Another post for Grandma

 Hello again!

I'm trying a hybrid approach this time.  I think my mom might have photos of most of the same things, but I figured I'd put them here so they'd be in one place for reference.

First, here is a link that should lead to a little video I made tonight:

Intro Video

We had a pleasant Thanksgiving gathering in Minnesota this year.  Sarah was able to join us, and Casey and I planned a variety of things to do over the four days people stayed.  Thursday was centered on the food, and Casey outdid herself with many excellent dishes.

Friday, we took the family two hours north to Duluth, where Casey spent her college years.  We got some decent food, those interested partook in some beverages, and Casey showed us the old mansion where she used to give tours.  Duluth concluded with Bentleyville, a Christmas light festival that has humble roots and has taken on a life of its own.

Saturday, my dad and I played handball, then we gave plant advice to a friend, visited Casey's grandmother during an orchid trip, and snuck in almost a whole round of disc golf before it got dark.  The day finished with a screening of The Princess Bride with a soundtrack by the Minnesota Orchestra.  (Pizza was acquired beforehand with only a small amount of drama.)

Sunday, we went to a Christmas market, then played a few rounds of a new game that features growing plants.

Since Thanksgiving, I played in a handball tournament in Milwaukee, which didn't go quite as I hoped due to a lack of sleep the night before.  I had fun though, and feel like I'm getting back up to speed, which is always a challenge when I switch from frisbee to handball in the fall.  Casey also put lights on our house on the last possible day, because it was icy the day before, and we got a snowstorm the day after she put them up.  She bravely crawled out onto our roof through a window (while I was at work), but she's determined to show some holiday spirit, and the lights turned out nice.

Some other things happened, I'm sure, but that pretty much brings us to tonight, when Casey had a roller derby bout.  The rules are kind of complicated, but basically, one person from each team is trying to skate through the pack of blockers, and the more people they get past, the more points they get.  I have two clips to share.  The first is Casey's team being introduced.  Casey is #616, and her derby name is Bizzquick.  The video is two minutes, so feel free to skip ahead.  Her team is the Wednesday Warnings, named after the tornado sirens that go off on the first Wednesday of every month.  They have storm-themed cheers and a siren for their intro.

Casey's Team Intro

The second clip shows Casey (in the green jersey and grey knee-length shorts/tights) blocking.  She is the furthest to the right when the video starts, and the video shows her forcing the other team's point-scorer out of bounds and delaying them while her own teammate gets through and scores some points.  It's quite a spectacle!  (I've tried embedding the video, but if it doesn't work this link should: LINK)

That's all I have for today, but I hope things are going well!

Love,

Ryan

A post for Grandma

  Hi Grandma,

It sounds like we are having some technological issues, so I'm going old-school and writing a letter with some photos to give you a bit of an update with things in Minnesota.  I know my mom has a lot to talk about with the Boston trip they went on recently, so this is just a few snapshots into our life since the last time we got a message to you.

First up, the little plants we have by our wall erupted into an alien-looking forest, so I snapped a photo on our way back from one of our walks around the lake.

While I'm on the subject of our garden, we really liked this pink peony we bought this year.  It snapped off at the base early in the spring and still rallied to produce some beautiful flowers!

If you notice, the plant really lagged behind on blooms on the one side.  Tons of pretty flowers appeared on the side further from the sidewalk, and I was wondering why that would be.  Then I looked out our front door and saw this:

The shadow of the house means that the plant is basically cut in half for some of the important sunny time.  We might have to move the plant a bit next year to get it some more sun!

Just to the other side of the sidewalk is the continuation of our project that we hope we can wrap up yet this fall.  We put that new fence in, and we are working on a path to define some garden beds.  The first step was to dig out the path's route, which I just finished yesterday.

Maybe by the next time we update you, it will look a bit more finished!

With the dwindling daylight, our walks around the lake haven't been as frequent.  Maybe now that daylight savings time has changed things up, we can bundle up and get out for some morning walks, but it's hard to work up the motivation to leave a warm bed for a cold walk.

We do have an indoor alternative though to get some exercise.  We have some weights and a stationary bike in the basement that let us do most of what we would do at a gym.

Casey went to Chicago last weekend to play roller derby!  Here is a photo of her in action (in white with the blue helmet), blocking the other team's player (in purple) from going where they want to go.

And I got to watch from home!  The games were broadcast over the internet, so I snapped a photo of my phone's screen when I saw Casey (number 616 in the middle).

Unfortunately, soon after this picture was taken, Casey had some helmet-to-helmet contact with a skater on the other team and came home with a bit of a concussion, so she's been taking it easy for the past week.  If she feels up for it, her first games with her new team in Minnesota are this coming Saturday.  After things started opening back up from the pandemic, the league decided to re-draft the players onto four new teams, so she'll have new teammates, and it will be interesting to see how they all compete against new combinations of players!

The reason I couldn't go watch Casey in Chicago is I was playing a handball tournament here in Minnesota.  It was our state doubles tournament, and my partner and I got second.  The guy I usually play with had some strange heart issue that he's trying to figure out, so I recruited someone I haven't played with before.  We didn't quite click, so maybe I'll go back to only playing with my dad from now on...

Last but not least, the frisbee team my sister and I play for competed in San Diego.  I don't have any good photos of us, but here is a picture of the whole team.

One of our games is also on YouTube if you want to watch a couple of points:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wc3hEqBkRVw&t=3860s

I hope the visit goes well and Mom has lots of good stories to share!

I'm off to make some pancakes before we head to the hardware store for path-making supplies!

Love,

Ryan

 

Doobly doobly doo

I have a number of drafts saved in various stages of completion, and skimming through them is a weird experience. Little things are disconcerting, like finding a sentence proclaiming I liked the movie Detachment, and not having the faintest idea what that movie was about. Perhaps this is why I create so many lists. Perhaps I am afraid of not remembering what I like, and to some degree, not remembering who I am. Am I the sort of guy who likes that movie still? I have no idea? Googling the movie did bring back a faint recollection, but none of what I recalled was associated with a favorable reaction. So all I have to go on is my own word. I wouldn't lie to me, right?

The irony that the movie was titled Detachment is not lost on me.

Today I wondered how ridiculous it will be when people look back at small aspects of our system. My judge asks the jury if they smoke, so he can know whether or not to plan for breaks as needed. While the idea of accommodating smokers seemed a bit weird at first, it makes sense when you realize the goal is a fair trial, not correcting the behavior of the jury. If someone can't pay attention to the evidence as it is presented, a break is warranted. Then again, it's not like we go around asking people if they are addicted to other drugs and allow them to get their fix. Because at the heart of it, there is a chemical dependency there, an addiction that takes over. We draw the line in some pretty weird places, and while that part of the debate isn't new, when it comes to the priorities of the justice system, I suppose I'm wondering what happens when a juror can't do a good job because they are dependent on something we find less acceptable than lung cancer.

And on that light note, thanks for reading! (This is brief because I'm multitasking and actually writing something else as well.)

Another failure

I'm never sure how to feel about people who point out massive coincidences in plots. On the one hand, it's nice when plots are believable. On the other, it's worth considering which stories get told in real life. If the protagonist got hit by a car when he crossed the busy intersection without looking both ways, the story would have never been told in the first place. Or at least, that protagonist wouldn't be the star. My temptation is, then, to break the mold. But of course the problem is that if you tel the boring man's story, or the story of the guy whose bad guys don't miss the thousand shots they fire, there isn't much to tell.

I speculate that this is why people enjoy long sagas like Game of Thrones, where seemingly main characters are killed off, and nobody seems sacred. It's nice to have the tradition disrupted. You almost need to write a saga though, to have enough characters to ensure enough "spares" to continue the plot.

I'm in the brainstorming phase. I don't know when one progresses past that phase. I suspect it occurs when one starts writing, but that's only a suspicion for now. Part of me wants things planned out, to have a picture of characters in my head, and to know what's going to happen. Another part of me knows that's not likely to happen anytime soon. A third part of me remembers that I have never had those things in mind when I've started writing. In fact, I can't remember a single time I've started out knowing anything more than the first few sentences.

This blog has always had a subtheme of being about my struggles with writing, and I suppose it's not about to change any time soon. It's gotten to the point where I consider it a failure to write in this blog, since it means I'm not writing something of "substance." So today I have failed again.

