rather just burn my place down and rebuild from the ashes than deal with cleaning. You’d think that I could keep up with it and not arrive at this point, but life just keeps happening. Once again, empty containers of whatevers are strewn about the living room, my boxes and out of place furniture have formed small tracks which I can use to get from room to room like some sort of small rodent, making paths in the brush.

Worst is the dishes. Without a dishwasher or motivation, the pile of dishes has become nearly unmanageable. I fear that I will find life forms within the structure that will need to be dealt with.

I don’t know how I let my house go like this. I hate that about me and hate that my cats have to live with it. I can’t have people over and have to greet friends at the door, denying them entrance. I want that to change. I have been making great strides in my life, but the next thing I want to alter about myself is my ability to keep up with my home. Only then will I be able to feel comfortable having a relationship with someone. I couldn’t bear to invite someone over as it is. And my idea of a great time spent with someone is watching movies at home…

*insert continuation of this rant here*

So, if anyone has suggestions — helpful suggestions — on how to improve this part of myself, comment with them. That said, I am going to clean a little.

25 March 2007Continue Reading

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It was March 10, 2002 — a Sunday morning. I was at work, shelving a cart in the corner of the store where the history, biography, & social sciences sections were kept. I had paused for a moment to read the inside flap on the book.  I had taken entirely too much time looking decided to place it on hold for myself so I could look at it later. I took it to the front and placed it on the employee hold shelf. Bettina announced that I had a phone call. I knew it would be my parents and it irritated me that they could never figure out to not call me before we open.

When I answered the phone, it was my dad. There were no pleasantries; he simply said I needed to leave work and drive to Stillwater immediately. Not really catching on to the tone, I informed him that I couldn’t leave work, but wanted to know what was going on. “Mimi has been taken to the hospital and is probably not going to make it.” That still breaks my heart. My brain went numb and my eyes blurry. I said I would leave and be there as soon as possible. As soon as I hung up, I went back to the office, told Bettina I needed to go, and fell apart. She comforted me, telling me not to worry about work and instructing me to do what I needed to do. I left work, went home to let Justin (who was my roommate at the time) know where I’d be, and rushed to Stillwater. On the way, my cousin Becky called to make sure I knew what was going on.

I arrived in Stillwater about an hour and a half after the initial phone call. As I walked in, I was met by my mom, who was bawling. The entire tone of the house was energetic and sad — each family member’s arrival starting the tears over again.

“Mimi” is my mom’s mom, Bonita Christine “Chris” Tucker. She was the matriarch of our family; the force that connected us all and kept us together. She orchestrated every event that brought us together, reminded us to connect with one another, and nagged us all mercilessly. Mimi was an extremely confident woman who knew who she was. She was totally devoted to her husband, her God, & the other members of her church. She was generous with her money and her time, but was never afraid to tell you her opinion on what you were doing. Evidently, there wasn’t enough money to be made as a writer to justify her supporting it. I cherished talking to her. I would sit with her and talk about people for hours… she knew absolutely everything going on in Stillwater. But it never seemed like gossip. Mimi was a very good-hearted person.

By the time I arrived in Stillwater, she had passed away. After the watery greetings from my mom and aunt, I settled in with my brothers and cousin — those I always hang out with when everyone is together. Star, my grandparents’ cat, was the hero of this story. Even though he was unable to save her, he did what he could. Apparently, he went to my grandpa (Papa), woke him up, and led him to where Mimi had fallen. We suspect either a massive heart attack, stroke, or aneurysm, as her arms were still by her side and she hadn’t tried to stop her fall.

Bonita
on viewing my Mimi’s body

She looks perfect,
her familiar red dress matched
beautifully with the soft pink lining,
the red heart draped around her neck.
As if she’d just come in
from church for a nap —
a lazy Sunday afternoon,
shy lay resting — calm, peaceful.
Tears stream down my grandpa’s
too often stoic face.
His wife — the woman he
devoted his entire life to —
his best friend.
“She really is a beautiful lady.”

Brian Fuchs 3.12.2002

That week was surreal. I still don’t remember much of it. Of course, it culminated in a beautiful funeral. I had gone back home to Tulsa to get some clothes and for the funeral I chose the shirt she had just given me for Christmas. The shirt was a gold knit with a collar. I wore khaki pants. I wouldn’t have felt right in dark colors and I really wanted to celebrate life. The funeral was made that much more difficult when I discovered that my cousins’ nanny was sitting with them and I couldn’t sit with my immediate family because of it. Furthermore, I ended up next to my mom’s friend, who had apparently not figured out that I was an adult and kept talking to me as if I were a child.

