What I Want

It’s not hard to imagine what it is I want, because I’m sure it’s what you want as well, for we all want the same thing....

I want love. I want a friend. I want a best friend.

I want someone I can call up when I have nothing going on, who I’m perfectly content sitting and doing nothing with, simply because we’re together.  

I want someone I can talk with, not just talk to, because I want conversation...about everything...about nothing...and anything in between, with someone who has thoughts and opinions of their own and is capable of expressing them.

But I also want someone who understands that sometimes it’s best to say nothing at all.

I want someone I can trust with the things I keep hidden from the rest of the world.

I want someone who knows everything about me—the bad, as well as the good—but wants to be with me anyway.

I want someone I can laugh with, really laugh with.

I want someone who unknowingly inspires me to be better, yet I feel safe enough with to be nothing other than what I am.   

Empty Nights

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

3:21am

It’s another one of those can’t sleep kind of nights, where all you do is lay there and think about all the things you didn’t have time to think about during the day, and all the things you try your best to not think about at night. For whatever reason, there are nights like tonight when all that stuff comes bubbling to the surface and your mind isn’t tired enough to push past the thoughts, and you are left with no other choice than to face them.

I won’t bore you with a run-down of all the nonsense that’s been spinning around in my head for the last two hours. Instead I want to focus on one thing I stumbled upon that I felt was kind of profound.

Maybe it’s just me, but as a single guy I find that most nights I lie here thinking about girls before finally drifting off to sleep. For a long time it was just one girl that I thought of, but the time has come to try and move on from that, so I do my best to ignore her and focus on others. I was sort of doing that tonight. The girl I began thinking about is one that I’ve thought of before. I knew her a long time ago when we were both kids. I kind of liked her back then, but my family moved away and I forgot about her for close to ten years.

I started thinking about what it would be like to—you know—“be with her”. I tried to imagine how I would feel lying there close to her, feeling her body against mine. What would she smell like? What would we talk about? Would I even enjoy it? She is a very nice looking girl, so I have no doubt the man in me would be attracted to her and would enjoy the physical feelings that go along with that kind of situation. But based on past experience, I’m not so sure the experience would leave me completely satisfied.

There was a time not too long ago, while I was at a very low point in my life, that I spent a night  with a girl that I really didn’t know very well. When I say I was “with her”, I don’t mean we slept together. We did get familiar, but that was the extent of it. While it was nice in some respects, I’m not sure I’d do it again. I wasn’t comfortable, and nothing about it felt right. I can’t say for sure if I’d feel the same way with this other girl or not.

Compared to a lot of guys my age I have been with very few girls—only three. And even then, while I’ve gone pretty far with a couple of them, I’ve never been all the way. The first two were girls I had gotten to know on a personal level. I had grown to care about them deeply for who they were and not just how they looked on the outside, and so being with them like that meant something. But the last one was something I would undo if I could. Now it is another lesson learned.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that just sleeping with a girl—even a beautiful one—isn’t what I want. What I’ve found is that more than anything I want to be emotionally connected to someone before having any sort of intimate relationship with them, because the intimacy is what I crave above all else. And no matter what she may look like, how rich her family is, how good she smells, or what she might say to me, unless she is someone I care about, it wouldn’t mean a thing.

Feelings

It’s times like now that I feel like I’m a broken person, caught and tangled in a web that is not my own, doing what I can to get by, and in doing so, living for everyone but myself. It’s an interesting thing because I do not have any major responsibilities. I have no job or family to keep me busy or to attend to. I have my parents. I feel a responsibility to help them with issues that they’ve gotten themselves into since I am living in their house now. But it’s a responsibility I don’t want. At this age I want to do what I want to do. Even with all this time I have I feel unable to do that though.

Twenty minutes ago my mom came into the room to talk about my plan for this next year. As she always seems to do, she chose the wrong moment—literally as I was just getting up to go work on something. She comes in with her annoying glass of zip-fizz and wants to sit down. That’s never a good thing with her. If she sits down it will be a while before she or you will leave. Even when she doesn’t sit it can be a while. But this time she sat.

I simply do not know why I react the way I do with her. But when she comes in and sits down like that I get irritated. And unfortunately I can’t hide it or pretend that I’m fine. So the irritation comes out in my voice.

I suppose it’s because I’m selfish. To be honest I feel like everyone is to some degree. Whether or not I’m worse than others, I can’t say. Anyway, I didn’t want to talk right then, and so my answers were short and simple, and the frustration could be easily heard. In all of three or four minutes after she’d sat down I’d managed to piss her off enough that she broke my pencil, stormed out of the room, jumped in her car, and sped off.

