The life of the party is hiding out back


It’s funny, when I was a kid I was told I was the life of the party, that I was a social butterfly, that I loved being the center of attention. I think on the whole this is true, but I have times, lots of times, where I like to be alone. The problem is I don’t admit it. I run away and don’t tell anyone where I am going, I go to the bathroom and stay for 15 min, I don’t want to admit that I need the time to my self. It’s like I try and put up a front about who I really am.

We all have masks we wear, this one is mine, or one of them. Why don’t I just admit that I need the to my self, why don’t I just listen to how I am feeling. The worst part is I do the thing I think I should not and don’t even admit it to myself. If I could just listen to myself I could take the time I need when I should, instead of sneaking it in and feeling guilty.

What do you do that you feel guilty about that you should not? Maybe we can help each other choose ourselves and be happy and fulfilled.

Why do I want to be more boring than I already am?

'I'm sorry, but I think you should find a new analyst... your dreams are just too boring for me.'

for a long time I have wanted to be the type of person who sits at a computer for hours and hours writing code in some esoteric text editor like Vim or Emacs (really it would be Emacs) and just be with dubstep going in my ears for hours and hours.

but I can’t.

I try and well, I don’t know enough code, so I thought that I just need to sit and learn to code, than I will be able to do that, so I took some courses, and they were great, but I did not ever get to a point where I just wanted to sit and code, or even could just do that. I think really I like the idea of doing that, but really I don’t have the patience to do that. which I suppose is ok.

I think that what I really and truly want is to be a writer, and that is hard for me to admit because my wife is a writer, and an amazing one at that. Because she is a writer I feel like I can’t be one also. which is crazy. it’s crazy because even if we both wrote, her writing is so different than mine that it would be hard to compare it and we would be writing to two different audiences. part of me does not want to write because I don’t want to be compared to her, and I think really what I am most afraid of is being better than her. which sounds very very prideful and arrogant. and maybe it is. but I really don’t want to take that away from her. she is a writer, like I said. an amazing one, she has a published book in the amazon book store right now. I can’t compete with that so why am I afraid.

I think I am afraid that I won’t be supportive of her writing if I am doing it too, which does not need to be true.

writing is something that I think I can be really good at. I think I have a good knack for telling stories in a unique way. I am very animated and love to speak in front of an audience about a subject I know. but writing does not let you talk to an audience in a vocal way you say, how will that match up? well I think I can develop the external voice I have now into an internal voice you will hear while you read.


time will tell, but I will say, even just writing this has made my day. I think I will have to do this more and more. now I just need to figure out how to make money from it…

John Mayer makes me unComfortable


Do you know that John Mayer song Comfortable? it is one of maybe 3 of his songs I listen to regularly. It is sweet and sad and kinda beautiful. If you don’t know it take a second and listen.

Pretty right? Well I was listening to it yesterday morning when I started balling. Like by my self, totally balling. I realized that in the song, the girl is dead. She died and he should be starting to get over it, but he is not, and he will not, ever. That is the only explanation of why he is with a girl that he obviously does not like and who kinda annoys him. I get this. It is really sad that I get this because that is how I feel about Hemingway and Coppola.

I feel guilty even saying that. I think I do really Love Hemingway, but still, whenever I go on a walk or play in the yard or throw a ball, I think about Coppola. In the song he reminisces about some of the less proper qualities of the girl he is missing, that she made a scene at the grocery store, that she cussed. That is how I feel about Coppola. He was such a great Dog, but ya, he pulled on walks, he failed his CGC test because he would not walk well on a leash, he did not mind, he would not come in side when called, he would ignore Hadley and want to be by himself. But at the end of the day, when it came time to go to bed, he loved me, and would look at me just the way he did so that I knew that he loved me.

Hemingway on the other hand is the perfect Dog, he runs to me when I do so much as whistle, he walks right by my side, he never wants anything more than to be at my side at all times and lays at my feet as I cook. I really do love him, and if we Had gotten Hemingway 4 years ago and not Coppola I think I would be so happy and not even think about it, but I did not, I got the surly Coppola, and now I have a pain in my heart that will always hurt.

Hemingway really does make it better, but he does so in a way that reminds me I am in pain still, but I think it would be worse with out him.