When the funeral was over, my two best friends came up to me and asked if I was okay. I had really been fine all week, only crying on Sunday morning. I shook my head no and buried myself in their arms and cried. I felt like the world had just ended. A few days later, I left on a trip with them, where I was able to sort through things slowly throughout the next week. Which isn’t to say I felt any better about it all.

untitled (‘100 days’)

It’s been one hundred days
and if feels like it all happened
just this morning.
I’m starting to realize she’s gone —
finally missing her and ultimately
knowing I can never see her again.

I hate that morning —
when Mimi died.
Loneliness overtook me and
pain was invited in.
All I needed was a hug
from Bettina, JD, Travis, Becky,
Mom — but they weren’t there.
I’m cold inside and sad.
I miss her.

Brian Fuchs 6.18.2002

It took a long time to accept that Mimi was gone. I imagine I will have that hole in my heart for the rest of my life. I haven’t even been able to return to her house for any length of time and feel comfortable. That always makes me feel guilty because I do want to visit Papa, who is remarried, but there is too much history in that place. But it is also important to remember that I got to know Mimi. I had the amazing opportunity to be a member of a family with her at the head.

That is when I first realized my life had become about death. It had only been 447 days since my grandma Fuchs (“G”) had passed away. Since then, I have lost 2 friends and 2 great-grandmothers. I am ready to have my life defined by something else; be defined by love or friendship or family. I have felt rather selfish about these deaths over these past 6 years. They are important to me, but moving on is much more important.

21 March 2007Continue Reading

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This is little more than a series of ramblings that are only remotely connected to one another.

The mind is fascinating to me — what I really mean to say is unsettling. Creativity, knowledge, wisdom, intellegence, instict, intuition, memory. Such an array of abstracts that make each of us who we are. I was watching TV earlier and a notion was mentioned that has supplanted the inane items I was thinking about at the time. “We focus so much on the tangible, we have forgotten about the intangible.”

This applies to my life as much as anyone else’s. I don’t know why I needed a show to remind me of it. Perhaps I didn’t; it is entirely possible that I needed to be reminded of that today and the events were all set in place to make certain I received the message.

My life is in contant flux — morphing from one thing to another. I spend only a few months as each version of myself before moving on to the next… sometimes the change is so constant and uneventful that I am never the same person from one day to the next. I think that could apply to anyone, as these are fairly universal concepts. Two things really interested me on this subject. The first is why a person remembers events in the way they do. The second, friendships and their evolution (which I intend to cover later).

As I recounted in my previous post, I can remember certain moments throughout my life. I can remember making a girl cry in 3rd grade. I don’t know what I did though. I remember watching one kid kick over another kids cardboard brick construction when I was in kindergarten — I also remember waiting in line to go to the restroom and being kissed by a girl in my class. But the rest is a blur. I remember having the cast put on my legs, but don’t remember not being able to walk.

I don’t know what my purpose is for writing this. I guess I just started thinking about things a lot lately. This current version of myself is a creation of introspection rather than external events, so perhaps that is why I am thinking so much. I know a lot has to do with my high school reunion coming up. If I make it (and I intend to), I don’t really have much memory of the majority of the people who are likely to remember me. That sounds conceited, but that isn’t quite the case. I’m just nice most of the time. People like that.

I am worried that I don’t remember enough, but one can hardly live in the moment and dwell on the past simultaneously. ADHD is a fun tool for pulling random thoughts out of your head, but a terrible tool for making valid points about those thoughts.

I fear that I will not find someone who has the patience for me and my many thoughts and who is intellectually interesting enough for me to relate to. I don’t think being particular is wrong, but it has left me alone for the past 27 years. Or perhaps I am overthinking… as usual.

I don’t get to relive yesterday. Maybe all of this is really about that. The less I remember, the more of my life is actually gone. I don’t want to wake up at 70, realizing I have been alone all my life and wondering when I could have changed who I am. That time must be now, but I don’t know if I have to correct tools.

Of the intagibles of the mind go, wisdom is the most important to me. It is vastly more important than memory, which is simply recollection of moments. Perhaps I need to stop obsessing over the lost moments and focus more on the experience of being me today and what I can learn from myself and from the people/places/things I encounter today. What lessons are worth carrying with me and inserting into my understanding of the universe? And I know I need shift my focus away from the tangible. What I can buy today is not important.