I try to make myself feel better by reminding myself that I’m not like that with everyone—just my mom it seems like. But is that entirely true? Or is it that I hide how I really am from the rest of the world and my mom, since she has a relationship with me unlike everyone else, receives the bitter side of my true self? I try to justify myself by pushing the blame off onto her—that if she wasn’t like she is I wouldn’t react the way I do, but that can’t be the cause. I must be at fault as well, and because of that I feel broken.

Like everyone else in the world, I want to have a romantic relationship with someone. I want a girlfriend and eventually a wife someday. But the older I get, and the more I realize how I am with my mom, I’m afraid it might be best to avoid that. I don’t think I’m capable of a healthy relationship anymore. I don’t know how else to describe it other than I’m broken.

If I were to talk to my mom about it she would talk my ear off about how you have to communicate with your partner, and then she’d tell me to read this and this book about it to understand it, which is exactly true. But she just over does it. In all honesty, I don’t like talking to my mom about anything serious. I think there are some people in this world that you just simply don’t jive with, and I feel like my mom is one of those. She is an incredible person with a superhuman strength sometimes, but the way she and I are doesn’t mix well. I like to do my own thing, and she likes to give her opinion on how it should be done or what should be done. And if it’s something she has already done then she has a hard time standing back and letting you just do it. She can’t comprehend how someone would want to disregard the advice of someone who’s been there already in lieu of figuring it out on their own. But that’s how I am. I don’t want people’s help usually.

Now that I say that, I realize there isn’t any real middle ground. If you want me to do something you either have to tell me explicitly how you want me to do it, or shut up, stand back, and let me do it my own way. It’s weird, and it can’t be good. My mom likes to have it done her way. And she can’t just give a quick little bit of direction either. If she’s giving “guidance,” it’s usually in the form of a full blown lecture on how to do it. And for me, coming from her, that never works.

Matter of the Heart

My family on my dad’s side doesn't talk much, and especially not about anything serious—like feelings. Now my mom, she does not have this problem. After growing up around people like this I guess it’s not hard to understand why I tend to not share my feelings either.

But you know, it’s weird, because inside I’m a really deep, emotional person. I hate chit chat and small talk and little gossipy things that don’t mean anything. When I’m upset, I want nothing more than to let it out. Inside I will be screaming out hoping someone will hear me. But for whatever reason, when I need to talk the most, that is when I say the least. I literally shut down and make it a point not to say anything that would cause someone to ask me how I’m feeling. It’s dumb. But I think the reason is because if someone asks me how I’m feeling, I don’t want it to be because they feel like they are suppose to ask me that. I want them to really care enough to ask me about it on their own accord. Even then though, I will make someone fight to get at what I’m really feeling, because that’s just how I am.

I often wonder, though, about how life would be if we simply told each other how we really truly feel. I was talking with one of my cousins about this at Thanksgiving, about how much our family likes to talk about feelings. But then I was like, “You know, it’s stupid that we don’t, because I bet inside we all wish we did.” And I probably am right. Everybody wants to feel close to somebody, and you don’t get that way by not telling them how you feel.

So why then do we not do it? It’s because of fear. We are afraid of being rejected for how we feel, or of being ridiculed or harassed. We’re afraid the recipient might not feel the same, and therefore not understand. In a lot of cases it could be because we think no one really cares. I know when I want to talk about my feelings is when I’m upset about something, and who wants to listen to someone complain about stuff they’re upset about? Most of the time I can’t even understand my feelings, so I’m afraid to talk to someone about them out of fear of being annoying or something.

But what if we all just grew a pair and maybe started telling each other the good things we feel, like when we care about someone. I couldn't begin to count the number of nights I've laid in bed thinking about how it would be to tell a certain girl how I feel about her, or hoping a girl would text me. But what if all those nights she was laying there thinking the same thing? Or have you laid there at night wishing you could talk to her/him about how you’re feeling about her/him or whatever else you’re feeling, but you don’t because you don’t want to seem needy or annoying to weak? Well they are humans too, they have those same feelings. Maybe those sleepless nights would cease to exist if we’d just tell each other. I know it’s crazy and will never happen, but it’s an interesting thought.

The big one that gets me is the classic: what if they died tonight and you never told them how you really care about them? I have a Word document saved on my computer titled “Things I Wish I’d Said...” that is kind my way of dealing with that, because most of the time I don’t feel it would be accepted if I told people. But I really want to. Especially when it comes to girls I like. That last part is pretty natural, I think, because like I said, we all want to be close to somebody, and that’s how you do it. I did tell a girl once, but it was after the relationship had ended. I’m still glad I did it though.