If you're wondering why I've started writing at all (even these "failed" attempts), I suppose it is due in large part to my desire to not live a wasted life. I realized recently that I was measuring my success in terms of tangibles. I was happy to have enough in my bank account to not worry about money for a little while. I was happy to have been flown to play handball (and I still am). I am happy to have achieved what it feels like so many people my age are not achieving. But I wondered if that was really what I wanted to achieve. Then, never content to be only one level removed from my desires, I wondered if I was only wondering that so I could seem cerebral and special.

I consider frequently the possibility of devoting myself to what makes me truly happy. It seems that I could be somewhat successful at handball if I devoted even more time to it. I might be able to do creative things, such as write. But stepping back and examining what happens when I have no responsibility, I see someone who plays video games and looks at screens of various sizes. I don't feel like that person, and yet, we are to some degree the sum of our actions. This is problematic only to the degree I am bothered by not resembling my own conception of an ideal human. When does one give up on the ideal? When do I declare failure?

I'm sure there is always a redemption to be had. There are always stories of people who used the last years of their lives to make a difference, so of course no failure is truly final. But one can only shift their goals to the side so many times before they must admit they have compromised. As one of the least-compromising people I know, I sometimes feel I know a lot about compromise (even for a lawyer).

Thanks for reading!

Segues are overrated (hoverboards are where it's at)

Five pages. That’s sort of a lot of pages when you’ve spent your whole night playing video games and the lateness of the hour starts to set in. A hurried mind does not readily issue forth eloquent phrases, and it’s a bit of a struggle to remember the point of it all when you’re writing for the sake of writing.

As before, as soon as I make writing an obligation, it stops being fun. I feel pressure to write something good. I feel pressure to have something to show for it at the end of my time. I have no doubt I could ramble on for five pages with little trouble. Plenty has occurred in my life that I could summarize ad nauseum, boring those that already know, and leaving questions for those that don’t. So I’m in a bit of a quandary.

I’ve looked up writing prompts. It’s funny to me that when I read a prompt and have no desire to write I occasionally have a fun idea, but when I’m looking for something to write, nothing seems to meet my standard. Am I sabotaging myself? Am I just too afraid of failure to start down a path? Is this an overarching metaphor for my life? Who’s to say? (Yes, it obviously is.)

I find it so much easier to commit to others than to commit to myself. If someone sets a goal for me, I will do everything I can to achieve it. If I set a goal for myself, it might get done eventually. I hate playing for a team, but I love working out with one. This is one reason tennis clinics were my favorite thing. The work put in was collective, but when it came time to compete, it was all one on one. This ethos is missing from handball. People work out on their own, they compete on their own. Frisbee workouts are great. The people are fun, and when we get together, most people are motivated to get in a good workout. But competing with a team… hasn’t been my thing. Don’t get me wrong, playing frisbee with my friends is great. The problem, of course, is my general lack of friends. I’m lucky my sister has friends, or I just wouldn’t have enough people on my side to every take to the field.

I like having our own house. No shared walls, not feeling obligated to play nice with fellow residents, and enough space to spread out have been some qualities I will miss when we move back to an apartment life. Then again, our current place has a bit too much space. And we are getting to the point where we have a bit too much stuff to go along with it. All of which has done little to stop me from acquiring more things. It will be interesting to see what happens to the stuff when it is compressed into half as many rooms. Will the pineapple decorations survive? Will necessity breed innovation as it does in times of war, as the fruit knicknacks battle it out with the gaming collectibles for priority shelf space? How many “life hacks” will be required to utilize our many unused possessions?

I never did write my grandmother to thank her for my Christmas and birthday presents. I still have an envelope with her address already written on it sitting on our kitchen table. I see it occasionally when I sit down for lunch, which happens a couple of times per week. However, we do not use the dining room table for dinner, preferring to sit in front of our occasionally-functional TV when we have the luxury of time. Lunch is a more efficient time. There is no dilly-dally built into the eating schedule. A strict regimen: 10 minutes to say hello and decide what to eat; 20 minutes to manufacture the food (3 if it’s leftovers, but usually 10 if the leftovers require supplementation in order to feed two people); 4 minutes to eat; 10 minutes to look at my phone while thinking how I should really just go back to the office early; 5 minutes to accomplish the things I said I would do over lunch and allocated 15 minutes for in my original plan for the day; 30 seconds to grab something based in chocolate as I head out the door. As you can see, the four minutes set aside for eating hardly lends itself to settling down in front of a TV. Usually it doesn’t even lend itself to sitting down at all. Eating while standing in the kitchen means I can rinse out my dishes immediately after finishing, saving time on cleanup later, and the time it takes to change rooms, pull out a chair, and fend off a cat rarely justifies itself. By the time I’ve walked into the next room, half my food has usually been consumed.

This is a page and a half in google docs. Hardly five pages, and hardly what I had in mind when I sat down to write. Then again, when I sat down to write, it came immediately to the forefront of my mind how self-conscious I am when writing when my screen can be seen. I know this makes no sense, since I’m going to put it on the internet without editing anyway, and yet I find my fingers frozen when the words they produce might be subjected to criticism (even internal criticism) before they become set in the stone that comes with hitting the publish button. Hopefully the next time I sit down, I have some characters. Or a setting. Or anything. But I am not optimistic. (Why start now?)

Thanks for reading!

Hard to believe

It's been a year to the day since I last wrote in my blog. I never thought I'd say that, but it's true. A lot has happened, as tends to be the case when a year passes, and I'm sure context will bring you up to speed on the things I leave out after I briefly sum up my life. The major points are, of course, Casey, my job, and my sports, with a hint of family, housing, and mundane observations thrown in for good measure.

Who is Casey? I suppose one might be justified in asking, since I so nonchalantly dropped her name just above, and yet anyone reading this blog from the beginning will notice a dearth of Caseys in my life to this point. Well, as I believe I've written about, online dating is a thing, and it turns out it is a very good thing for people like me. Casey might even agree with me, since she and I have been getting along pretty well together for the past year and a half. (Getting along together pretty well, being, of course, a huge understatement, but saying we're madly in love just doesn't seem very in character for me.) (Writing it in a self-referencing parenthetical, on the other hand... very in character.)

We moved in together after I graduated from law school, and moved from the twin cities down to Albert Lea for my current job after I passed the bar exam. Did you like how I managed to very casually mention I graduated from law school and passed the bar exam? I wish I could say my celebration at the time was more joyful, but really both of those occasions were more full of relief than anything else. The occasions were so informal to me, in fact, that rather than walking across a stage, I played ultimate frisbee on a beach in Virginia, and rather than be sworn in with the rest of my class, I waited a few months (because I had to take an ethics test the rest of my classmates had done during law school but I managed to put off), and was sworn in by my local judge. I literally mailed it in when it came to entering the legal profession. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

My local judge also happens to be my current boss/employer. For any readers who don't know, it is fairly common practice for law students to work for a judge after graduating before they enter the real world. My position is a year long, and I'm a bit more than 7 months into it, so the time has come to begin looking for the next thing. Casey had the misfortune of becoming unemployed after we moved, so we are working with a tabula rasa when it comes to location. I'm pretty sure we are aiming for the twin cities again though. It feels a bit weird to have things hinging on my career. I've never really had a career before, and to be honest, I'm not quite sure I want one. This is hardly unique among my generation, as I'm well aware, but I suppose being atypical in this regard is just as stodgy as following the trend. Hopefully it all works out.

Casey is incredibly supportive, and I know it's not like I really needed another person in my corner telling me how great I am, but her constancy and willingness to help are likely more than I deserve. I do my best to show my appreciation, but sometimes I'm afraid I orient my gestures more toward the material than the emotional. This has been a tendency of mine before, but I think (or at least hope) Casey knows how to translate "look, I bought you this thing" into "thank you, and I love you" with some degree of reliability. If not (and assuming she reads this), she now has a nifty little cheat sheet with with to decode my too-often materialistic gestures.