19 March 2007

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3+17+1997=10 or “Relax a little; one of your most celebrated nervous tics will be your undoing.” -Frank O’Hara

This might mean nothing to anyone but me, but it felt important to share it. Today, St Patrick’s Day, 2007, marks the 10th anniversary of me coming out to my friends as gay. It has been quite a journey, but this is an account of what happened before. To understand the full extent of where I am, it is important to first understand where I was. This poem by Frank O’Hara expresses it in ways I couldn’t.

February

The scene is the same,
and though I try to imagine
plinking starry guitars,

and while I spend my
time listening to a foreign
contralto sing the truth,

the earth is everywhere,
brown and aching. At first
it seemed that this life

would be different: born
again in someone else’s
arms, after seasons of childhood

and error and defense.
I thought freshly and tried
to change the color of my

habit. New metrics would be
mine in this excess of
love! but I was a braggart

to hope so. My old hurts
kept attacking me at odd
moments, after too many

songs, on public conveyances,
in the blue light of bars. Ah!
I cried, do not blame me,

save your temper for the
others! and at the same instant
in the same breath cried,

break me! I dare you, for
which of us am I? you will
break yourself! And this

became only too true, the
worst of all possible vistas,
my lone dark land.

–Frank O’Hara

That was me. It still is from time to time, wondering how my life is really different and hoping that I have really changed — grown. I was lost. I had desperately tried to force myself into someone I am not, agrily trying to “not be gay.”

The feeling that I was different started as early as 5 or 6. I didn’t know how, but I felt like there was something about me that wasn’t “normal.” What’s more, as a young child, I knew that there were things I needed to hide from my parents — things they wouldn’t understand. I don’t know how we come to these conclusions. My first crush on a boy happened in 4th grade, but I didn’t think much of it.

I remember a number of times during church activities, specifically Bible Bowl, when I would drift off into my own world of introspection, wondering how much love I would find in these people if they knew this awful truth about me. I pretended to have crushes, marking my papers with the most obvious name, hoping to be caught pining for one of my teammates. I quickly became outspoken over my disdain for the public education system’s willingness to teach homosexuality as acceptable. I was turning on myself and was only 14.

The one thing I took away from that part of my life was self-loathing. And I could have ended up with some great experiences and memories, but the pain of being something you don’t want to be was very difficult to deal with.

A couple years later, I found myself washing dishes daily at my first job. I had gotten in through a series of somewhat unusual events, but was enjoying it greatly. I had started to realize that I would have to face this part of myself. I couldn’t hide behind hatred any longer, but I was terrified at what that would mean.

The climate of the world for gays was very different in 1995 & 1996. From my teenaged perspective, it seemed like the dark ages. I didn’t want to indetify with them. There were no gay characters on television, no role models. If I were to accept being gay as who I actually am, I felt that I would be giving up; giving in to what I had been taught to believe is wrong. Furthermore, I was saying to the world that I accepted that I would have no place to fit in; no safe place to run to when life became too much.

Let me back up for just a second. I don’t actually remember my parents (or their parents) having ever spoken about the issue of homosexuality. I never had reason to believe they had thought about it at all. Neither do I recall any lessons in church concerning it. I remember lessons on love and compassion, but never about how wrong gays were. My lessons on this subject were from specific people, friends, who had “moral” objections to certain “lifestyle choices.” I didn’t want to be anything that would upset these people.

I was feeling rather exhausted about the whole issue and was no longer doing well in school. I spent my days worrying about turning into this pariah I didn’t want to be, all the while sitting in the car with my friends, or over at their house, a little removed from the group… from the situation. I was starting to feel like I was enormous, trapsing around people’s houses, hopind desperately to blend in and not be noticed, but failing. I started to discuss issues with my coworker and friend, hoping to find wisdom in her words. It turned out to not be so easy.

In June 1996, I made one of the weirdest mistakes of my life. I went on a class trip to France for 2 weeks. The teacher going with us was unable to attend at the last minute, due to a medical emergency, and I was left with a group of students, all a year older than me, who wouldn’t even talk to me or include me in their group… and the teacher wouldn’t be there. My 2 weeks in France would basically be on my own. And so they were. I befriended a few people from a group from Idaho, but basically did my own thing. As long as I was on the bus when I was supposed to be, nobody seemed to take much notice.