Like The Movies

One of my greatest fears is to end up with a life like my parents. They are not happy together. Things have happened over the years that have changed them in ways none of us can understand. As they grew through childhood they were shaped and formed by their parents, just as being around them has undoubtedly had a hand in shaping me. The tragedy is that in the beginning it wasn't like this. For a time it seemed there was a purpose for them to be together. But now it seems that whatever purpose there may have been has run its course.

Tonight, as they argued once more about everything the other does wrong, I chose to drown out their voices with a movie, and momentarily escape to a world where love is real. The movie was The Lucky One, one of the several Nicholas Sparks novels adapted for the silver screen. For me, movies are so much more than entertainment, they are an escape from reality.

The trouble with romantic movies like this is they create impossible standards that guys and girls expect from each other. I have heard more than one girl say they need to stop watching those kind of movies because they now have impossible standards for guys. My trouble is that they create impossible standards for me. I feel like I need to be the kind of guy I see in these movies, and I know full well I am not.

And I now feel like that is how real love is supposed to be—like it is in the movies. I do realize real life is much different, but that doesn’t change anything. Logic can’t always change what you feel inside.

So far in my life, the feelings I get watching these movies is the closest I can seem to come to love...or anything remotely like it. I have issues getting close to people, and especially girls, so I’m not sure if I’ll ever find anything more. And on nights like tonight, I’m not sure I want to.

Midnight Madness

It's about 1am right now. I should have been asleep long ago, but I am not.

I wanted to take a few minutes to jot down a couple paragraphs here, because I'm sure my enormous fan base has been missing me like crazy. It's alright everyone! I have not died in a car crash, I am still here with you to share my wit and humor and inspiration with the masses.

So before I forget, I must say this: what I love most about a blog such as this is that here I am free to express the hurt and frustrations I have without any hesitation of what people may think. There is freedom in anonymity; it's refreshing. On facebook (and most other situations I find myself in ) I can't say what I'm really feeling because I don't want to be that guy that's always depressed and sad and complaining about life, because I hate those people. I hate whiners, and I hate the "whoa is me" mentality altogether. So I sure as heck better not BE one of those people. As a result, I hold back. I keep it inside. But here...I don't have to. Now if only time wasn't in such high demand so I could regularly come here to vent....*sigh*. Oh, woah is me!

Missing You

Dear friend,

I can’t believe it’s been ten months since we went out separate ways. It seems like it’s been forever.

I’m sitting here in class right now, not paying too much attention. I can remember the days when I would sit here in class counting down the minutes until you would wake up cause I was so anxious to get your “good morning J” texts.

There are so many things I miss about you; so many things I’m sure I will never find in another human. It scares me to think I may never want to be with someone as badly as I wanted to be with you. Sometimes I still cry my eyes out because I know being with you will never happen.

I know you told me once that you don’t think I’m capable of being crazy about someone like you wanted someone to be crazy about you. I want you to know, though, I may not be the type to paint your name on a water tower, or scream out that I love you in the middle of a crowded restaurant, but I was and still am crazy about you. It’s been ten months since the last time we were together with the hope of a future, and there is not a day that goes by, hardly an hour even, that I am not thinking about you and missing you. You still haunt my dreams from time to time. You are in every song that comes on the radio. I still have my favorite text message from you in my inbox, and there are 12 voicemails from you that I don’t have the heart to erase.

So, you see, even though you’re as good as gone, you are still everywhere. I’m afraid I will be forever haunted by the memory of what we shared for such a short time, and by the pain of knowing I’m not the one you want.

I know you have moved on and found love now, and I sincerely hope he’s good to you and for you in every way. Because if there is anyone on this earth that deserves to have a fairy tale love story, it is you. And not that it matters much now, but I want you to know there is almost nothing I wouldn’t have given to have been that man for you.

Please take care of yourself wherever you are. And though I’m now just a fading memory from a past best forgotten, I hope you won’t forget about me, and that I love you. I realize I never had your whole heart, but at the very least I hope there is a small corner of it somewhere that will forever belong to me. As it looks right now, you will forever have all of mine.

Take care. I wish you the best of everything. And goodbye.

Heartbroken

While facebook does a good job connecting you with the lives of people you want to be connected with, I have come to learn the reverse is also true. What used to be a person I wanted to be connected with forever has now become someone I'd rather forget. But I don't have the balls to unfriend her--I care about her too much. I already have her blocked, but that doesn't always do it.

Thanks to facebook, even though I'm 600 miles away from her, she broke my heart again. She didn't even say a word. You see, the problem is that I love her. But she doesn't love me. There was a time when we use to be pretty important in each other's lives. Things didn't work out, though. She's gone her own way now. She has moved on from whatever it was we had pretty easily. I, on the other hand, have not. Tonight I caught a glimpse of her profile picture which is her with her new boyfriend. That's where facebook let me down.

