Month: May 2024

I invested in the fitness+ mode of my apple subscription. It actually saved me money. I was already paying more for purchasing separate services without bundling, so this wound up being a boon. I need it. I need something that is going to work, and this is day one. I always say that nowadays: One day or Day One. I want this day one to stick and this routine to become just another day of me trying to get healthier and more capable physically. I started with a ten minute Yoga session that burned some calories and got the heart rate up in the 100+ range. According to this website, my rate is in the 119-122 zone, but I am deathly out of shape so it may be lower.

I am 239.7 pounds as of this morning. My goal remains the 190s. I expect to be on the pound a week plan moving forward, so hopefully I can squeeze into my clothing before my trip, and be closer to 230 when I return. My scale suggests it is all bad, as do my mood and basic glances in the mirror. I don’t feel attractive or active or even particularly strong mentally. I feel like a device that is failing but still trying to put out good data. This day one mode is the first time I’ve felt like I have a chance to reverse at least some of the damage. I realize how long that is going to take, and I am ready for the climb.

In a week this post ought to read, the climb (238.???) and onward and downward as I fall into a routine of what to do and how to do it. I expect my mentals to raise alongside the fall, so eventually I will be more productive than I am and able to write at the level I am both accustomed to and expected to produce. This is less dream than plan anymore, and more desperate than before. I need to go now and get going pre-50, because that is (even now is) the start of a sharp decline that I already am feeling.

I am ready to fight back.

Does it strike anyone else that the NBA playoffs feels a bit like four or five people are playing NBA 2K My Career mode in a linked fashion? You have Anthony Edwards, Jalen Brunson, Nikola Jokic, and Shai Gilgeous-Alexander all putting up video game numbers (either for the good or bad) on a nightly basis and straight carrying their organizations. I have so many simulation questions now. I also have questions about the upcoming NCAA 25 Football game, many of which may be answered with tomorrows reveal. It feels like the long summer is teeming with reveals. AZ Central has it’s list of the top 100 freshman football players from 2024. They’re releasing 10 a week and are at 40. My kid has yet to be featured, which is a travesty of justice. Speaking of travesty, it turns out a photo finish is what kept my boys’ school out of a state track championship. The 110m Hurdles came down to a photo finish, which was not publicly shared, which means only the officials saw it… and changed the results three separate times before moving the kid from 3rd to fifth. That shift put the team 2 points out of the championship. Crazy times.

Years ago I wrote a brief and sadness-driven post titles Death, Illness, and Taxes. It went like this:

I can tell you that my blogs are up and down right now, following the metronome of my responsibilities. I ‘m thinking tonight will be down. The more on my mind, the less I am able to produce creatively in a mere 10 minutes. The cause of my distraction as of late is the end of life. Not mine, mind you, but so many around me are falling ill and threatening to die. The ages are inconsistent, as are the causes of sick. Still the lips of death touch so many I know.

Open-heart surgeries for children, grievous wounds to young women, car accidents, minor surgeries, strokes… These are meant to come in threes, but the flow is much more severe these days.

That was ten minutes of near-grieving level sadness from your friendly neighborhood Talislegger. I’m bringing it up now because a co-worker recently died at the age of 45, reminding me of how short and fleeting life can actually be and how unprepared I am for it to be over.

I get mad about things. I get angry when students question their grades, looking for an upward tick after I’ve clearly gone easy on them, curving their work far beyond their skill ought to allow. It reminds me that being nice never works out for the nice guy. It ought to remind me not to put so much energy into such things, because ultimately it doesn’t matter to my own life. Furthermore, allowing it not to matter is better for my well being. And my well being does matter. I’ve begrudgingly accepted the idea that I too must die. It sucks and I hate even consider the end, but as I age and fall quickly into disrepair, the inevitability of the end grows clearer. So, what matters is what I do with the time I have left. It matters how I use my mind and how I use my body. What I do with myself and what I do for my loved ones is important. Getting the Lady Talis back to Italy is probably the most important thing in my life right now. Making a slamming video for the Mid-Kid’s graduation is a more immediate mater (I have a week!!!!) but it isn’t nearly as important to me as making this trip successful.

But I am comparing things that don’t require comparison. All of this is to say that there are things in life that ought to matter and things that shouldn’t matter, and things that should be used as fuel. I want to use more of what I see and feel as fuel to power incredible writing. I want to let it pass through me. I know I am not a perfect vessel and some will touch me on the way through, as it should. I accept that. I do not accept holding it all in and letting it define my life and age me so much faster than needed. I’m going to be better than that.

You wake up at 5:35 am and it still doesn’t feel like there is enough time in the day to get it all done. The writing is not even the hardest part. The grading gets that honor. Real responsive grading takes time and it takes energy–or maybe its that you are so brain drained and untrained to the constant grind that everything takes longer and wears you down more. It feels as though you are an artisan cobbler in a world of automated factories and you don’t think you’ll ever keep up; John Henry in the word mines.