Everything was going great, until a rainy day in Paris. There wasn’t much we could go do that evening, but the guys I was sharing a room with went to hang out with the girls, so I was alone… with my thoughts… and having been in France for a few days, the newness having worn off, I was thinking about the same things that kept me sad and angry at home. That night I accepted it. I didn’t like it, but I realized that I couldn’t be anyone but who I am. The rest of the trip was very hard; I barely enjoyed myself. I would hang out with the bus driver, Kamal, or our tour guide, Arnaud, at almost every stop. I didn’t feel like I should be there anymore.

My biggest regret about that trip is not hiding my bitterness when I returned home. My family and friends were waiting at the gate to greet me; I was so happy to see them. But I was difficult and cranky and spoiled the mood for everyone.

I spent most of my senior year trying to convice people I was straight. But a huge weight had been lifted. The distraction that made the previous year so hard was gone, but I would eventually need to tell someone else.

Travis, one of my two best friends, had spent spring break in Mexico (I think), leaving myself and JD to spend a fun filled week of working more hours at our jobs. We did want to do something though, so we spent the week at my uncle’s cabin just outside of town. Travis returned that weekend and we all hung out on Sunday. I was a little down; Travis could tell. I drove home, talking to Travis on the CB (yes, it’s true) the entire way. He had followed me and pulled in behind me at my house. He and I talked about things. I wasn’t really ready to tell him everything, but I told him that I could never see myself marrying a woman and having kids with her. If felt like enough for that moment. He was very comforting, much more so than most friends. He told me that JD had asked if Travis thought I was gay. Travis laughed it off as a silly notion. I felt extremely exposed.

The next day was my favorite holiday of the year, St. Patrick’s Day. I don’t know why I love it, but I do. The first thing I did in my first class was to write a letter, expressing to both Travis & JD how I felt and about who I am. I told them of the many days, wanting to no longer live. I told them how painful it had been to let them down. And I told them that I am gay. I couldn’t face them, knowing that I was losing my two best friends.

I had an eye appointment and then work after school. I was almost finished at work when Travis & JD showed up. I tried to avoid them, but they seemed angry. I just walked out to the parking lot, letting them follow me. I intended to go home and forget the day had ever happened. But my car was missing. Defeated, I got into Travis’ car. We drove around a little; they told me they had gotten permission from my mom to keep me away all night. They told me that they didn’t care that I am gay, but they were angry that I had been so depressed and didn’t tell them.

Somehow, we ended up at Red Lobster, where they continued to assure me that they still loved me. It felt nice, but was painful at the same time. We drove around for a long time, talking (I was crying). I think I stayed at Travis’ that night. And that was it. It was done. I didn’t have to hide myself anymore. The last few months we lived in Stillwater were the happiest as a teenager that I can remember. Life had been so painful for me for so long.

A month later, Ellen Degeneres came out, bursting the doors wide open for gay men and women everywhere. It felt good to be a part of something from the begining. It still does.

I didn’t tell my family for a long time after this, but I will save that for another time. It deserves the same attention.

Today, I am very happy with who I am. It feels so good to be me and I am glad I came out when I did. I hope that there is a day when being gay doesn’t break children into secrecy. I hope that day comes soon.

St Patrick’s Moon

St Patrick’s moon shone
gently on us as we left
Texas, back to our lives.
The brief stays seem sad
and this was the last visit
with all of us single.

St Patrick’s moon shone
on the new baby — born
to make some forget
the tragedy its birthday
marked — the sadness of
this anniversary of death.

St Patrick’s moon shone
through the just-cracked blinds
on Laurisa’s face — the new
life growing within her body.
More family, more joy,
more love to make us forget.

St Patrick’s moon shone
through the rear window of
JD’s car onto my face as
I smiled. My life seems
to be getting closer to real.
I laughed a little because
life can be so wonderful.

Brian Fuchs (3.17.2003)

17 March 2007Continue Reading

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As promised, this should explain my feelings on my recent switch to a vegetarian diet. I would like to preface this briefly. This is my personal belief and I am not preaching this way of life as right for everyone. Each person brings their own set of beliefs with them through life, and they are just as valid as mine. I offer this as explanation for my own actions. I do not judge others for making different choices with their lives.

I feel obligated to explain myself. Let me try to make sense of what is going on in my head, but don’t be surprised if contradictions arise, as my brain is rarely at peace with itself. This will also be a bit longwinded.