The thought of her with some other guy has always been enough to make me want to puke. But seeing it for real almost made me puke. My heart stops, my stomach clenches in knots, and I struggle to breathe. It's sickening. It's disgusting. And it makes me cry every time.

I wanted nothing more than to be that guy sitting next to her, holding her hand. But one day she realized I wasn't what she wanted. And overnight I went from everything to nothing.

She messed me up. She didn't try to or want to, I know that. But it is what it is. I've had a really hard time recovering from it all. I sometimes wonder if I ever will.

I feel like what I struggle with the most is the doubt it all caused. I have a hard time imagining ever being good enough for anyone now. And if someone ever does find me good enough, I have a hard time believing they will be anything like she was. She was and is the most incredible girl I've ever known. I should think positive and be happy that, at least for a while, I was important to her, and she at least thought about me as a possibility. But that's just not real. It will always hurt because in the end, what I am and who I am isn't what she wanted. Why would anyone else think differently?

In Hindsight...

            It’s been six months since my relationship with a certain someone ended. Still not a day goes by, hardly an hour even, that I don’t think about her. It’s impossible not to when seemingly everything around me somehow finds a way to remind me of her and what we had.

            She’s moved on now—I know that. She’s made sure to let me know that. What I will never understand is how quickly she seemed to move on...almost like what we had never even happened. So many times I’ve wanted to talk to her about it; to ask her what I did wrong, and what she really thought of me, what I meant to her. But I can’t. Because I know she would honestly tell me. And I’m afraid of what her answer might be.

To quote her favorite TV show, Grey’s Anatomy, “...as human beings, sometimes it's better to stay in the dark, because in the dark there may be fear, but there is also hope.” I don’t mean to say that I still hope she might change her mind about me, though a small part of me certainly does. What I do mean to say is I think I’d rather hold on to the hope that she really did care about me like I cared about her. So I will never ask.

It’s hard to imagine her with someone else now, and honestly, I try my best not to. But she most definitely is. Her facebook picture is one of her and him. I didn’t mean to see it, but I did. Inevitably, I find myself comparing myself to him—even though I know nothing about him. I think about what it was about me she didn’t like, and what it is he might have that I don’t. It isn’t just him that I do that with, though. There are guys I meet at school, or random people I come into contact with that make me think, “That’s probably the kind of guy she wants.” I look at them and what they are; I see that what they are is what I’m not. It’s discouraging. It’s depressing. It damages my already weakened confidence.

Today I was thinking about something I said to her one night before she left to go home. I kissed her on the fore head, hugged her, and said, “I’m glad I met you.” At the time I meant it with everything I had. Now, I’m not so sure. I don’t feel like a better person for having known her. If anything I feel damaged by it. She didn’t leave me with much to hang on to. There were things she told me that cut deep. I can’t believe she meant any harm by saying them, she was just being honest...that’s how she is—brutally honest. Still, they hurt me. And now, six months later, I still lay here in bed at night wondering if what she said is true.

She told me once that she can’t imagine me ever being crazy about someone. That was one thing she wanted—someone to be crazy about her, and I guess I didn’t satisfy that. As much as it scares me, I sometimes think she’s right. Though I want it more than anything, it’s hard to imagine me finding someone that could make me feel that way. Just the idea of me loving someone like that is as foreign as France. I’m not sure I even know how.

They say to love someone, you must first love yourself. I’d say for the most part I like myself, but to say I love myself, especially now, after she revealed all these things she didn’t love for me to dwell on, is a stretch. I try to fight it, but all too often I find myself thinking that I am unlovable. I know I have qualities that a girl might like, but I also think the ones I lack are some of the most important. And for a girl that I could fall crazy in love with to come along and see past my faults, to want to hang around long enough to melt through my cold exterior and find those good qualities seems like a dream that will forever stay a dream.

I don’t know if the love I dream about having one day even exists. At this point, all I can do is hope for the best.

Looking Back

     The date is now Saturday, September 15, 2012. The date I began my last post was March 6, 2011. Clearly, a lot of time has gone by between then and now, taking with it something like 533 days worth of experiences and emotions.

     In the beginning I had every intention of documenting this journey on a regular basis. As I re-read some of my previous posts I can almost feel again the excitement I had from those early days. I had a sense of purpose then, I had a mission, and my plan was to write down the feelings, emotions, and experiences along the way with the ultimate goal of turning it all into a book.

     But as plans often do, it failed. Life got in the way I guess. Those little daily tasks that absorb so much of life and never seem to go away began taking up the few hours I had left each night after working. During the days I got so caught up in actually doing the things I was suppose to be writing about that I never did get around to writing about them. Before long days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and... you get the picture. Pretty soon a year was gone.

