Focus!!

Okay, fine. I'm never going to be the next Chris Sabo, playing 3rd base for the Reds (wayta lose, boys!), goggles and all. Not a problem. I never liked dipping snuff anyway. And this will probably be a blog that G hates, one of those frequent moments when I'm like "I totally invented that years ago, he's such a thief!" (talking to the TV about some guy I've never met that actually wrote his idea down on paper).

Here's the thing. I'm a dreamer. I know that. I love that about myself, because it always allows me to see the good side of things, regardless of my situation. Except for Champaign... that was bad. Then again, I knew I had to get out and did, so I guess that's surviving, huh? My wife, one of her best friends (I don't want to make a declaration that will start a war), and I started watching this TV series called "The Colony." So awesome. It's a bunch of strangers that for some reason agree to go into an abandoned part of New Orleans (after Hurricane Katrina) and survive with whatever they can find for fifty-something days. And one thing became abundantly clear as I watched these people come together and overcome insurmountable odds to, for example, build a freakin' wind turbine to generate electricity.... I would die very quickly.

I don't think I've ever changed a car tire. I mean, I know how to, but... I don't think I've ever had to. And as much as I try to think of myself as anti-technology, I have a fancy touch phone with internet (I love the fishing game on it), a portable dvd-player, and I just got an ipod. So now it's supposed to be time for me to struggle some more with my identity and question my worth as a human being as I have done every few months since I could talk. My only real struggle during my life has been my inability to not equate my productivity with my self-worth. I don't know where I got it, but it seems to run in the family. I remember my brother calling me once and saying to me (and he's one of those brothers that is always in older brother, let-me-tell-you-what-I-think mode...and readily admits it) that he was fake. It was a moment I cherished as it gave me the opportunity to actually return the favor and offer him some advice... but I totally wasn't prepared for that... maybe "my hair is thinning," or "why can't I get my friends to call me back?" (you know, typical guy stuff that we all go through...I think). But not that. So I found myself in this mode of responding, and since it was such a bullshit answer and so predictable, even I could detach myself from the conversation and hear myself say "Oh, c'mon... you're not fake." Wow, really great advice. Really good insight, dude.

I remember clearly when I lost my most recent job before this (I have to clarify, or else those who know me would ask "Which one that you lost?"..sheesh) that people would always give me the same bullshit answer that I didn't want to hear at all. One that didn't actually make me feel better or worse, address my concerns, or provide any type of purpose or benefit whatsoever. Kinda like "Oh, c'mon, no you're not." Ugh, I still cringe. So I took to telling people before they could offer their bullshit "Oh, I'm so sorry." or "you'll be okay." to telling them in the same sentence "...but I'm already hitting the pavement and I've already gotten several calls", which wasn't true by any means. In fact, it was the first time in my life that my interviewing skills didn't carry me through quickly, even for jobs that I had not interest in taking. I just didn't want to hear people being sorry for me because, well, it didn't do anything to better the situation. The one thing I knew was that I couldn't feel sorry for myself because that would guarantee that I would never get a job. People smell desparation on you like a skunk. It stinks. So I knew if I let people tell me they were sorry, I would most likely end up on the couch for months feeling sorry for myself and not doing anything about it. The Mrs. wrote a blog today about feeling gratitude for those things we don't often recognize are amazing and just as likely to disappear as be noticed. "You don't know whatcha got till it's gone." Very true. Very, very true, which I only know because I've experience a thousand times in my life "Damn, I fucked up that opportunity." or "Man, I wish I could have that back."

But I digress. My point is that I had plans.... lots of plans. G and I had this running joke for a while where I'd say "My plan next week...." and we'd laugh because, well, I never follow through on plans. And I'd say it honestly every other day, not remembering that I had said it two days before about something completely different that... I hadn't pursued at all. It's the part of my character that bugs me the most, and which I have never been able to shake. I have three unfinished movies...somewhere on Hi-8 tapes in a closet. One of the movies I started shooting for a woman who wanted to get the word out on the lack of rights for gays and lesbians in rural Kentucky. And then she died and I thought "Wow, now this can be a posthumous diary that brings thousands of people together in honor of her".... and then I put it on a fucking shelf and it's still there. I applied for film school once and when I didn't have enough material I sent in as part of the application drawings I had done that were good. Pretty good. All I had to do as a followup was go back and request the materials back. Or provide a SSA envelope to insure I got it back, neither of which I did. So somewhere, someone has got original sketches and drawings that I invested hours into. I guess that would matter more if I were remotely close to being famous. I looked up on a website today different comics at this venue I got free tickets for. It's the only thing besides a $2 scratch and win I've ever won my entire life. And the comic I decided to go with has a bit about being the unluckiest person in the world (e.g. I went to the Harlem Globetrotters once as a kid.... they lost). It made me feel better. I relaxed a bit. Using my own logic, I'm not a famous actor, don't play sports, haven't been in the newspaper in the last few years... all of which, well, should make me the most unproductive and, therefore, worthless person I know.

It's that dreamer side of me. I'm damn good at drums. I shoulda made a cd. I have an idea for a movie I KNOW people would want to see. I need to write the screenplay. And now, like the dreaded "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," I'm starting to wonder why everyone is asking me if I'm nervous about being a Dad. Should I be? I've always dreamt about having kids. I can't wait for Little Buddy. It's gonna be awesome. I've been practicing in my head and planning how to be the best father ever for years and years. But I never wrote that screenplay. What if I DON'T do the things I plan to do as a father? What if I DON'T take my kid fishing enough and they never learn to appreciate the outdoors? Or what if they HATE fishing? Dear God, that'd be aweful.

So I'm starting to freak out a bit. I'm fine at this point in my life admitting that I'm never going to be super-stacked or, for that matter, remotely thin. That's fine. G laughs about how when I was a kid, I wrote in my journal (which had a total of four entries) that "I hate fat, especially on me." Is it any wonder I ended up fat? I guess that's where I started this blog. I had just finished eating a McDonald's meal, something I promised myself I would never do again. But I finally went to the bank and set up an account at the Credit Union(which I've been meaning to do since I started here 6 months ago), and was starving, so.... I made an exception. Am I just always going to find a reason not to follow through? I was vegetarian for a few years when I lived in Philadelphia and it was SO easy. I didn't even think about it. It was just who I was as a person. But now that I WANT to be... well, that's another story. So can planning to be a good father result in me BEING a good one? Am I just going to get frustrated after so many hours of screaming and finally give them the cookie or whatever started the whole thing?

I had this small freakout moment the other day while watching a movie when I thought "What if my kid thinks I'm a loser? Oh shit. What if s(he) thinks I don't have it together and thinks my career choice is stupid?! Oh shit! What if they write in THEIR journal that they hate their fat father?! Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!!!" I keep thinking that maybe it would help me to carry around a copy of the ultrasound picture and, for example, put it on the stairmaster when I'm at the gym. Maybe I'll go that extra mile and lose 20 pounds so I can run around with my 2 year old.... right, and I'm working so hard on that screenplay. I guess there's only one way to find out... just not do anything and wait to see what happens. Man, I need some Adderall.