Month: May 2024

I don’t even want to turn back. I was bowling a bit ago and felt my knee give. The pain that followed was a stark reminder that I am getting old. This is right knee that I overcompensated on for years after messing up the left one. So as a result, this is now the bad knee–so bad that I couldn’t get through two rounds of bowling with my fat booty. They say you should not negative talk yourself, and reading through that last sentence is evidence of why. Over the past year or three I’ve accepted myself as a declining human. I’ve accepted so many negative things about myself both mentally and physically that I don’t think I am even the same vibrant person that I was a decade plus ago. That man was drowned.

Now I gotta build a better me.

Day in and day out I need to be building a better version of myself. One that can get through a few rounds of bowling without near collapse. That is, as most things worth doing, easier said than done. Yet it is as I said, worth doing. It is worth becoming a better, more mindful, more centered, and more understanding person who doesn’t let himself be dragged along by the words and feelings and attitudes of those around him but is internally fueled by the love he gives himself and the pride in what he does. I knew a me like that a really long time ago. I remember him sitting on the floor in his mother’s living room dreaming about tomorrow. I remember his successes and his failures and how he grew from each. I remember how he taught himself things. I remember how he struggled to be better every damn day.

He had the blueprint. It still isn’t too late to execute that plan.

I am watching gray clouds roll over my home backlit by a bright Arizona sun. The winds are stirring now, bringing thoughts of dust storms and dark days. In all of this there is a certain peace. I find stillness to be engaging. It is the interstitial space that forms the next moment. Yesterday was my Day one and here in day two I am trying to understand how I myself have created the next moment.

I had a deep and terrible thought about the concept of time this morning. I realized that I and everyone else in the Universe is already dead. We died billions of years ago. We died yesterday. We died tomorrow. Time collapses like an accordion at the end of the universe, compressing all that was into a single moment, so in that moment we all have and continue to exist. That’s the beautiful part about it–we will always have that moment; those moments in which we were alive. That existence which is defined by our conscious imagination is all we ever can or will have. Some of us dream of an afterlife, and some of us can shape our final thoughts into the representation of that dream, but in the end and at the end of everything we are simple functions of a universe that itself will end someday.

So, I will try to make these eternal moments worth having and holding on to.

Some Thoughts:

1. I decided to have AI help me develop my new 8 week ENG 102 course. Interesting process interacting with AI on this level of creativity. Also fun.

Sometimes the Lady Talis jokingly says, “Are you goign to go blog about it?” Her meaning is clear: I tend to work through my problems online. I especially deal with the fallout of divorce online, focusing on telling these tales through the blog as opposed to penning them into stories I will later publish. The blog feels immediate, and as such the things that bother me the most and are the most present in my mind space wind up here. Over the last few months I’ve been dealing with complacency and failure and doubt and gluttony on a level I’ve previously never faced. I’m living life like this is it–like the end is here and I’ve made it as high as I can.

But I haven’t.

Every night before I go to bed I think about that parable of the Eagles and the pigeons. I think about the idea that if an eagle sees another bird where it is at then it knows it is another eagle. Then I realize how many of the people in my life are not eagles and I wonder if I am a pigeon who thinks he is an eagle. Self doubt can creep into your heart at any moment. Self doubt can kill you.

I learned today about a kid I knew –who used to hang out with my daughter–who hung himself. My first thought was: he didn’t think he could go any higher. He thought where he was was all he could ever achieve and that must’ve fallen apart. Turns out it did. Turns out he didn’t think he had more in him. Believing there is more is how we achieve. Believing we can be better everyday is the start, but doing more every day–doing something every day is the key to building a successful life.

The truth is I’ve been biding time and falling into a pit of sameness, letting the world wash over me and not doing enough to control my own life. I decided days ago that today would be day 1. It has been a decent day; a productive day, but I have so much more in me.

The truth is sometimes we don’t have a choice. The people who are around us are not going to be who we want. They are not going to love us the way we need. They are not going to respect us the way we expect. They are not going to make more of their lives than they want to in the way that they want. That isn’t our fault. How much of our heart, time, and energy we give to them IS our fault and our responsibility to take control of that and create in ourselves opportunities to feel good about ourselves and live our lives in spite of what is around us.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams   

his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream   

his wings are clipped and his feet are tied   

so he opens his throat to sing.

Maya said it best right there. We all need to find a way to sing and to shout and to be who we intend to be. We all need to find a way to set our intentions in the storm. We all need to find a way to be ourselves and make the best selves possible in spite of the odds and in spite of the obstructions.