     I guess in the beginning I did actually try to write about things. The only problem is it was never in one place. I had a little journal going on my computer, and there was a notebook in the farmhouse I’d stop to write in if I got too overwhelmed to do anything else, and some nights I’d end up writing in my actual journal. As time went along, though, I began writing less and less, and eventually not at all.

     When I think about it, it was sort of foolish to think I could keep up the routine of writing about everything to begin with. To routinely do anything you don’t have to do requires a lot of discipline. Even brushing your teeth, which takes two minutes at the most, and most of us much less than that, doesn’t get done every day. And there are other factors involved as well.

     For me, writing is a labor filled activity. The thoughts I have in my head require time and effort to get transferred into words in a way I’m even halfway satisfied with, and here on the farm time seems to be in limited supply. There are always a hundred other things I could or should be doing, so taking the time I need to write about things rarely gets put at the top of the list.

     Furthermore, I’ve found my creativity and ability to focus seem to disappear when I’m surrounded by disorder. For example, any time I sit down to start doing a bunch of homework, that’s when I decide it’s time to clean my room, not that I’m trying to procrastinate doing the work but because I can’t focus on doing it if the room is cluttered. To say that this farm is disorderly is what they call an understatement. It’s a junkyard in some areas and a landfill in others. I can’t help but believe that has impacted my desire to write. I have realized that I’ve felt little inspiration to write anything since coming here. And even if I do, I rarely get any further than the first couple paragraphs before giving up.

     Something inside me has changed, though. I’ve missed writing. I’ve missed seeing the words as they appear in front of me, and I’ve missed the experience of creating something and watching it grow into something uniquely beautiful. I don’t want my experience here to fade away into nothing, and I think I’m ready to do something about it. 

And So It Begins

*I first started this post back on March 6, 2011, soon after I first arrived here on the farm. As it usually does, life got hectic and now, a year and a half later, I'm finally posting it. So much has occurred in that time. There are so many feelings and emotions that have been lost to the past because I didn't take the time to write them down. The last year and a half have been quite an experience for me. In the months ahead I'm going to try and do my best to fill in the gaps as best I can, but we'll just have to see how it goes. Here is the beginning.*      

     Well, this is it. This is home now. The adventure has begun. In the few days I've been here I've already done a lot. The day after I arrived my uncle and I started hauling corn to the elevator. On the way back after dumping he had me drive. That was rough--ten gears and only using the clutch to shift into 1st. I think I've pretty well got the hang of it now, although down shifting is a different story still.

     I've begun working on cleaning out the house there on the left. I plan on moving into it eventually. As I walk around and through it I can see it’s going to be a long road. Too many years of neglect have left it in poor shape, but it’s not beyond repair. The only problems standing in my way are the big three: time, money, and know-how. But, like they say, “a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” At least I know I will never be bored again...ever.

     But that's on the bright side. I don't always live on the bright side. When I think about it I can't help but think I must come from a messed up family. As I walk through the house and around the farm I am constantly blown away at house lazy they are. I take that back, lazy isn't the right word, they certainly know how to work. That in fact is the problem. Work is all they do. They spend all their time working for other people and next to no time doing anything to take care of the things in their own life that need attention. Because of this it seems everything around this place is falling apart. There is so much junk accumulated and they won't take the time to get rid of any of it. It's so sad.

     

Pounds per square inch

I'm going through my list of drafts that I've saved and not published. Some of them are kind of good and it's a pity I never got around to finishing them. I guess that's the price to pay in this busy life nowdays. Anyway, here's one I wrote back in 2010 sometime.

It's hot. It's humid. My room is a mess. I have no place to put everything. I need to get a reliable car soon, but that's looking like an impossibility. Did I mention it's humid? I feel like a mist of soda pop has been sprayed on me and dried. I stick to everything. The clutter in my room is driving me mad. There is so much I want to get rid of--need to get rid of. I want to get a camera so I can take pictures of stuff and put it on eBay and Craigslist, but I am preparing to go on a trip and have drained my checking account on equipment.

I need to get away. Thank the Lord I'm leaving in two days. For the first 13 years of my life I lived in the country. It was home. But we moved to the city 7 years ago. As of late I am realizing more and more that I was never meant to live in the city. The constant and unrelenting hustle and bustle is hard on this simple guy. I can look in all directions and see people, and houses, and cars. Even on the quietest of mornings I can hear the road noise--cars, buses, trucks, sirens. Some days I'm not sure I can take it any more. But I'll get through it. I'll survive.

