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.

Trauma

Today I watched a 14 year-old boy die. (It's amazing how fast that has gone from an adrenaline-filled, frantic state to me already thinking "yeah, that's a thing that has happened in my life.")

I have never witnessed someone dying before. It was exactly as I thought it would be. Which is not reassuring. It comported with my preconceptions, right down to the blood flowing from his mouth.

(Will all manners of dying be exactly as I imagined?)

I have had bloody hands before, but this was different.

The paramedics thought I had been injured because of the blood running down my leg from my knee. But I had been kneeling in his blood. I was fine.

That's a problem, isn't it? I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to be fine.

I have written eight notes in my phone. There are so many poems. But I don't feel like it's really my experience. I could use this, use the description, the fact that something "traumatic" finally happened in my life, and I know I could make it sympathetic. I could write compelling messages. Perhaps I'm not a writer.

I watched a twin sister lose half of herself. I watched a stone-faced father. I told him the whole story.

I watched my father be a hero. Unfortunately, heroes at the wrong time don't have their stories told. I will tell the whole story at some point. But I don't want to forget the sheer respect and admiration I felt for my dad.

People keep saying I don't have to act strong. It's not an act. But I am also very aware I am not strong.

My mom feels guilty for not feeling even worse than she does. She has cried. I have not. I don't feel guilty.

I revel in consoling people. It feels good to know I feel better than someone. I do everything I can for them as penance.

Do other writers feel guilty for telling stories, knowing that the description of events will produce emotions they didn't actually feel?

I knew him for all of 45 minutes. I washed his blood from my body, but it just turned brown. The stains are obviously metaphoric, but right now they are too literal to be turned into metaphor.

I heard the scream of a 14 year-old girl so clearly. I wonder if I should have prepared her for the news. I knew he was dead as soon as I saw the car go over him. None of us wanted to say what we all knew. Somehow, that was the parents' job. As if they didn't have enough on their hands.

We all knew.

That didn't stop my dad from doing everything he could. I pumped on a dead chest for a while.

Squeezing the air out with blood.

I watched the abdomen turn purple and swell. All he was was blood.

I forced a bit more blood out before a car stopped and a medic jumped out. I was waiting for an excuse to leave. There wasn't a point to what I was doing. I could still help my mom. I did a lot of hugging. I held a twin sister. I had to move her head to my other shoulder so she couldn't look at the scene. I shielded her even more carefully when the pulled the sheet over him.

She pleaded to wake up from her dream.

I've echoed that plea so many times.

The dream continues.

And weirdly, I am fine.

Post law law post

I am in the middle of my journal petition. Which consists of reading 375 pages of legal material and writing a 20 page paper on it in the span of 14 days. Oh, and there's editing exercises also. But that's not the reason I'm posting.

Weirdly, the reason I'm posting is probably because I'm tired. Or in that odd limbo between feeling like I should be tired (and either ignoring the effects (yet operating under their influence)) and not knowing what to do with myself. And I want to write. It's weird how I always want to write. But I never want to write about anything. And it's gotten so old hat at this point. As anyone who's followed my blog for more than a couple posts knows, my attempts at taking this seriously have been pathetic. And trying to take a hard line stance on the issue hasn't helped. I wrote a decent amount for a while there, but as always, other things took over. I let other things take over. I played in handball tournaments, I studied for finals, I alternated between trying to be healthy and trying not to stress about being healthy.

So here's where I make a list of things that happened this year (otherwise known as bragging):
I won money in two handball tournaments (Tallcorn, Milwaukee)
I passed my first semester classes without trying.
I won a bunch of little handball tournaments.
I made a friend and a bunch of acquaintances.
I got in better shape (marginal, yet acceptable)
I got poorer.
I decided I probably won't want to be a lawyer, though I haven't ruled it out entirely.
I decided I will probably get a PhD after law school (probably in molecular biology).
I avoided spending money on magic (except one tournament entry).
I ate a lot of free food.
I gradually wrecked by bike.
I grew more comfortable talking to people (client interviews, oral arguments, general back and forth).
I took my second semester finals (results TBD)
I am petitioning (results TBD).
I decided I like Minneapolis.
I didn't write (at least nothing significant).