Mixing and stacking metaphors is just a side effect of the mental strain.

Is this training? Is it how it is going to be for you? Did you get deep into the work too late? We haven’t even begun to talk about the prices they pay you. Industries pay anywhere between 3 and 12 cents a word. The swing is less about who you are than it is about who they are. Regardless, none of it resembles a living wage. 10,000 good words is going to take a few weeks when you measure in research and planning and drafting. Maybe forty or more real hours. All of that effort for $300 dollars. That is half of minimum wage in some states. If it were closer to the 12 cents you dream about but have never seen, you are still looking at $1200 dollars, or 30 bucks an hour. Now we are talking. Now we are mining.

So you decide to keep mining and keep working the jobs until that .045 goes up to .08 and onward. You’re getting faster and better, but you have to sacrifice quality and lifestyle along the way. In the end the dream is another grind of a job you didn’t forsee. The life is a fraction of the fun you did forsee. None of it adds up, so you try to figure out a better way to better pay. You think the Novel grind may go better, and it does, but the money appears further and further apart in burst payments tied to the beginning and end of a project that is only partly in your control. Life isn’t going as it should.

So you supplement. You teach. You love it. You dig in and have fun and make friends and… then there is less time for writing.

Balance is a hard thing to achieve in this short human lifespan. You need to figure out that it isn’t a static thing. Balance changes at every phase and sometimes every day. You measure your wants against your needs and you find what works and what you are willing to accept. Nothing is perfect–not for long at least.

But, in the end, you are still writing. You are feeling the thrill of the keys yielding beneath your fingers creating what did not exist a moment ago. You’re still hoping one of the stories hits big and you can step back and explore these worlds at your leisure, because the big money is out there somewhere. It is usually found in crossover fiction with TV and movie rights; international adaptations; world premieres. You don’t know if you’re telling those stories, but you know that you’re still telling stories.

That’s what counts.

I don’t have the greatest relationship with women. I don’t have a good relationship with my mother. I have a terrible relationship with my ex-wife and her sisters. My defacto daughter in (common)law and I get along according to how her relationship with her mom is going. The Lady Talis and I are doing fine, which remains the outlier. I’m not sure what it is about the relationships, but they don’t ever seem to go well for very long (save the Lady Talis, of course). I blame my mom for the expectations I have of female relationships. I believe that expectation is that they are going to crap all over me, and I’m supposed to smile and say, “Thank you m’am, may I have some more?”

Clearly that hasn’t been working out. At some point, however, I leaned into the idea of being who I want to be and basing my habits and ideas around that person and how that person ought to be treated. For example, when my Mom continued to treat me like crap, I stopped talking to her but continued sending mom day gifts and best wishes, because it was the person I wanted to be and the right thing to do. At some point it stopped being about her. On the other hand, the time and energy I put into picking the right gift; the right words for the Lady Talis is reflective of a bond.

What I mean to say is there are different levels to every relationship. We do what we do either for the person we love, because of the person we love, or because of how we want to feel as a human. I find that those things exist in a descending order. The greatest gift you can give to another human is to do something for them and them alone. The least you can do is to do it for how it makes you feel. That bit in the middle is a sliding scale, and it can mean so many different things.

Truly too many to get through in ten minutes.

Today is the last High School track meet of my mid kid’s life. He’s doing it right. He’s competing for the open state championship–trying to be one of the top 3 runners in the state for 3 different events. It is a huge honor for him to have made it this far. Monday he will be celebrated as one of the best athletes of the season in Tempe–also an honor. He’s done it right athletically. That is why I struggle with realizing he’s a kid who just turned seventeen a month ago and treats his pop like utter crap.

These things are part and parcel of growing up. One doesn’t become old without also stepping on toes, making mistakes, challenging boundaries, and so on. However, I am a son with no parents of note. I had a step dad, but he passed on before I saw my first high school classroom. My birth dad is possibly alive. I tracked him to a particular state where all New Yorkers seemingly go to die (though he is actually from the Carolinas), but I have no relationship with the man and wouldn’t even know what to say if I did find a number. My mother is alive. She’s going to be at my kid’s graduation… Likely with my ex-wife. That sounds like a bad reflection on me, but it is actually more about them and their manipulations and bad choices I’ve made throughout life. So, when I talk about these relationships, I am not only talking about a kid (or kids) but I am also talking about the larger idea of these connections and the push and pull of it all.

It all (as it were) started with me not doing exactly what my kid wanted. This happened twice in a row in circumstances that one could consider escalating. The issue was this: There was no way his mom would do the crazy crap he was asking, so he asked his dad. When dad said no, it became dad’s fault, because dad always covers when mom sucks. Me not being that guy made me the bad guy. Sad, but true. I created the conditions of expectation that led to me being openly expected to continue behaving in such a way. When I didn’t behave as required, I was met with the full force of teenage angst and the cold shoulder.