In January, I made the decision to stop eating meat. So, I stopped. I failed to take into account that so few people make this life choice. I forgot that there would be plenty who would not understand and who would forget that I no longer consume animals. I had not planned out what I would say to those who questioned me. I had no speech prepared. What’s worse, I didn’t even have a clear sense of purpose.

It actually all started about twelve years ago. I had become interested in adopting a vegetarian diet back when I was in high school, but had great fears of alienation from my friends. A minor medical problem helped prompt me to follow through with my plans, since I was not supposed to eat fried foods or red meat. I slowly phased poultry, pork, & red meat out, opting for fish or non-meat choices. Slowly, I changed my diet, but never officially (or fully) eliminated meat from my diet. I simply repressed my reasons for cutting back and found that not thinking about it was easier than dealing with the moral dilemma.

Several years later, my convictions gone, I was once again eating beef. And I didn’t give any more thought to it. So much was happening in my life, and I was not the center of my existence for many years. This made it easy to not focus on what I felt or believed, worrying too often about how my decisions would affect my friends and family.

As long as two years ago, I was reevaluating my life and again considering cutting meat out of my diet. I think I needed to grow up to understand how right I believed that decision would be. Over the past year, I have tried varying degrees of not eating meat, trying to stop, but failing.

I was eating lamb when it dawned on me. I had an overwhelming need to purge the animal from my body — to remove it’s masticated carcass from within me. It made me cry. I couldn’t believe how barbaric it now seemed to have actually ordered slabs of an animal with thoughts and feelings. It just seemed so simple a solution too — don’t eat anything possessing intelligence.

I really was unsure of what I meant by this and how this would play out. I honestly expected to revert back to not giving my burgers a second thought. I considered eating fish, but couldn’t justify that until I had sorted out what my feelings were. I knew what I wasn’t willing to eat any longer: cattle, pigs, chickens, moose, sheep, turkeys, deer, cephalopods, etc. If it was having thoughts about something, it was off my menu.

So, that is the reason. I believe that it is wrong to continue eating meat when you believe that the animals you are eating can think and feel. I also feel that it is wrong to keep animals in buildings, feeding them genetically manipulated “food,” just for the convenience of having prey when we want it. I believe that we have evolved as a species to a point that renders the eating of meat archaic, barbaric, & unnecessary.

I welcome comments or messages on this subject. It is still a loose mass of barely solid concepts for me. It is coming together slowly and it just feels right. Thanks for taking the time to read this.

Here are a few quotes from others who got it:

One farmer says to me, “You cannot live on vegetable food solely, for it furnishes nothing to make the bones with;” and so he religiously devotes a part of his day to supplying himself with the raw material of bones; walking all the while he talks behind his oxen, which, with vegetable-made bones, jerk him and his lumbering plow along in spite of every obstacle. ~Henry David Thoreau

I did not become a vegetarian for my health; I did it for the health of the chickens. ~Isaac Bashevis Singer, quoted in You Said a Mouthful edited by Ronald D. Fuchs

I have no doubt that it is a part of the destiny of the human race, in its gradual improvement, to leave off eating animals, as surely as the savage tribes have left off eating each other…. ~Henry David Thoreau, Walden, 1854

A man of my spiritual intensity does not eat corpses. ~George Bernard Shaw

I have always eaten animal flesh with a somewhat guilty conscience. ~Albert Einstein

My refusing to eat meat occasioned inconveniency, and I have been frequently chided for my singularity. But my light repast allows for greater progress, for greater clearness of head and quicker comprehension. ~Benjamin FranklinContinue Reading

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Life can really slap you in the face sometimes. I got a gentle reminder that I am not in control on Monday. My brother called me at work; I knew something was wrong, since he had never called me at work before. “Don’t freak out,” he said, “but Dad had another heart attack. He is fine; they flew him to Mercy Hospital in [Oklahoma] City.”

Don’t freak out? Is it ever possible to not freak out when you are told not to freak out? Of course, the first thing I thought of is that I hope Mom doesn’t reach for a bottle. That just wouldn’t help anything, but knew that it was a strong possibility. Brent gave me all the information he had and told me that he would keep me posted. I was pretty much useless the rest of the day at work.