Shifting Gears

Sometimes the hardest thing in the world to do is the one thing you know you have to do. Take that relationship you are in for example. Somewhere deep down between your spleen and your liver it simply doesn't feel right. But there are so many other reasons why it does. You hope and pray, you give it time, you do everything right, everything you can think of in hopes that it will turn out to be the fairy tale you want more than anything...but you know it's not. 

You know they are wrong for you. It doesn't matter that 96.8% of them is everything you can imagine wanting in a person. It doesn't even matter that there are those little extras that you've grown to love that you are certain no other person on the planet will ever possess, the underlying fact remains. As sad as it may be, that 3.2% that's missing is what you need more than all the rest. But maybe they will change...or maybe you can change. It's a nice thought and it's one that we all want to hold on to like a life preserver in a stormy sea. But truth be told...well, you already know the truth. 

You're afraid to let go of them because right now they are the only thing keeping your head above the waves.  You're alone and scared and want nothing more than that feeling of security and familiarity you have with them. To let go would mean risking it all, because God only knows when or if someone else will come floating along. For all you know they may never come and you will be left to contend with it all--the struggles, fears, doubts, and challenges--while you're drained, empty, exhausted, cold...and very much alone. You want nothing more than to face it with someone...with them. But you still know what you have to do.

Perhaps though, it isn't a relationship with a person that you're dealing with. Right now you may find yourself in a weird place in life. You had a dream and you went for it. You threw yourself at it and jumped in with both feet and now find yourself alone in the sea and you're sinking. This dream you believed in didn't work out and is now slowly dragging you down. It's sucking the energy and life from you. And just like that relationship, you know you have to get away from it. Only trouble is you don't want to; you aren't ready to give up. You tell yourself to give it more time, that it will get better. The question is, is it really worth it? Will the end result ultimately outweigh what you're giving up? Like usual, it is hard to tell.

If you haven't guessed, I'm currently living both of these situations. 

For a while there I had this incredible girl in my life. She's no longer a part of my life, but in my mind she is. I can't really say she broke up with me because we were never "officially" dating...but we pretty much were. For seven months we did everything a couple would except kiss. We talked on the phone every night, texted all day long, watched movies together any time we could, went on walks. But we were just friends. Clearly there was more to it than that, and we both knew it, we'd talked about it. As time went on things kept getting better. 

As they say, "all good things must come to an end," and our relationship was was no different. A part of me was relieved it was over, because deep down inside me I had always known she wasn't right for me. She has a very strong, dominant personality. She wasn't the sensitive and calming person I feel like I need. Not that she wasn't a caring and kind person, but for whatever reason there were things I needed that she couldn't give. And on the flip-side there were things she needed that I couldn't give. 

There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about her. I don't think I can go a single hour without something reminding me of her and what we use to have. I miss her so much. I miss all the little things about her that always end up stealing your heart. I miss her eyes and her smile. I miss her smell. I miss her laugh and our nightly phone conversations. I miss having someone to text all day long. I miss her asking me what I'm doing. I miss having her clean my fingernails and pluck my eyebrows. I miss going on walks with her. I miss having her tell me about her day. I miss watching movies with her, and I miss how after every movie we watched she'd ask me what my favorite part was. I miss making dump cake with her, and washing the dishes with her. I miss texting her late into the night until I fall asleep, and I miss the Good Morning! texts. 

But she's gone now. As I look back now I can't help but remember all the good feelings and happy times I had with her. But when I really think about it I can remember all the uneasy feelings I felt also. In a way I was never able to completely feel at ease with her. But that doesn't make me miss her any less.

The other situation is where I now live. I'm living on my family's old family farm. Over the years it's been allowed to fall apart. Buildings are slowly collapsing, trees have grown up everywhere, junk and cars and equipment have accumulated. It's an embarrassing mess. My dream is to clean it up and make it look nice and respectable again, but I can't do it on my own. The two uncles that still work out of there have no real interest on helping clean up there junk. So I've come to a point where I have to decide if it is worth sticking around and busting my butt to clean up after everyone or if I should give up and spend my energy on building my own life somewhere else. 

I know I need to because I can feel it slowly draining me of what little confidence I use to have. I live in a dump, in a house in desperate need of repair, and I'm alone most of the time. My social skills are fading, and they weren't that great to begin with. I need to get away from it but I don't want to give up because it has been my life long dream to live on a farm and do the things that go along with that. This very well might be my only chance to live this kind of life, so I'm not wanting to admit defeat and give up. Inside, though, I know what I need to do.

I think I'm going to end there for now. I'm getting tired of writing and I'm losing the focus I started out with (you can probably tell). But don't worry, there will be more later. I'm sure you are all already holding your breath.