Decoding my purchasing practices is not the only reason for turning to my blog again, however. I think I've finally had enough of a break from the rigors of law school that I could find writing fun again, and while I still have no idea what I want to write, it feels nice to want to write again for the sake of writing. I'm not sure what will follow, where it will be found, or how long my desire to write will last, but I'm going to try to make time for it in some regard. Stephen King famously said he aims for five pages a day, which according to my incredibly useless math skills leaves him with almost two thousand pages at the end of a year. I know I'm likely not setting out to write the next epic tome, but even a small amount of regular effort should yield good results.

I'm not going to lie; a major part of my motivation continues to come from just how bad other people are who think they can write. I came across a post online the other day where someone was extremely proud of their book. It had taken them seven years, and they provided some sample text. As I'm sure you've surmised from my tone, it was terrible. Now, I have no idea what my writing will turn into when my attention finally turns to a longer work. I know I've enjoyed my short stories, and most of the people I've shown them to have enjoyed them as well. I know law school has likely changed my writing style somewhat (less flowery prose, more focus on sentence structure; more formality, and less rhythmic, rolling, and rambling (though I'll always assert a love of alliteration)). Be that as it may, I look forward to working on this. I have a small goal of setting aside around an hour a night to write if I feel up for it, and while that may be difficult when it involves shutting off a new video game or refraining from passively letting Netflix roll into the next episode of whatever compelling drama is on the screen, I know it will be worthwhile. It will be good to have a creative purpose again to go along with my professional and athletic aspirations. (I love my job, and I'm almost a professional handball player as well, but those are things to be elaborated on at a later time.)

Thanks for reading!

That's not how you say that!

I forgot. I forgot my professor doesn't know how to pronounce things. I forgot how incredibly irritating this is. It's grok. Like, a crocodile with a hard time with the first consonant. Grokster. Nobody here is croaking. I'm dying. I should have skipped class. I'm visible flinching every time he says it.

Oh, and in case you think this an isolated incident, he also thinks Stallone, like Sylvester Stallone (literally Sylvester Stallone; he's the party in the case) is pronounced with an "e" sound on the end. He adds a whole syllable just for the purpose of being wrong! Luckily, that was a short case. But this grokster case is something we are talking about a lot. And it's referenced in other cases. I am never free.

Just to put this in perspective, I sliced my finger open today, and I'm still taking the time and effort to write this. And it's on my pointer finger, so it's not like I can reposition my fingers and press on. Nope, all the pressing on that's occurring is my finger pressing on the keys in sharp pangs of frustration. GROKSTER DAMNIT. (He did it again. I wish I had cut my finger worse so I could be in the hospital right now. Or dying. Either would be preferable.)

In other news, I'm applying for jobs! It is not going well, but it is happening all the same. I've edited a few writing samples, I've redone my resume (many times), and I've written too many versions of cover letters to count. My frustration follows me into this aspect of my life. Even when I sort jobs by "entry level" positions (a sort facilitated by the website), the results returned require 2-5 years of experience. Why are they entry level? This isn't some error on the part of the website, either. It's a thing the company has to fill out! And they choose to advertise as "entry level." And then I click on 30 jobs I might like to do, and am not eligible to apply for any of them.

I talked to a classmate yesterday who said he's just applying to them anyway. So I guess I'm going to start doing that. Grrrrrrr. It would be so much easier if I had already passed the bar exam, because then I wouldn't seem quite so out of my league.

GROKSTER! The girl talking to the professor pronounced it right, then she pronounced it wrong to fall in line with this ancient relic in front of us. Now she's back to just saying it the right way (thank goodness).

Okay, I just had to rant a bit. Now I have to go write about how I will research the definition of
"interstate" for the purposed of the Fair Labor Standards Act. Fascinating stuff, am I right?

Time Management

I stayed up late last night to watch a computer play a game. My decision was rewarded when google's system defeated a world champion go player for the first time ever. Of course, I have never played go (or even seen it played) before, so I was not in the best position to appreciate what was going on, but the premise seemed understandable even if the intricacies and strategy passed over my head somewhat. The series is a best of five, with the next round tonight, so I might tune in again and see if I can understand things a bit better.

Also, I am applying for clerkships! I would really like to work for a judge doing research and writing memos and briefs. Gosh, that sounds boring when I put it that way. Trust me, it's super cool, and I would get to encounter new issues all the time, which would prevent me from getting bored. Also, it's a lot easier to find a job after clerking (from what I understand). Also, I would have an income! Incomes are good. Especially because...

I bought a plane ticket to Virginia! I didn't go to California or Vegas this year, and I couldn't let another awesome tournament pass me by. I still haven't heard back from other teams (cough, Windchill, cough), so I don't know what my future holds as far as frisbee playing is concerned, but it will be fun to go and make a fool out of myself in the sand. Plus, this year my shoulder won't be torn to shreds (hopefully). Of course...

I need to get in shape. So I started running a bit. A small bit. Like, I jogged to a cookie stand. (Just kidding, I'm running 3+ miles a few times a week. But cookies are delicious.) Alternate segue from the previous paragraph:

my shoulder did get injured at the state doubles tournament last year, and that's coming up in a little over a week. It would be nice to get through it healthy so I could play in Des Moines and in the state singles tournament, though. I am doing some rehab exercises my new doubles partner gave me, but I only got them a couple days ago, so the jury's out on whether or not they will help.

It's warm enough that biking doesn't feel like a terrible idea anymore! Of course, the lack of ice means my hopes and dreams of being a professional hockey player are going to have to take a seat on the bench for a while, but I suppose there's always next year.

I still haven't heard from Arizona. This does not stop people from asking me daily if I've heard from Arizona.

Spring break starts next week. This can also be read as "paper writing week" begins after Thursday. I have five papers to get started, and I'm still not quite sure what three of them are about.

I can't wait to graduate. And I get to celebrate graduation by skipping the ceremony and playing frisbee in Virginia! What better way to commemorate all of the valuable education I have received?

Definitely not the right time to blog

It seems Sarah and I are having a competition to see who can go the longest without blogging. Well, for once, I lose.

My life is still hectic. I'm in a good place as far as relationships go, but other than that, everything feels pretty tumultuous. I'm getting by on a day to day basis with respect to too many things, and it's catching up to me. That being said, I felt like writing a bit, just to get my fingers moving before cranking out yet another writing assignment.

Classes:
They are okay for now. In the next month and a half, though, I am responsible for writing five papers and taking two finals, so that's a bit stressful. I am treading water with regards to the daily assignments, but the stuff we do in class has nothing to do with the papers I'm writing. And the papers are our only real grade, so it's quite difficult to stay motivated for class. But if I don't stay motivated for class, I sound like an idiot if I have to talk in class. So I read and prepare for class during the hour before class, and the treading-water cycle continues. I could potentially catch up on my days off but...

Handball
Is going pretty well? I guess? It's a bit hard to say for sure. I feel like I'm in a bit of a slump, but I haven't really lost much recently, so it's hard to tell. I've been playing a lot of doubles recently, which makes it hard to determine exactly how much is my own shortcoming. I won the open division in Colorado, which was a nice consolation prize for losing in the pro division in a match I feel I should have won. Then I (we) got second in the winter carnival doubles tournament, which came with some cash, a free bag, and a modicum of self respect. League has been going... okay. My team isn't fantastic these days, so I've been playing doubles there too in the hopes that if I can carry the doubles team, we can steal a singles match and win the night. This strategy might have a flaw this weekend, though (we are in the finals), as the team we are up against includes 5 open players (Donovan, Quinn, Labey, Hagen, and Hiber). Beating any two of them in doubles will be tricky, and then someone still has to figure out a way to win a singles match against the remainder. But then afterwards...

Prom
My girlfriend is humoring me and making my sixth (and perhaps final) prom a special one. Of course, this particular event is called the "barrister's ball," but we all know better. Law prom it is, and for good reason. Drama, sloppiness, irresponsible decisions... all that's really different from high school is that the booze is legal. Oh, and copious. It seems, this year there will be three open bars at our disposal. What could go wrong? (A lot. A lot could go wrong.) Nothing probably will, though, especially with me at the helm of sober volunteership.

I don't have a nifty segue from the last heading to whatever I'm going to talk about next, but that's okay. You'll tolerate me anyway.