When I got home, I called Brent. Everything seemed to have gone smoothly. The heart attack started around 1:00 p.m. & by 3:45 p.m. they had finished putting in a stent at a hospital 60 miles away. My dad had wanted to play a joke on my mom at the hospital. He wanted the nurse to get him a toe tag and pull the sheet up over his head for her arrival. She would not have been amused, so I am thankful that the nurse refused. I do, however, find it funny myself.

I finally talked to him that evening. He sounded fine & had plenty of energy. What scares me is that it was a massive attack and his doctor said he was lucky to have gone to the hospital when he did; he might not have survived otherwise. I am not ready at all for something like that to happen. Not only can I not imagine losing one of my parents, but mine are both great friends and people I would want to know even if I wasn’t related to them. They are good people, wonderfully naïve about the indecencies in the world. Wholesome.

It has really made me think though. I guess this is a typical reaction — the assessment of the family bond and the closeness to those who just went through whatever ordeal. “Why?” has never been important to me. I really don’t care “why” events occur. My dad’s heart attack is no exception to that. It really doesn’t matter, what matters is “how do we keep it from happening again?” The doctor informed him, as doctors will do, that he needs to quit smoking. But in this case, he has a point… a strong one. The heart attack, in all of its ferocity, was brought on almost entirely because of smoking. Dad spends long hours working outside and is in excellent health in many respects. However, he does tend to cough a lot (more and more recently, I’ve noticed). I guess it is time to stop, if he can. And I hope sincerely that he can. He is too important to too many people.

Any blessings from this? Maybe. My brothers both have a tendancy to drop their kids off with my parents. I understand this. They have to make ends meet and you do what you can to struggle through with a young family. I get it. But Mom & Dad have both been pretty exhausted with it all lately. They’ve needed a break. Mom’s back needs some time & Dad just needs some time off for his mental health. Now, it seems they will get a little break. It is unfortunate that it had to happen in this way though.

And as if that wasn’t enough, Bradley is facing the end of his marriage. It has been coming for some time. When they first got married, Jess was great. I still think she is a good person and fun to be around. But she and Brad, who enjoyed a weirdly romantic & tumultuous relationship, have drifted apart rather calmly.

This would all be much ado about nothing if it wasn’t for the two kids. Brad & Jess have two boys, who are being used, as happens so often, to cause Brad more pain. He is repetedly denied seeing his boys by Jess, who has decided to move in with her mother, who is in the midst of mourning her husband, and who until very recently had nothing to do with the kids. Even now, her version of watching them is to take them to the neighbor’s house and have her watch them.

It angers me.

Bradley has a strong case for custody of those two boys, but I am afraid he will never try to make it, as he clings to hope that the marriage will survive. I just wish there was a better solution to the entire situation… that I would have confidence that I will know my nephews as they grow up. I am not so sure.

The boat has been rocked. We are in a cosmic reality show and all the viewers are waiting to see what we will do next. It is a great cliffhanger to the end of this season, but the choices we make in the near future could dictate entire decades of our lives.Continue Reading

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I am officially over being sad. That’s right, over it. Where has all this sadness gotten me? Tired, fat, unmotivated, uninteresting, bitchy, unfriendly, & bored. I have had it up to here (holding hand up to non-specific head part) with this crap!

I recently told a friend that I was sorry she had to see the me she sees because the one inside is so different. It was misconstrued, but easily. What I meant by that is that regardless of this outward façade, I am a very different person inside. My moods are different, my emotions are different, and yes, my body is different. There is nothing wrong with the way I look, but it isn’t reflective of the real me. I wish people could see the person I know, because that one is who I feel I am. I am sorry that they must settle for this imposter.

So, what am I doing about this? Anyone who has known me for any longer than 5 minutes knows that I lose track of things… forget to do routine tasks. I am famous for losing focus and being often lost out on a far tangent, too stretched away from the point to recover. This is my fatal flaw. But I can do it. It just requires that I write it down. If I can write these things out for a long enough time, I will encompass that next day when I feel motivated to do it again, thereby ensuring that I continue to do these whatevers. But it makes me feel terribly nerdy to refer to lists and schedules in my personal life to accomplish mundane tasks.

Vanity must die.

So, I’ve made the pact with myself. I have gathered advice from the few who were privileged with insights into my deterioration. I am determined to become a new me. Two weeks from now, this pact could be all but forgotten, but at the moment I really want to do this. We’ll see where this all takes me.

Thanks to everyone for being so kind. My life is full of the most generous people I have ever known and I appreciate every one of you.Continue Reading