We all deserve to fly to our own heights.

Me, I’m a damn Eagle.

The Yoga thing is working out. I’ve done the workouts for the past three days and I feel primed to keep going. Call it another kind of ten minute rule (ten minute workout?). I will be expanding to more work once this really settles into my body. I’m old. I know it and it sucks. It is a thing I need to be able to accept as I get older, because the only way to be strong and healthy is to avoid the habits of yesteryear and develop habits of today and tomorrow.

Part of this new habit formation for me is the addition of a daily planning session. I previewed this earlier this year with the checklist. I’m entering into a 60 day plan as of tomorrow to see if I can really get myself geared up and functional. Part of that will be trying to get this new novel really churning over the next 60 days–perhaps to the point of a legitimate draft? I already came up with some ideas for characters, which were featured in past Freewrite Fridays. I will need to change some of them around as a result of shifting the novel to a different location. This is all part of the process. Imma right what I know.

Beyond this I am focused on streamlining the writing and the working and developing legit plans to make my classes better both over the summer and in the fall (which will translate into solid spring classes). I am at the point where I need to be more efficient at work in order to devote more time to writing in order to be able to transition out of this state and into whatever is next for the Talisleggers.

I don’t really know what that is yet. I don’t even fully expect to be able to do it in a year, but I want to be ready if we do decide to make that jump. So far the lure of retirement out weighs the lure of quitting. At the same time, it is tough living in a space filled with grown kids who won’t leave and make you feel like a second class citizen. Yet, here we remain.

That’s all for today as the clock winds down to zero. I’m off to play upwords and eat salad.

He stumbled into the app after an hour and a half of what the kids kept referring to as doom scrolling. In his time the only thing close to scrolling was the dirty habit of flipping through channels; pressing his thumb down on the remote again and again until he was back where he started, maybe 300 or more channels ago. There weren’t that many channels on the TV anymore. Well, maybe there were. He no longer owned one. His only connection to the outside reality was the oblong titanium and hardened glass block he held between his hands, flicking his thumb up over and again until the movement felt like a twitch and made his hand ache.

That was around the time he found it.

The app–if that is what it truly was–appeared in the form of a commercial. It occurred to Lawrence that they still had those in this new landscape where the channels never ended but each offered slews of much much shorter programming. The app was wedged between a still photo of a boy holding a chicken in one hand and a baseball in the other and a short video of a woman who was probably hispanic wearing a short skirt and walking out of a building. He didn’t know who she was anymore than he knew who the boy was, but as he watched her for the third time he thought about that brief instant between where a purple banner had implored him to swipe left for more.

Growing tired of the woman, he flicked his thumb in the opposite direction and found the add to still be present. The top of the bright purple screen read: Turn Your Days into Magic! There was an image of a black top hat below it, and below that were the instructions to swipe to the left. He did as instructed. From his experience this leftward swipe usually meant an extension of the front page moment–more pictures, a short video, a quote, often someone relating their moment to God or Jesus or Jordan. In this case it was none of those. In fact, it was a black screen.

He swiped again: Black screen.

There is a familiarity between the various forms of social media; a set of rules a cues that are not dissimilar to the old days of universal remotes. You always know where you are and how to use things based on the buttons. Without buttons, persay, social media relied on visual cues. In the case of side swiping it was always about the number of dots. The more dots, the more times you needed to swipe to the left. Except with this particular page, there were only 3 dots. He swiped 11 times, each one coming up black. He swiped back twice and found himself on the original top hat. This was very curious. He tried it again, swiping fifteen times. At first he thought that he was witnessing a glitch, as he was certain that something happened every time his thumb shifted from center to left. Yet he couldn’t be certain, so he went back to the first page and he decided to switch thumbs.

He did this several times, eventually swiping as many as seventeen times before a quick return to the first page. Never did he reach the end. Sighing Lawrence started to move his thumb up, but something stopped him. He sat there, both thumbs hovering over the purple page with the black top hat. Then, as fast as he could, he swiped left.

There was something there–between the screens. He did it again. He swiped as fast as he could again and again, thumbs working in a dance of movement faster and faster to reveal that hint of white between the black screens. With each successive swipe more of the white was revealed. His hands were moving in a blur. His thumbs felt like they were on fire. Still he kept going, peeling away the black to reveal was was underneath. He did this for a very long time, until finally he stopped.

There it was. The black was gone now and in its place was a white rabbit. The bunny stared at the screen with sullen red eyes and a nose rounded like a button. Lawrence knew what he needed to do next.

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.