Should Isn't Enough

We should have the right to bear arms.

We should have the right to protect ourselves from dangerous mentally ill people.

We should, as a society, make the effort to understand mental illness and help those in need.

We should have stricter laws regarding requirements for purchasing combat weapons and licenses.

We should not force teachers to keep weapons in a school for so many obvious reasons I can't believe I even had to type that.

We should force teachers to consider special counseling for students who have a difficult time socially.

We should make an effort to learn from our history and take steps to avoid repeating it.


I want to be able to defend myself against a serial killer coming after me but I don't see why I need an assault weapon for that. I don't see why any average citizen needs access to assault weapons. Adam Lanza's mother owned five different weapons she could have used to protect herself but that didn't stop her from getting shot in the face. What she really needed was help in treating her son. Clearly we are doing something wrong here as a society.

That's all I'm going to say on the subject and this is the only place I will be saying it.

Catching Up ... Again

I have so many thoughts to write and yet when I sit down to do it they all fly out of my head faster than I can catch them. I would like to pretend it would look like colorful butterflies flying out of my ear all beautiful and intriguing. If I’m being honest, I think it would actually transfer into visuals of locusts swarming with agitation out of my ears, eyes, nose, and mouth. Not very pretty.

Let’s backtrack on what has been happening, shall we?  Let’s see…. I slept all weekend because I’m constantly feeling ill. I did make it out Saturday night to meet the boyfriend and his father who was in town visiting. We had a lovely dinner and then stayed out until 5am singing karaoke. I know, right? I love the dad and the occasional reminder that boyfriend can sing.

Political things! I tried to avoid most of that shit this year. I must say, I spent election night in the most unusual way I could imagine. I voted right after work in crazy-long after-hurricane lines. Total madness.  Then I rushed to my lover’s apartment where he prepared the most amazing meal that anyone has ever made me. It was seriously mind blowing in every course and I ate until I couldn't possibly pack another morsel in. That’s the downfall of amazing food and being gluttonous.  It’s like any drug in that you feel euphoric until pain and discomfort takes over. Totally worth it. Anyway, after dinner we ran off to meet his friends for a birthday celebration in a fancy lounge overlooking Times Square. I sat there with all foreigners as we watched the CNN party below us and the projections of the election on the buildings surrounding us. It was incredible. ‘Twas a highly unusual experience. We had a damn good time (with the exception of the previously mentioned gluttony and pain.)

Before the election we had the hurricane. Maybe you heard about it? It sucked. It still sucks. My story is not interesting so I won’t bother to share it. All I can say is, a lot of people out here still need help. I hear a new devastating story every day. If you are capable of helping someone or contributing to a wish list please do.  The thing haunting me is that 200 rescued animals in shelters are going to be put to sleep soon if they don’t find homes.  I get nauseous just thinking about it.

I don’t want to end on that note. Uh….. Thanksgiving is coming! That means two days off from hell! Thinking about who I’m obligated to and what I really want to do gives me anxiety but I’ve decided to do whatever I really want to and enjoy myself for the holiday.  You should do that as well, right now. 

Tribute Post NYC

Thanks to Facebook I'm going to end up spending the whole day reading little blurbs about where people were and what they were doing when the planes hit the towers. It's emotionally draining. I think the one that hit me hardest today was from a friend who said nothing but posted a photo of his smiling father. His father, a firefighter, who died that day. That friend reached out to me just two days ago. He was more affectionate than usual and I knew why but I didn't say anything. I didn't know how.

I don't have a story for 9/11. My grandmother called to wake me up after the first plane hit. I was in Illinois. My friends started calling to see if I was okay. They didn't realize I wasn't supposed to move to New York for another month. It wasn't my city yet. It was my future that was attacked. Not me. Luckily my family, although somewhat terrified, still let me leave them and move here a month later. That's when I started to find out what people who were here watching it unfold went through. I've met people that lost family and friends. I've met people that were there working. Firefighters, cops, nurses, and volunteers. I can tell you, New Yorkers are strong. Damn strong. They pulled together and I'm proud to say after living here eleven years I'm now one of them. I take pride in this crazy city. I love this place.

At this point I'm going to repost what I wrote in 2008. It fully applies today in the exact same way. 

New York City is the greatest city in the world. It's a perfect mix of every type of person with contrasting opinions, religions, races, and dreams. You can find anything you want hidden somewhere in this tiny island no matter who you are or how crazy your ideas. There is beauty everywhere in every form and plenty of people to appreciate it. I love this place. When I feel the energy radiating from it I am filled with hope and I see infinite possibilities. This place is a part of me. An extension of myself in some form. I don't know how many people can understand that type of feeling but it is powerful. All I want to do on a day like today, a tragic anniversary, is express my love of this place. I will remember- and move on, because we have to.