I had a fun time coaching the University of Minnesota players at the national collegiate handball tournament here in town. And I got to be part of a coaches meeting and rub elbows with the people in charge of making some important decisions moving forward. If I move to Arizona, I have some potential contacts! If I stay here, I have some potential contacts! If I move to Alaska... well, I suppose worlds is headed there in a couple of years, so I suppose that's almost relevant? (Why would I move to Alaska, you might ask? Well, I don't really have a job, per se, as of right now, technically, as a matter of fact, so I'm... in the market? Starving to death? What's the right term? Oh right, job-hunting! That's what I'm doing. It's delightful.)

Anyway, I suppose I've demonstrated to adequate effect that my fingers are capable of movement, so I'll head back to my regularly scheduled programming. (Oooh, programming! I'd still like to learn how to code for computers! Back burner sure is getting full these days...)

I'd say I'll write more soon, but maybe I'll condition that on Sarah actually updating her blog of European adventures. That way I know I won't have to, and I won't feel as bad for not writing here!

Genius (as usual)

Thanks for reading!

Oh no!

I just had a pop-up tell me I had a virus and it was going to delete my hard drive in five minutes unless I called a phone number displayed on my screen. Naturally, I couldn't take the risk, so I deleted my hard drive right then and there. I'm not going to wait five minutes to correct this problem! What if it corrupts my hard drive? Much safer to just delete it... If I'm going to have my files corrupted, I might as well make sure they are all deleted instead, right?

Part of me is curious what would have happened if I called the number, and I certainly would have considered doing so had not an incredibly annoying audio message also been playing the entire time warning me that my hard drive was going to be deleted. I'll give the pop-up people credit though, the window was nearly impossible to close. I actually wound up force-quitting Chrome, which was frustrating. Luckily, Chrome has my back and restored the tabs I had open. (Thank goodness that didn't include Mr. Virus's tab; what a stupid loop that would have been.)

I think the name of the thing was something-or-other-doctor247. I really only remember that it ended with 247. The only reason I include this information is because this popped up while I was trying to stream a TV show, and my parents also stream TV shows, and my dad has been known to get a bit trigger-happy with the mouse when pop-ups tell him he needs to do something. So in case it wasn't abundantly clear, if you see that message (or one like it), you should definitely panic and throw the computer out the window.

Anybody who knows me is probably at this point questioning how I have time to be writing a blog post at such a busy time in my life. But then again, since they know me, they are probably not very surprised that I'm writing a blog post at such a busy time in my life. I tend to write these things during periods of introspection, emotional turmoil, confusion, or procrastination. This is certainly the latter, but for the first time (perhaps), not much of the former. Things are going pretty well, and this wasn't preceded by any ennui, sadness, or even existential angst. So I'll just give you a brief rundown and let you get on with your day.

Sporadic updates:

I'm dating someone! I haven't talked to her about writing about her, so I won't say more until I do, but things are going pretty well. I'm a bit worried that I'm going to start thinking things are going too well and transition into making things more complicated than they need to be, actually. I'm always too skeptical of happiness. If I'm not trying to fix something, that just means I haven't discovered the problem yet. (Must. Find. Problem.) But for now, nope, everything is peachy.

My shoulder is almost capable of playing handball again. I've sort of forgotten how to serve, but it's not like that's an important part of the game. (Hint: yes it is.) I'm super jealous of the Minnesotans playing on the WPH tour the past few weekends, but I just keep telling myself the fact that I'm going to travel to Ireland makes it okay.

Sarah is visiting! Then she's headed off to Europe. Then I'm headed off to Europe! Then I'm coming back from Europe. Then she isn't coming back from Europe... Hmmmm... Things will work themselves out (as usual).

I'm running a handball tournament next weekend. That could go... interestingly.

My living situation is a bit nontraditional at the moment. I sort of live at the law school. (And the reason I say "sort of" is because I'm not sure if me writing it without the sort of is an admission that I'm breaking some sort of law. Not that I'm breaking any laws... But yeah, let's not tell all my classmates and professors or anything.) There are worse places to spend 80% of my time, I suppose. There's free food here, horizontal spaces to close my eyes, bathrooms, microwaves, and most importantly, internet. If one were to consider vagrancy as an alternative to rent (not that I would advocate such an approach), there are even showers at the recreation center! So... life is good?

I miss writing. I say that a lot, but dating someone who writes reminds me that I wanted to do that too at one point. We met up some of her old colleagues recently (they all worked in journalism together), and I kept thinking "I can totally participate in this conversation... oh wait, no I can't; I'm a lawyer-person now." So I just stood there awkwardly, which is definitely my specialty when it comes to socializing.

Okay, well, I was just using this as an excuse to get my fingers moving on a keyboard, so I'll cut it off here (and further support my claim to awkwardness), but maybe I'll jot some things down here every once in a while.

PS: Have you heard about Star Wars? I like Star Wars...

Not a lot

It's amazing how much easier to write it is after reading someone else's writing. It's also amazing how tempting it is to adopt their style, which can be both freeing and weird, because on the one hand, I like trying new things, but on the other, I feel as though it is disingenuous somehow.

It is easy to forget how much I like writing. I started this entry a few hours ago, and it started feeling like work. Like I was obligated to start recounting my experiences from this weekend because that's what I do. I talk about what has happened. But as soon as it started to feel like work, I closed my computer. And now, sure enough, I feel like writing again. But not very much like writing about my weekend.

Don't get me wrong: my weekend was amazing. Frisbee was fun, and the parts I was apprehensive about went about as expected (which is better than I was expecting somehow (don't think about that too much)). And to top it off, I even played well, which was actually better than expected. I think I did something cool in almost every category. I had some great long throws (both forehand and backhand), I had some great break throws (both forehand and backhand), I skied someone, I caught a sweet layout, I got a D on a 50/50 shot, and I got a layout D. I didn't get a solid handblock (touched the disc once though). I didn't get a layout D on an under cut. I didn't throw any lefty throws. I threw 3-4(?) turnovers on Saturday, and a few more on Sunday (probably around 10 on the weekend?) A couple were bad decisions. A couple were poorly executed good decisions. Two were miscommunication. The pros outweigh the cons. I am content. Oh, and I don't think I dropped a pass I got a hand on, which is good for me.

I am still awkward socially. However, I counteract that by bragging a lot and trying to be funny. This may or may not have any good results. Whatever. I'm beginning to care even less. At least most of the people there knew me.

People complimented me a lot. It felt good. One person even said he was impressed I had made some good plays. I remarked that he sounded surprised, and he responded "no, like, athletic plays!" (Does that make it better? Still good. I'll take it.)

I miss frisbee, but I might not miss frisbee with people I don't know. It's hard to tell.

I'm bored writing about it. I'll probably come back to the weekend at some later point.

My trademarks final was awful. Hopefully everyone feels that way.

The weather is nice. I'm going to keep running I think. I started running because my shoulder was hurt and I wanted to stay in shape. (I'm not too out of shape compared to people who play frisbee.) My shoulder doesn't feel any worse than it did before the weekend. I am very happy about this. I need to figure out how I'm going to travel to handball tournaments this summer.

The girl I was planning on seeing again didn't ever get in touch with me again. I guess she wasn't interested. That's fine. I don't know what I want anyway. I wonder if the girls I've been out with give me a second thought. I think about things too much. At least it's easier to be alone (for now anyway), knowing that I'm not missing out on a lot by not dating.

The experience was not a complete waste. I try to take away something useful from my interactions, and I think each person I met did give me something I feel could be helpful moving forward. In order:
1) having high standards is fine
2) floss (she was big on flossing; I floss every day now!)
3) trust your instincts
4) some people just want to meet new people
5) have something in common (I guess? this was a little fuzzy)
6) trust your instincts (dummy); also, being blunt is okay sometimes
7) ? (still figuring this out; probably just because it goes well doesn't mean they're interested enough to continue, but maybe just that music is a strong memory trigger)

And that's just the girls I met in person. Most of the girls I messaged with and didn't meet can be boiled down into: If people seem immature or too casual, it's probably true. Also, if you think you're risking scaring someone away, you have probably already scared them away.

In the many months I spent not updating this blog, I kept writing topics in my phone I wanted to write about. I suppose it's about time I got to some of them. I also started a lot of poems. If I finish them, I'll let you know.

Actually, I'm just going to post this and get on with my life for the moment. I'll be back though. There are only one or two more tasks before my semester is over, so I'm bound to convince myself writing here is a good idea (either because I want to avoid them, or because I have more time). Thanks for reading!