What really sucks is that I’m soft-hearted enough to care. I wish I could buckle down and channel my inner Denzel “Love you? Boy, I raised you!!” but that isn’t working. Instead I’m facing depression off this nonsense. Owning it matters. Owning it helps me to realize what is happening and not to let it happen again. We all need to control the conditions in our lives that seek to control us, and for me this talk is a healthy way to start.

The greatest lesson I’ve learned as a father is that I need to teach my kids how to stand on their own two feet. I mean we do it all the time throughout their childhood, but at a point some of us stop. I’m a divorced man dealing with an ex-wife and a family of not-in-laws that doesn’t want to teach my young men how to be men but instead wants those men to need them and wants to coddle those men. As a result my work is harder and my relationship with my men suffers.

It is easier to be on the side of the person saying ‘i will do it for you’ than it is to stand with the person telling you to do it yourself. If it were up to my ex none of the boys would leave this state until she did and they would decide where to go together. She needs them to need her. Just like her sister defines them as her kids. This sister doesn’t have kids of her own, so her investment in mine is paramount. My boys know this, play into this; love this. I’m fine with it to a point. Everyone needs a good aunt to help out and show support.

I am not fine with boys being dependent on such things to the point where they are being taught not to see past that. I’m tired of living in such an existence, and I am done living in it as well. Change often needs to be forced because comfort doesn’t demand it.

It is long past time for people to feel uncomfortable.

239.6 No, it isn’t a future blog number. It is in fact how much I weigh. I’m supposed to be 20 lbs less by now. Yet I’ve gone the opposite direction. I looked in the mirror yesterday and saw the side view of a man who really needs to change. Of course, what I want to do is be dramatic about it and pull of some Rocky level stuff, but those things don’t keep. The most effective thing I’ve ever done in my life–the most consistent positive thing–is this blog. I manage to drag my butt to the screen or the page every day for ten minutes. Some days I love it. Some days I have to really tap each key slowly in order to get all the way through. You can tell by the content and by the length exactly where I am with writing (and likely emotionally) that day. Even on empty I get this done.

So why not start that with my body?

I can do ten minutes. I can do HITT for ten. Sure, it isn’t going to get it done, but it is going to help move me towards a lifestyle. I need to be more active in order to activate the ability to burn off this fat that is surely to kill me. I feel it in my body and in my brain. I feel slower and less healthy and mentally coming apart at the seams. Yet I am doing next to nothing about it.

239.6. I will get started today. 238.6 next Thursday. My goal is a pound a week again. Just one pound. That, according to the Mayo Clinic, means burning 500-1000 calories more than I consume daily. It means raising my resting metabolic rate. It means getting more and better quality sleep. All of these things are part of the process. I need to start taking the process a lot more seriously.

My life actually depends on it.

Basketball is fun again? So fun in fact that I’m totally blaming the success of the Knicks for Jon Stewart being out on Monday… Maybe it is true. Maybe it isn’t. What is true is that Women’s hoops got a huge boost from the Gal from West Des Moines (the hood part). Caitlin Clark grew up balling with people who could really play, and held her own. She held her own with Greg Doyel too. Now she’s gotta carry the weight of a new generation of fans and fan expectations. It’s preseason, so I’ll get back to this later.

It’s post season in the NBA. As I said, the Knicks are winning–up 2-0 on the Pacers. The Celtics are up next if both teams can handle their opponents. I haven’t seen Knicks v. Celtics in the playoffs for as long as I can remember. I refuse to get excited because I remember what happened last time. That was 25 years ago.

Meanwhile, the NFL has nothing to say so I’m focused on College Ball and Spring HS ball, where my kids are getting to their next stages. The young one is trying to earn a varsity spot while his older brother is finishing an excellent HS track career before he prepares for the next level: D1 FCS College Ball. I am excited for the future that all of these kids have to look forward to. I’m excited to get to play them in future NCAA football video games.

Should be nice.

Let’s look back to 2.211..

And in terms of we what are we and why are we? how does existence exist? what holds it? what is the container in which the universe is held? what is it expanding into? The questions are endless and headache building, but they must be asked.

I was waxing about the universe. Later, in the thoughts, I was waxing about being burned out. I think I feel a little bit of both still, 6 years later. I am no closer to understanding the nature of death or the universe. I am no less burned out on specific things in my life–be it apologizing for being me, be it dealing with kids not liking me, be it not liking myself all that often. I am kind of done with all of it. Life often feels like the standing on the edge of a cliff knowing that every step up is going to be a bitch and if you don’t pay full attention to what you are doing, then you’re going to fall and you are probably taking people down with you.

How does existence exist? I don’t know. I do know that the why has to be better than the bullshit we focus our daily lives upon. We spend so much time trying to feel good about ourselves, be it through causing others to feel good about us or through other means. I opt for the former, which I’ve come to realize is and has always been the biggest mistake of my life. One day or day one, right? Well, I opt for day one of feeling good in and about my own skin and moving forward from there. I am fully sick of being beholden to how others feel about me. How I feel about me matters, and it is my purview to construct what that is.