Just... Blank.

People, Work, Opportunities, and Dreams. They all come and go throughout life. Unfortunately I personally have a huge fear of change. So much so that I keep myself from trying for higher goals. Perhaps it’s a fear of failure? Obviously it’s a fear of failure. No sense in denying it. I worry constantly about friendships and where I stand with people I haven’t seen in a while. I worry that if I don’t accept when an offer is extended that they will give up on me. I worry about that because I start to give up on people that turn down my invitations. Perhaps out of fear of rejection? We get older, our lives change, and we move in the different directions that are best for us as an individual. This separates us from the people and things we love in the now. I have a really hard time with this concept. My whole identity is wrapped up in the things I love now. Yet, when I start to think about my future, I can’t imagine one. I don’t see anything at all. Just…. Blank.

If I’m going to eventually lose or move past all that I have now but I have no future in site, what am I trying so hard for? Why do I bother at all? Everything seems like such a huge all-consuming waste of time. Why do I emotionally invest so much in something that won’t last? Clearly I’ve found my way back into depression. I’m scared of everything. I’m scared of what a waste it all is and what a waste I’ve become. If I listened to myself I would run away from it all. Yes, all of it. Even the things that seem solid and good, they don’t last so there is no use in setting yourself up for failure and rejection, right? No, that doesn’t make sense. Just wait for these feelings to pass. They will pass. They will pass. 

What do you want to do?

I want to learn how to surf.

I don't know why I wrote that. I don't know where it came from. It wasn't an actual thought of something I NEED to do until a few minutes ago. It doesn't have anything to do with anything. I suddenly think it's really important that within five years I have the opportunity to surf. I don't want to be a surfer or live in the surf community. I just want to try it. To do it. To experience it. I don't know how to make that happen.

I think perhaps there are several things I feel that way about. I would like to do a lot of things within the next five years. Just the other day I found myself feeling pretty shitty because I don't imagine I'll have the opportunity to visit Paris... ever. I don't have a particular fondness for Paris. It was probably someone else bragging... and by bragging I of course mean speaking three words in French that I didn't understand and therefor caused me to fill with jealous rage. Seriously though, who isn't curious to travel to amazing place outside of the bubble you have built around yourself?

I've been writing this blog for well over five years. Damn.

What has changed? What have I gained? There has to be something, right?

Oh God the overwhelming pressure of having a life!

Self Diagnosing

Yesterday I decided to diagnose myself with dyslexia.  I had been curious about some issues I have with concentration and words moving around on the screen/page when I'm trying to read.  After much online research I decided I most definitely must be dyslexic. I also probably have skin cancer, male pattern baldness, and vampire syndrome.  The internet is very helpful with discovering these things. Incidentally, after diagnosing myself I noticed that my coworker keeps changing around the numbers when saying addresses and my boss keeps typing words out of order. Everyone has dyslexia!

Or maybe it's side effects from my seizure meds. That makes a lot more sense.

Ode to Joy

A peculiar and fascinating thing happened to me yesterday. Now, you all might think I'm crazy and trust me, I thought more than twice about if I should share this but I figure what the hell. It's my blog. I'll share what I want. On with the story.

Yesterday I was reading one of the various blogs I skim on occasion. This particular blog has several writers and posts random things they find interesting. I often skip most of it. For some reason yesterday I hit play on a video that said Flash Mob. The ever so familiar tune of Ode to Joy started to play. For some reason, I became overwhelmed with, well, Joy as the song suggests and thoughts of my Uncle Tom. You see, this was my Uncle's favorite song. I don't know why I remember that. He died tragically in 1994 when I was ten years old. Unfortunately that is still pretty young and although I remember bits and pieces about his house, work, personality, it's not a whole lot. Yet I remember it's his favorite song.

Ode to Joy is not an uncommon song. You all know the tune. It's the first song I learned to play on any instrument. I know I hear it frequently. Why this particular time I was flooded with thoughts of my uncle made me a little curious. They were all happy thoughts and I was glad to be thinking of him, but it surprised me a little. I started to wonder, wouldn't it be strange if I found out today somehow related to him? I figured I could probably find his name in an old news article being that he was prominent in the community. His obituary has to be somewhere. I didn't think of the fact that my last name plus obituary is sort of flooding the news at the moment with the movie massacre and all. I didn't get anywhere. I let it go.

Later in the day I found myself on the phone with my father. When I asked him when Tom's birthday was he was genuinely shocked. He knows there was no way I had any clue what day of the year it was. I don't consider myself a religious person or anything along those lines but it's times like this when I think maybe the universe is trying to tell me something. Today is the day. Happy Birthday Uncle Tom! I have a feeling you would have enjoyed this video. Love you.