Mostly girls

And then are the days where you talk to your best friend for four hours about anything and everything and it all seems clarified just enough that blogging about it might make it tangible enough to make sense.

Which is to say, Sarah is awesome, and sometimes I don't even know how much I need her until days like yesterday, where I picked up the phone not even really wanting to talk, but knowing I should. And then, within minutes, I'm sitting there thinking “this is exactly what I needed.” And four hours later, the same thing: “Thank you so much; you don't know how much I needed this.”

For those that are not quite in the loop, I suppose I will fill you in a bit. A while ago, I sort of spontaneously decided I was in a spot in my life that I was comfortable dating again. Of course, this decision by itself means very little, since it's likely that I would have started dating a long time ago had any parties expressed interest, but hey, this time I was going to take some initiative. That's right. Me. The person least likely to take initiative, and the least likely to approach people, was going to try and meet girls. Oh boy.

Naturally, I turned to the internet. Because what else is an introverted person supposed to do these days? Just go up to someone and start a conversation? I don't think so...

As usual, the internet had the solution to all of my problems. Advice, sure, but also dating websites. So I joined one. And you know what? I'm amazing at online dating! And you know what else? I sort of hate it.

According to the people I've interacted with, I'm attractive, intelligent, funny, and overall, a pretty great person. While that sort of validation is nice, there's always a disconnect. This is going to sound arrogant, so of course I'm going to say it anyway: I think I'm too good for online dating. Which is what Sarah helped me to sort of clarify on the phone. I'll explore this more in depth in a little while, but I've met three or four girls online who all seemed somewhat promising. I've been on a good number of dates. I don't really have trouble getting people to meet up with me, which, from everything I've read, is supposed to be the main hurdle of online dating.

Here's the thing: I look really good on paper. At first, I was worried that I wouldn't translate that well in person, and I'll admit I botched a couple of dates because I just didn't know what was going on. I'm confident in a lot of contexts, but I suppose the only time I'm not confident is upon initially meeting someone. Which is fine, except that I AM confident when I'm typing, so people get a pretty mixed signal when I'm a bit cocky in my profile and messages, and then a bit meek upon first meeting. The first two dates I went on were for coffee, which in theory is fine (I didn't get coffee, of course, but whatever), but sitting across a table staring at someone is sort of the exact opposite of what I'd like to do while trying to get to know somebody. So I changed things up a bit and started meeting people for walks, which has made a world of difference.

I am funny. I am clever. I alternate arrogance with self-deprecation, and poke fun while still being genuinely interested. I am great at this. And I still hate it. There are three separate stories here, all with different plots. I'll take them in chronological order:

1. Star Trek (ST)

She looked amazing. She had a funny profile, was very attractive, and best of all, was very honest. I sent her a long message to start things off, because I was still getting my feet wet, and I figured demonstrating my ability to write, my intelligence, and my genuine interest would be a good route to take. (And it is, don't get me wrong. However, it also intimidates some people, so recently, I've been sending medium-length messages focusing on a few key points and demonstrating a bit of wit. But back to the story.) She was impressed. Which is good. I'm impressive. All was going well. She was so impressed, we exchanged emails within the first couple of messages because we were obviously hitting it off and moving to a non-dating-website-intermediated method of communication made sense. We emailed over thirty times in the span of a couple days. Long emails, covering a wide array of topics, from her passion for fandom (writing sex scenes for movie/tv/book characters), to our worst characteristics, to our struggles with depression. It was honestly the best series of emails I had exchanged in a long time. She was forthright enough that I felt uncomfortable, which I loved. I enjoy being pushed to consider things I wouldn't normally, and her comfort discussing difficult topics (or in the case of her gay male sex scenes, topics that are just not normally talked about so matter-of-factly) was fantastic.

We met up. This was one of the coffee dates, so obviously it didn't go well. I feel so on the spot. By the time we changed locations, I couldn't undo the damage that had been done. She later told me she had decided right before that date that she wasn't actually ready to date yet (having gone through a difficult breakup recently), which I'm assuming wasn't a line, because she deleted her account online right away. Not that she couldn't have created a different account or something, but yeah. Anyway, she said she wasn't interested in me romantically. This is going to be a trend, so you might as well take note of it.

2. Cosmetician

Her profile wasn't as good. She didn't look as cute. But she messaged ME first, which counts for a lot in my book. Knowing someone is interested is amazing. It means I don't feel like I've somehow tricked them into liking me through any misrepresentations, and it means there's a better chance that she will forgive a transgression or awkward misstep. We messaged a bunch of short messages. I was funny. She gave me her number. We met up. My first walking date. I killed it. I was hilarious, we laughed, and learned about her family, her past, and probably learned a little too much. I have a good memory. This comes back to bite me later. Who'd have thought?

She was also from Ames, Iowa. Common ground, right? We knew some of the same people, we had some funny stories to share, and everything was awesome. She was also incredibly cute in person. She had a lot of stories about how people she had dated were awful. I was decidedly not awful. We had such a good time on our walk that we went to get dinner. We had such a good dinner that we went to get ice cream. We had such a good time getting ice cream that she drove the opposite direction from my apartment so the night wouldn't have to end. Eventually, it ended, and I asked if I got to kiss her. I did. She said, and I quote “I can see why that gay boy kissed you!” Trust me, it was a compliment. (Also, I've been kissed by a gay boy. Also, it wasn't half bad. More on that later if there is any demand for it.)

I was on cloud nine. I was so happy, I didn't mind that I was using cliches in my own brain, which is really saying something. We set up a second date for a week later. I remembered she had mentioned wanting to see the new Fast and Furious movie. I threw in a restaurant I like in the area, and the plans were made. She showed up late because of traffic. I didn't care; there was a bookstore close by, so I just hung out and realized how much I missed reading. We ate, exchanged a few stories, and she drove us to the movie. I had walked the four miles to the restaurant because it was a nice day and I felt like it. I remembered that the automatic lock on her car door didn't work. She was impressed, but also seemed a little uncomfortable. I told her I had listened to some music by her favorite artist. She smiled.

The movie was good. She leaned into me, and we made funny comments to each other. We left, and she drove me home. I asked if I had earned a third date, and she said I had. We got stuck in traffic and I made a comment about how it wasn't a big deal because I didn't mind spending more time with her. She said I should try and be more mysterious.

The moral of the story is that I apparently came on too strong. The combination of remembering everything and showing interest, I guess? I don't know. All I know is the next night she texted me she didn't think we should see each other again. I asked some follow up questions (of course), which were met with the most generic answers available. I longed for forthrightness. I suspected she had found someone she considered more promising. I showed the messages to some people, all of whom thought they were weird and agreed that she was just making excuses for something else. Sarah said she thinks that my character probably made her think of things in a serious way faster than she was ready. I tend to agree. If someone who is used to going on casual dates from online dating meets me, it's probably not that surprising that I'm a bit of a shock to the system. I don't really screw around. I'm honest, I don't really mince words, and I'm happiest when I'm not playing games. (Not literally. Actual games are great, obviously.) Our theory is that she realized I was different and that I wasn't someone to see as casually as the other people she had been seeing, and she decided she wasn't ready for that. Which is depressing, on the one hand, because I thought that the point of dating was to see if there was potential for a real relationship, but on the other hand, I can't really hold that against her. And I am definitely not interested in changing that aspect of who I am. Which is why I'm sort of giving up on the dating thing. But there is a third story, though it hasn't quite been completed.

3. Enthusiasm

If you haven't figured it out, the titles are just my first impressions of them. And boy was (is) she enthusiastic! Quick to compliment, happy to talk, and funny in her use of capitalization, exclamation points, and parentheses (I know, I know; obviously I have a predilection toward a good pair of parentheses...). Our messages were in the middle ground. Not long, like with Star Trek, and not casual, like with Cosmetician. Goldilocks would be proud. We met up for a walk. I was funny. I poked fun a bit more than usual, but she took it well. We didn't really talk about anything “serious,” but it was a good interaction. I learned about her roommate situation, we discussed the appropriate size for dogs, and all was pleasant. I wasn't entirely sure how to evaluate, but at the end of the date I asked how she would like to conclude, proffering the options of a hug, a kiss, or just cordially walking away. She chose kiss! So I guess it went well? (Also, it was a pretty good kiss. At least on my end. She didn't compliment me like Cosmetician though...)