The Sad Goodbye

The word "bittersweet" pretty well sums up how I've been feeling the past two weeks. I'm excited and ready to move on to new things, but the desire to stay here with the people I've grown to love is making it hard to leave.

I don't have a lot of friends to say goodbye to. In fact there are no more than five that I do anything with on a remotely regular basis. This doesn't bother me; I kind of prefer it that way, but there are still many others I'm having a hard time telling goodbye. There is one, though, that stands out above the rest. Her name is Lacy.

Lacy and I have worked at the same store for exactly one year now. I still hardly know her, but over this past month we've begun talking and have developed something that could maybe pass as a friendship. The thing that makes this unique is that Lacy is a pretty girl. I've always had a hard time talking to pretty girls, but with her it wasn't that hard. She was fun to talk to and in the beginning it came pretty easy.

As time went by I started liking her, and I think she liked me too. I wanted to get to know her better but I knew I would soon be leaving, so I was afraid to get any closer to her. When the day came for me to put in my two weeks notice I knew I needed to tell her. When I did I could see the shock of sadness hit her face. She tried to hide it, and she did a good job. But it was there nonetheless. And when my last day rolled around I could hear a hint of sadness in her voice.

It killed me to know I was hurting her, even if was only a little bit. I hate leaving just as I was beginning to get to know her. It's unlikely anything would have come from it, but I still wish I knew her more.

The End and the Beginning

For the past two months I have been talking to my uncle about the details of me coming to work for him on the farm. Finally the arrangements have been made and the date is set. As of now it looks like the last day of February will be my final day here in what has become my home. But I'm not too sad about leaving because in addition to leaving home, I'll be going home.

Since I was a little boy I've been going to the farm for holidays and visits, but every time I would inevitably have to leave, and as I did it would be with a heavy-heart, because I really didn't want to. I loved it there, I wanted to stay there. But now I'll be going there to stay. I'm sure it won't feel just as it did when I was five because I won't just be exploring, but I'll be working. My time will probably be filled with work. But the work won't be for some boss that hardly knows me, and cares about me even less. It'll be for my family and with my family, and it will be work that I expect I will enjoy. Instead of being confined to a retail store where I have to deal with the general public answering their questions and helping them find things, I will be working with my hands, driving equipment, and learning how to tear them apart to repair them.

The more I think about it the more excited and eager I become. Some nights I lie awake for hours thinking about how it might all turn out. On paper it looks and sounds so good. But then on the other hand, I also wonder about why it might not turn out like I hope. Maybe the work I think I will like will quickly turn into a dull routine. Maybe I'll find that all the things I thought I didn't like about where I now live were better than I realized, and I was only taking what I had for granted. Or perhaps the age difference between me and my uncles will make it hard for us to relate and it will still feel like I'm working for someone who hardly knows me.

To be honest, I’m scared. The seeds of doubt are in my mind. But in addition to the doubt there is hope. If nothing else, I’m hopeful that somehow it will all work out in the end. Even if I do find that it is all just one more thing I’m not meant to do, then so be it, because if that is the case then it was worth it.

Youthful Innocence

So the little kids at church have been putting together a bell choir. I did not know this, but I haven't been to church for so long that I wouldn't have known that. Before they started I figured it would be a pretty bad performance. Considering who some of the kids are my assessment wasn't far off. Let's just say that many of them live in a world of their own. But when the first note played I was blown away. It was a Christmas theme today, and so they played Christmas songs along to some music being played on a CD. What I'm trying to say is it was wonderful. As I watched them, shaking those bells with all their childish enthusiasm, it nearly brought me to tears. They were so young and innocent standing there. They didn't have a care in the world. It's hard to believe that I was once like them. I think what bothered me the most was knowing that they would soon grow up to be like me. They will grow up and be faced with the temptations of the world. They will lose that sweet innocence. I don't want them to do the things I've done. I don't want them to struggle like I have with some of the sins of the world. But I can't stop it. It's just a part of growing up. They can't stay young forever, I know that, but I still wish that they could live a life only filled with happiness.

As just as a little aside, I know this post doesn't flow really well, and it probably doesn't make a lot of sense, but it's how I feel right now, and I don't want to go back and spend an hour trying to make it sound nice. So this is what you get.

On the Verge

It's Thanksgiving today, but most of you probably know that. Tonight, as I write this, I'm sitting in my grandma's house, not even half a mile from the farm that has suddenly taken center stage in my life.

It's good to be back; it's good to be here. Much of my family is around me, and we are recovering from our first Thanksgiving together in the past ten years. We're not a very lively bunch, but it doesn't matter, they're still my family. To be honest, it feels a little odd being together again after such a long time. It might never have the same feel as it did when I was a kid, because, let's face it, I'm not a kid anymore. Things have changed, we've changed, I've changed.