The reason this is an ongoing story is that we haven't seen each other again, despite this (presumably decent) date occurring quite a while ago. Since then, I have sort of come to the realization that online dating is probably not the route I should be taking. Talking with Sarah really clarified things, in a way, because while she was lavishing me with a steady stream of compliments I realized that a lot of them were true. I am a genuine person. I am not frivolous. And I am probably not what people are expecting when they are looking online. I do not do things partway. I am decidedly all or nothing. And this is not conducive to the approach facilitated by online dating. I can't just meet people for the sake of meeting them. I am always going to be looking for something concrete, and I'm always going to be hurt by rejection. Of course I can rationalize it. I don't take it personally, and I certainly am not scarred or even much worse for wear having tried online dating. But I don't think it's the right way for me to go about things.

I still plan on seeing her again, of course, if the string of excuses for not meeting ever ends. I assume they are legitimate and that we will meet again soon, but it's been a while and I'm afraid it will feel like starting new, which I don't know how to handle. She said she is also not experienced at dating, but I don't really know what that means. I guess I'll play it by ear. (Dating really lends itself to cliches.)

I wish the story of my emotional tribulations ended there, but believe it or not, people in “real life” are confusing too! I don't know who reads this blog anymore, so I don't want to be too specific, but...

Actually, when has that every stopped me before? I'm just going to assume that if you're reading this, you probably are doing so because you know me, and I'll ask you to use a bit of discretion. It's not that hard to figure out who any of these people are. If you have talked to me fairly recently, you know them by name, so really, this is probably old news. But anyway...

Sarah is the thread that ties this post together. Have I mentioned she's great? It's true. So we were talking, and I mentioned there was this girl. Well, two girls? Well, I'll get to that. There's this girl. She plays handball. I think she's cute. I don't ever act on these things, because I'm a rational skeptic. But I've talked to her because... well, because she's cute and nice and I sort of like her. So we've interacted in the past. I've mentioned I like her to my “teammates” (as much as handball can have teammates). One of my teammates then told her I like her while he was (very) drunk. He reports her response was “I know.” Again, he was drunk. However, he then asked me if he could ask her out. I responded (in typical fashion), that of course he could ask her out. I have no claim to anyone in the world, much less this girl in particular. I even threw in something to the effect of “it would be silly to let something trivial stand in between you and someone you are interested in” because I enjoy reveling in hypocrisy. So he did. They set up a date for this past weekend.

Friday night rolled around, and all of a sudden, he asked me to join them. I was quizzical. He said “sometimes two people are just better off as friends.” I smiled to myself (internally; externally, I just raised my eyebrows in a way that was hopefully more “knowingly” than “incredulously”), and said sure.

Don't worry; it gets better. Friday night was also the night somebody collapsed on a handball court. Here is the sequence of events from my perspective:

1. “Someone collapsed and is having a seizure! Call 911.”
2. Many people are obviously already calling 911.
3. I think to myself “Oh, that sucks. But that has happened before. Hopefully he recovers.”
4. I go back to watching the match in front of me. I figure everyone else has it under control. I don't have any special training and am unlikely to make anything better.
5. “Someone find an emergency kit. We need to shock him!”
6. I sprint around the place, find one, pull it out of the alarmed case, sprint back to the court, unzip the defibrillator case, and set it next to the people who are obviously more knowledgeable than I am.
7. “We need to get his shirt off. We need a knife or some scissors!”
8. I pull out my pocket knife and cut off his shirt.
9. I leave after it looks like they know what to do from there.
10. He gets put in an ambulance.
11. I go on with my life.

I mention these things because later that night I have an excess of energy. I'm not playing in the tournament because I'm injured, but watching everyone play and the bit of adrenaline from trying to help out has me a bit amped up. So I'm in a court hitting the ball left-handed (because I've hurt my right shoulder), when who should enter but the girl in whom I am still idly interested. (That's right, sometimes I decide grammar matters enough to use phrases like “in whom I am still idly interested.” That's what makes me special.) We hit the ball back and forth, but we are both injured, and it's a bit silly. One of the guys in charge of the tournament comes to the door and opens it, and I'm ready for a lecture about how we're not supposed to be in the court, and definitely not supposed to be hitting without eye protection. Instead, he thanks me for saving that man's life. RIGHT IN FRONT OF THIS GIRL! I couldn't draw this up any better, right? I say I didn't do anything anyone else wouldn't have done, and he insists on giving me credit, saying that he wouldn't have survived without having his heart restarted. I feel pretty damn good.

We all go out that night. It's fun. I show off a lot. My teammate lavishes me with praise, complimenting everything from my athleticism to my intelligence. (Actually, that's sort of all there is to compliment, huh?) We talk about nerdy things like neutrinos, distorting space time, eugenics, graphene sheets, fascism, and science fiction. I manage to have something to say about all of these topics. I contribute discussion based on the articles I'm writing about economics and the FDA. She contributes with discussion of cancer and the lens of the eye. I manage to chime in with a relevant comment concerning retinoblatomas. I'm in my element. (I'm beginning to think I have a lot of elements.)

All is well. We walk my teammate back to the place he's staying, and I walk her back to her car. I take the opportunity to ask why she came out with us. She says she hasn't really spent time with people from the University of Minnesota, and she figured she should get to know us. I mention that my teammate asked me before he asked her out because he knew I liked her. She was unfazed. Nothing. She gave me a one-armed hug when we got to her car. Girls are confusing. I assumed that my subtle acknowledgment would trigger something. Anything. At the very least, it was an opening for her to say she either liked me or didn't like me, right? But nothing? Crafty...

And believe it or not, there is (at least) one other story to tell, though this one will be substantially redacted. There's a girl who seems interested in my while she's drunk. “Very interested” shall we say? Read into that as much as you want. Call me if you want more details. I talked to her while she was sober recently, and she said that not only did she not want to date me, she didn't eve like me! I mean, I don't blame anyone for not wanting to date me, but I don't know how to react to the not liking me thing... There's more to this story, but I just figured I would record my confusion in case you weren't fully able to appreciate the extent to which I have been stretched to my limits recently.

Also, school is a thing. And so are the sports I play.

Nobody who knows me will be surprised that I am a bit behind in school but probably going to catch up in time to not have anything bad happen.

Sports are a bit more interesting, but not quite as easy to talk about in an interesting way. Since my last post I have 1) failed at collegiate nationals 2) played frisbee in Vegas 3) played state doubles and gotten injured and 4) tried to become uninjured, and failed a couple of times.

I failed at nationals because I put too much pressure on myself. Weird, right? I'm not giving up, though. It's weird how once you have certain abilities, so much of success boils down to the mental component. It's true in every sport I've played. Even in card games. Mentality matters. I need to figure mine out.

I suppose I could go more in depth into the trip to Vegas where I met my soul mate. His name is Matt, and he's fantastic. He's forward enough to make me slightly uncomfortable, but understanding and compassionate enough that there isn't any worry about divulging. He's smart, athletic, and supportive. And we've kissed. What more could I ask for? Also, this makes me realize that I have a 100% success rate of kissing people I've danced with. I may have a previously-unrealized superpower! All in all, the trip was a resounding success. I am just hoping my upcoming trip is equally great. If so, I might have to give frisbee another shot!

Well, if this isn't enough of an update, I don't really know what would qualify. (3,700 words are nothing to scoff at!) I'm not sure how I feel about where my life is at the moment, but I'm probably not too unhappy with anything. I live in a constant desire for transparency, but I am also probably not very transparent myself, so it's probably another hypocritical desire. Sort of like how I hope people read this, but I don't update it and even when I do, there are people I still hope don't read it. Fantastic.

Also, how funny am I? My title refers both to the fact that the post is mostly about girls, but also hints at the fact that my new husband is a man despite my heterosexuality. I'm great. Pass it on.

A small break in the silence to record my accomplishments for posterity

I had written that last post months ago. It has just felt like it wasn't worth breaking the ice for such an insignificant update. Also, I feel like I shouldn't have the time to write here, since me posting is evidence that I'm not doing my work.