Tonight I went over to look at the farm that might very well be my entire future. It's an eye-sore still, that hasn't changed. But maybe it is something I will be able to change in the future. The amount of work it will take to make it look the way it looks in my mind is daunting, but to be positive, just getting rid of all the junk and cutting down the weeds will do wonders for its appearance. I would have taken pictures to post on here for you, but I don't have any batteries for my camera. So it'll have to wait.

The idea of moving back excites me. I don't show it, but by my standards I'm excited. I talked to my uncles a little bit about it, and they wish I was already here. Things seem to look good right now. I only hope the future brings that same feeling.

The Farm (continued)

So it's uncertain what will happen to the farm down the road. If my dad hadn't died, I can almost bet I would still be right there with him on that farm. If he hadn't died I would naturally be the one to take it over. But things changed.

My mom remarried and our family moved to Missouri. But that's never stopped me from looking back and wondering how things would have turned out if my dad was still here.
My future would have pretty much been set, but my life would be so much different than it is now. I would have grown up with a much stronger sense of family around me, but I would have missed meeting some of the most amazing people I've ever known. I wouldn't have received the religious foundation I have now, and there's no telling what I kind of person I would be (morally) if I'd stayed there in Illinois. So it's really a toss up between a blessing and a curse that my dad is no longer here. It certainly changed my life, but whether that change was for the better or worse is still undecided.

But about a month ago, fate took an unexpected turn. My mom and sister went up to Michigan for my cousin's wedding. I had to stay home and work. As it turns out most of my family was there. Apparently my mom had a great time, because when she got home she sat me down and, for two hours, tried to explain how she thought I needed to move back and begin working with my uncles on the farm, that that would have been my life if my dad hadn't died, and there is no reason why it still can't be my life now.

(to be continued)

The Farm

Sitting on roughly 250 acres, back home where I come from, is what I like to call the farm. The farm is where my dad and his five brothers grew up. The farm is where me and my cousins did a lot of growing up. The farm was where all our family gatherings were. The farm was happiness; the farm was fun. For more reasons than one, the farm has only meant good memories. And to my little child's brain the farm was like heaven.

I don't know exactly when it was started, or exactly who started it, but I do know it has been around for at least four generations. It's what they call a centennial farm--meaning the same family has owned it for over 100 years. It's a piece of history, and it belongs to my family.

Back in it's glory years it was an honest-to-God, functioning farm. By this I mean it had animals, and it raised cash crops. I can only imagine what it looked like then. I'm told that my great grandpa had a hired hand that maintained the place. Sadly, this is was contributed to its downfall. Because the hired hand did everything to take care of the place, my grandpa and his brother were never really taught to take care of it--so they didn't. For a while after my grandpa inherited it I'm sure it looked like it should have looked. But I don't know how long that lasted.

As long as I can remember, the farm has looked like it does now--a junkyard. Over the years my two uncles that still live in the area have brought old machines, cars, buses, trucks, tractors, and all other manner of crap onto the place and left it there. Take five steps in any direction and you'll probably run into an old engine or some other piece of machinery. It tears me up to see what has happened to the farm.

About a month ago my sister and I drove up there for the weekend to see old friends, and to visit with family. For most of the drive I took the back roads through the rural parts of Missouri (where I live now). The only feeling I remember having during the trip was that I was going home. And as we drove, we were constantly passing these farms. And there were so many nice ones--grass mowed, buildings painted, no junk. They were beautiful, and then I thought of what my family's farm looks like. It's a disgrace, plain and simple. But I can't help but dream about what it used to look like, and about what it could look like.

After my dad and uncles grew up, several of them moved away. But my dad and his two younger brothers stayed. My mom tells me my dad did most of the farming after that. He never planned on leaving. He loved it there, and all he wanted to do was farm that farm. But those weren't God's plans for him. He died from cancer in November of 1997, two months after my grandpa also died from cancer. That was a hard year for the family. Nothing was ever the same after that. Whereas before the farm had at least some sort of future, whatever that future was died with my father. Two of my uncles still live right next to the farm, but only one really does the farming, and neither one of them have kids.

The Winds of Change

It's been a while since I've written anything. I just wanted to give a quick update of what has changed in my life recently before going to bed. To get right to it, it looks like I will be moving back to where I came from to try and save my family's farm. At first the idea kind of scared me, even though it's something I've secretly wanted to do for many years, but the more I talk about it with my mom the more I want to do it. I talked with her today about it and I think I'd leave next week if I could.

I'll be writing more about this later on, so that's all for now.