But it turns out that I'm not productive even when I'm not writing in here, so I might as well spend the time I would otherwise be procrastinating by watching things online updating this.

I am headed to collegiate nationals for handball on Tuesday. I've been worried since last Thursday, when I hurt my hip that I might not be able to compete at my best, but I got out and ran around on it today and I am encouraged.

I am preliminarily seeded 6th in the country, which is pretty cool in and of itself, but my personal goal is to make the final four. I watched my competition play in the pro tournament this weekend, and while they are admittedly very good, I don't think it would be unreasonable to beat either one of them. Of course, the way the draws work is incredibly complicated, so I will probably be spending as much time trying to figure out what the consequences of winning and losing each match would be as actually playing. To give myself the best chance at making the final four I need to avoid winding up in 7th or 8th after the first two seeding matches, so deciphering the draw sheet will be very important. I just hope it's not in my best interest to throw a match. I have a hard time doing that.

In other handball news, the day after I injured my hip I played in two divisions at a local tournament. This ended poorly for my dad and me in the open division, but my mom and I actually wound up victorious in our parent/child division, which was amazing. We weren't expecting to win in the finals, but luckily my mom kept hitting the serve exactly how I wanted her to, which neutralized their stronger player and allowed me to take over the rallies. If I would have played better with my dad, I have no doubt this would have been my happiest tournament, but unfortunately my hip was not up to the task.

I'll step backward one more time and mention briefly that I was also proud of myself for playing a close game with Luis Moreno, the number 2 ranked player in the world. I was down 8-18 in the second game and ran off 11 out of the next 13 points before my fatigue got the better of me. I wish I could say I was surprised, but it's no secret that I haven't been working out as much as I used to. My conditioning has suffered, but my overall play quality has improved, so it's mostly a wash. I win more now than I used to, but I know at some point I will have to prioritize my fitness again to improve to another level.

I know this post is going to come across as self-aggrandizing, but hey, that's what blogs are for, right? So to continue the trend, I'll tell you about the fact that my professor told me I was one of his smarter students after I represented a (somewhat complicated) scenario on the board in a mathematical equation and solved it in front of the class. This will strike anyone who knows me as exceedingly high praise, since I am terrible at math. I was riding pretty high as I left the building. He also mentioned that he was looking for a student to write a paper that he would later contribute to and get published as a co-author. Opportunities just keep presenting themselves. So naturally I'm writing here instead of working on anything school related...

(Did you see that? That was me bringing this post full-circle. A classic literary technique used through the ages to give readers a sense of closure. All is right with the world, dear reader.) I hope to write again soon. I still have so much to say, but I'm distracted right now and just wanted to get some of this down before I forgot it even happened. Not that my mom will let me forget we won a tournament together, but still.

I have some catching up to do

I'm not sure if people even read this blog anymore. That's not true. I know four people looked at it yesterday, in fact. Weirdly, all of them were viewing the post I wrote about being unhappy with a certain police officer after getting pulled over for what I consider(ed) to be no good reason. I don't know what it is about that post, but it has been viewed four times as much as any other post I've written. I am assuming that people get directed there while looking for other things. I was debating changing the title, but instead I wrote an update at the end of the post instead. If you're curious (and want that post to have even more views), it can be found here: http://almostfreelunch.blogspot.com/2011/05/john-barney-of-ames-police-department.html

With that said, my website statistics indicate only 15 people have read my last post. This feels diminishing somehow. That was probably the most dramatic thing to happen in my life in the past few years, and will no doubt stay with me the rest of my life. I don't know how many people I thought would read it, I suppose. Obviously I expected more than fifteen.

It's weird how things bore out according to my expectations, though. I told my parents that it would eventually feel like just another event in our lives, but that we would always be affected. And it's true. I can think back on it with two separate mindsets. Sometimes I feel like it wasn't even that bad. I can rationalize anything, you know? People die all the time, for all sorts of reasons, and it doesn't make sense for me to take this to heart more than many of the other terrible things that are happening all the time. But if I want to (and this is not all that often anymore), I can remember exactly what it looked like. I can have the image of that boy bouncing into the bumper in my mind as fresh as when I was biking next to him, and see his bloated torso and blood-filled mouth. If I make the mistake of remembering too closely while I'm riding now, I occasionally have to slow down. It's scary, because I know one of the surest ways to make a silly mistake is to tell myself not to do it. When I think don't hit the side wall in handball, I hit the side wall. Not frequently. Maybe one in twenty times I think it, and I don't think it that often. And I haven't crashed yet when telling myself now just don't fall over. But it's still there in my mind, and I hate it.

So that's a bit of an update on where I stand with that. Like I said, I don't think about it very much, really. I just figured since it was the last thing I talked about on here and it's obviously still relevant, it would be a good starting point. Of course, now that I've talked about it, I'm not really in the same mood to write as I was when I sat down.

I haven't stopped taking notes about things. I have plenty to say, but I don't want to write a novel right now. I'll try and write here again soon.

The Story

I could write a whole book using this experience. I guess that's where focus comes from. Something to tie it all together. Something significant enough to yield perspective.

Why do people only take you seriously if it's something serious?

Why couldn't a trip to the grocery store be an event to tie a life together? I suppose there's something to be said for people showing their true colors in a crisis. My true colors are nonexistent. I am what is needed.

The book would start with the crash. That's the important part. I would talk about how I saw his wheel overlap the one in front of him, how I saw him wiggle. How I saw contact. How he jerked his bike away, exactly like everyone does. How he panicked, and overcompensated for his too-sudden reaction.

When I saw him crash, all I thought was "yup, I saw that coming." I've seen it before. I will see it again. People rub wheels. The person behind falls over. That's how it works. It almost always happens in those three steps. Contact, jerk away, overcompensate and fall. I braked, ready to tend to some road rash.

Then the car hit him.

I hadn't even heard it. I went from "well, now he knows what happens when you rub wheels" to "oh shit, he's dead" in one second.

I could have a flashback to how people fall off bikes all the time. How my girlfriend fell into a ditch on one of her first group rides. How she got up trembling. I enjoyed supporting her then. I had a lot of supporting to do now.

I ran over. The blood was already everywhere. When I saw it coming out of his mouth, I knew the internal damage was too much. Then I saw his head, and I figured he was probably never even awake.
Blood everywhere. Like I said in my previous post.

Cyclists hurt themselves all the time. It seems they only really die when vehicles get involved.

People on facebook are already using this as a prop for their own propaganda. Kim West says it's bikers versus cars, and others are agreeing.

I have no idea how fast the lady was going that hit him. Probably over the speed limit. She was passing in a no passing zone. I honestly don't think either of those things had much to do with anything. A car could just as easily have been coming from the other direction. He could have rubbed wheels in a passing zone.

This wasn't anyone's fault. It was everyone's fault. I don't care which. They mean the same thing.

I asked my dad if there was anything I could do. He said I didn't have to do anything, and that I was there too. I responded that I assumed he felt more responsible than I did. He said "the buck stops with me." I said, "The buck stops with you, with the kid, with his parents, with the motorist, with everyone in the group. Everyone gets a penny."

I will gladly bear my penny. Nobody should carry 100 percent.

A girl (can I say girl, when she was probably around my age?) got out of one of the first few cars to stop and said she was a medic (or had some training, or something like that). I skipped some stuff. I skipped how my dad was giving mouth to mouth, coated with blood. On our ride home I wondered how he would eat after that taste. I feel awkward writing this because I don't want him to think about it. I skipped over how I took the phone from my borderline-hysteric mother and tried to give information. How I dropped the phone as soon as the lady on the line said I could and started giving chest compressions. I skipped how it was the worst tease watching the vacuum I created suck air back in, making it look like he was breathing.

The girl took over for me, but not before she said "oh my god, he's just a kid." I wondered why it mattered. Would it be more reasonable to see me lying there? My parents? How old does a person have to be to die? I thought I could write a poem all about that one line. I still might.

I was happy to leave the kid. I didn't feel selfish. I almost wrote I felt selfish. The truth is, the kid didn't matter. My mom mattered. The twin sister mattered. The parents mattered. My dad mattered, but he was busy, and I knew he could matter in a little while.

I couldn't decide whether to just hug my mom or give her tasks to try and keep her busy. I alternated. I hugged her first.

My mantra became "It wasn't your fault; it wasn't anybody's fault." Believing in determinism sure helps sometimes, when it's not busy being the most depressing thought in my head. After we hugged for a while, I told her we needed to take care of the girl. Nobody knew what that meant. My mom did a good job. She coated everything in the right language. She even managed to compliment the girl's riding, which for some reason seemed to help. I don't know why. I would not have been comforted. I am not normal. That is a theme for my book.

I also would have seen through the language. She asked, "will he be okay?" and was met with "they're doing everything they can," and "help is on the way." Translation: No. She was not bilingual. When she figured out what the words meant fifteen minutes later, her scream hit me. I paused. If I had a heart, it would have broken.

 I could flashback to how I have wanted to cry so many times in my life. How I cherished the times I did cry, because it felt like I was finally doing what I was supposed to. Once, I started crying and I just kept thinking of sad things in an effort to keep going. The most effective, though, was just repeating what had set me off in the first place. My mom had told me she needed to be able to control me. That idea offended me to my core. It shook me. I had genuinely believed that the whole process was supposed to be a gradual building toward adulthood (read: freedom). Apparently, it had all been a struggle for control. A battle to limit liability. I value independence. I could tie this in to the ongoing narrative by saying how I believe everyone should get to make their own decisions, no matter how stupid. Or admit that my mom may have been right, because I survived, and the freedom this kid was granted terminated with his, well, termination. I don't think she was right though. But it's a good segue. And people like hearing that kids don't know better than their parents. Reinforcing the status quo and all that.

I haven't cried since a week or two after my girlfriend broke up with me. I tried to make myself cry right after the phone call ended, but again, it happened exactly as I had imagined. It's hard to cry when things go as expected. And when things happen over the phone. I spend a lot of time constructing hypotheticals and picturing how I would react to them. My reaction was not as planned when it came to love. Despite having braced myself, that pillar being gone needed more compensation than I could provide, and after weeks of sleep-deprived striving, searching for answers, I succumbed. I knew time was the only real solution, but time has a funny way of not being rushed. Watching a kid die, though, went exactly according to my imagined scenarios. So, no tears. My heart wrenched, then carried on through the second and third screams.

The ambulance took forever to get there. The police all knew he was dead, but wouldn't tell his twin sister until the parents showed up. Which meant her hopes were somehow surviving. I knew that was bad. I didn't do anything. I think I should have. If anyone should have, it was me. He had a sheet over him for a while before the parents showed up. The screams occurred as I was scrubbing blood into my hands. Some of it came off. The rest turned brown.

Will my dad's glasses always be the glasses he had to wipe blood off of? Or is he like me? Are they just glasses?

Our consoling/distracting/misleading of the girl was over. I hugged my mom. I rationalized in response to whatever she said.

I pointed out that the day before she had asked me how I couldn't believe in God (I found a free place to stay next year, or rather, it found me, like things usually do). I had responded with "what about the kids he kills?" That might be too perfect, even for a book. The truth is stupid that way.

The riders powwowed. We briefly discussed what had happened. I stuck to my mantra: nobody's fault, everybody's fault. We tried to figure out whose wheel he hit. I advocated for "he hit 1/7 of all of our wheels." The group seemed okay with that. It was my dad's wheel. I forgot about that, because he wasn't in our powwow. I looked up, and he was with the parents. I wondered if that was a task to distract my mom. She declined. I walked over. My dad was crying. I finally felt a bit weird for not crying. We awkwardly put our arms around each other. A friend once expressed his surprise at the Pesch family touching, as though it was a rare observation of an endangered species. We don't have much practice. Maybe this is our chance to get good.

I walked a few steps and asked what my dad had said. He didn't have the words. I asked if I should say something. He said there weren't words. I told him to take care of mom and turned back around anyway. The dad was stone-faced. Was he like me? Or was he in shock? Or was he some other variety? I approached and he asked me if I saw what happened. I told him everything, and he double checked that the kid had crashed before he was hit. I confirmed. He nodded. Then things got awkward. I am great at relaying facts. Not great at relaying condolences. I started by being defensive, because that's obviously what a grieving parent wants to hear. I absolved my parents of responsibility, and then, coming to my senses, said we would do anything we could for them. I bid a retreat. It wasn't hasty. I clenched my fists because I knew I could have done better, but I knew turning around was not an option.

I found the girl who had jumped in. I thanked her. I figured she was the one who had most likely been overlooked. She was surprised. I felt good again.

The group was fragmenting. I tracked down bicycles. My dad's was the hardest. He had thrown it eight feet into a ditch. I hadn't seen that part. I could only imagine his reaction. I didn't want to imagine it in too much detail. My mind is safer than putting myself in his. This held true for the parents. It holds true even for my future self. I can induce panic attacks in myself just by imagining how scared I will be when I die. I can skirt the edge of despair by imagining my parent's dying. I alternate between hoping I die first and my normal self-interest. I have gotten better at living in the present. I feel guilty for living in the present. I owe it to myself to prepare for these things like I have for children dying and for blood pouring out of bodies. Why are they so much harder?

I ran the girl's bike up the road to a minivan. I found my mom's helmet across the road. We were going to ride back. I wanted to ride back. I wanted to do something. A police officer asked for a final statement. I gave it. I told the story again. He looked helpless. He kept asking to hold our bikes, as if having his hands full would make him less useless. We had things under control. He still had blue rubber gloves on. When he finished, I thanked him for everything (nothing?) and reached out to shake his hand. He hesitated. I could see him thinking he didn't want to get my hands dirty in case his gloves were dirty. He saw me thinking come on man, like you're going to get my hands dirty? Did you not see my hands? We shook. We rode off.

Or, we tried to ride off. Our shoes didn't fit our pedals. We had driven rocks and mud into them. I cleaned my mom's shoes like my sister used to clean horses' hooves. The same for my dad. They took off. It was just me and the police officer. I propped my foot on my bike seat and cleaned my cleats out. I thought about saying See, my hands are dirty now anyway. I didn't. Just rode off.

I tried to muster up disgust when I saw a news camera, but I didn't care that much. Sure, why not.

We talked a bit, though we didn't really say anything.

I stuck to my mantra. Accidents happen all the time. Another case of wrong place, wrong time.

The worst was when silence fell. I got to thinking. It turned out, I was hungry. I broke the ice, "Sooo... I'm not really sure how to say this..." My mom just nodded, ready for things to "get real." "But what do we want for dinner?" She laughed. She caught herself. She said she wasn't eating.

Eventually I wound up making pizza. I advocate for continuing on with our lives as normal. I know I can. It's harder when they can't, but I think I can manage anyway. In the meantime, I will do everything I can to make things easier until they are as close to normal as possible. Just bear our pennies and move on.

There were couple of attempts to elicit from me some reaction. I heard my dad tell my mom I was acting strong. My mom told me I didn't need to. I'm not. I asked my dad if he wanted to talk. He asked me if I wanted to talk. I said we all know I don't talk. Obviously what I meant is that I do my talking here.

And that's pretty much the story of how my night went. Like I said in my other post, it feels so weird that it's a story. It's already just a thing I've experienced. Is this me separating myself, compartmentalizing? It doesn't feel like it. Am I too rational? It feels like it. But it sure comes in handy sometimes.

If I've made this sound too self-aggrandizing I apologize. I don't mean to take away from the amazing things other people did in this crisis. My dad was incredible, and the other members of our group all did the best they could and performed admirably in my opinion. I can't imagine what the family is going through, and I don't want to. It's possible that part of the reason I'm so eager to do things for people is that this has made me appreciate my family more, but I'm not sure about that yet. I may write more, I may not. I might not return to this subject for a long time. I might write 20 pages tomorrow. If ever there was a time to play it by ear, I think this is it.

When Sarah joined the military I sometimes wondered what she would do if she saw action and had to watch someone die. I never thought my hands would be bloody first. Weird how things work out.

I'm afraid people won't think I'm actually okay. My mom asked, and I responded with "I am as okay as I ever was." Which is true. Which may have frightened her a bit. It's like how you give work to busy people because they know how to get work done. Give the shit to me. I'm going through it in my own head enough anyway that if anyone is equipped for it, it's me.

If you have questions or comments, you know how to reach me.