And through all of this, what I really wanted was to buy time until I had something real to write about. But you know what doesn't happen? Anything, at least by itself. It's not like any of the things I'm doing are expanding my horizons, giving me new things to say. I told myself that maybe with time I would have something to say about my past relationship. Maybe I was still too close to it. I know when I've tried to write about it, I still can't use imagery because I always regress into concepts rather than concrete examples. It's so easy to write about "losing love," but so difficult to say it in the form of something real. So I assumed I was still too close to it. I guess I'm still too close to it. Which is annoying at this point, because just like my flirtation with writing, hearing me talk about my relationship is entirely played out. I can only imagine the eye-rolling "I guess I still have to humor him" reaction on the other end of any conversation at this point. And it's completely justified.

Between my three finals I wrote around 10,000 words. Each final was three hours. And the weird thing is, I didn't write enough. I'm not stressing about it, because 1) there's no point; what's done is done and 2) I don't care that much about my grades as long as I still have a scholarship at the end of all this. But also 3) if I care, then if I fail I will be disappointed. And as has been firmly established by now, it's a lot easier to not commit than it is to commit and fail.

There is a Magic player named Gerry Thompson who was recently on a podcast. (The link can be found here if you care: http://manadeprived.com/eh-team-177-cant-blame-badger/)  He decided he was going to put all of his effort into chasing being a platinum-level pro (an achievement which basically enables you to play magic as your job). He was in a good position to do it. People don't decided to do it out of the blue. Usually they have a couple good results and then they decided "well, I've gotten this far without going the extra mile, let's make it happen." And then it either works or it doesn't. In Gerry's case, he flew to Europe, changed his life around a bit, and didn't make it. He came very close. In the interview, he says that it was the first time he's tried for anything in his life. He is quite accomplished by almost any standard. He is a respected author for the community, he performs well, and he has made a decent amount of money. After he failed, he quit. He took an internship designing magic cards and gave up playing for basically a year. He's back now, which is what the interview was about.

Gerry and I are similar in quite a few ways, which I'll take the time to point out despite their obviousness. I probably appear relatively accomplished to an outside observer, but I know I've never really applied myself. I take opportunities as they present themselves, and I operate well under these sorts of fake-stress conditions. Gerry came to the conclusion that he shouldn't have tried. He should have just kept doing what was working and let the chips fall as they may. He didn't like the stress, he didn't like having put himself out there, etc. And that's tempting.

To bring this full circle (meaning: back to talking about stupid things everyone has heard way too much about from me), I've been wondering recently if I ever even tried. Did I ever fight for my girl? My writing? My education?

I've told myself that it's fine. I didn't have to fight for my girl because "I believe everyone has the right to make their own choices." I didn't have to fight for my writing because "I'll have more experiences to write about/don't have time now anyway/a million other reasons." And I definitely didn't have to fight for my education. Because "it was easy, and I don't need a 4.0 anyway." And you know what? I'm fine with almost all of that. Except sometimes when I'm lonely, I wish I had fought for my girl. When I'm filling out job applications, I wish I had tried at school. And when I'm wondering what the hell I'm doing with my life, I wish I had really committed to writing (and that I wasn't lonely).

I have a policy of not regretting my actions. I know they were justified in the moment, and that things are probably as good as they would have been otherwise. Objectively, I know I wouldn't be happy right now if I had chosen differently about any of these issues. I know that getting published is next to impossible. I know it involves things and processes I wouldn't like doing. I know that if in some weird world I was dating someone long distance, things would be much harder than they are now. There is an ideal world where I'm happily married, writing every day and not caring about money. And it's so easy to wonder if there was a route to that world.

But Gerry had an ideal world where he was a platinum pro, and he went about it as best he could. There was a way to get there. Other people did it, after all. But the odds weren't good. And let me tell you, winning at magic is a lot simpler than winning at life.

So that's the end of that segment. I sort of want to use this post to sum up my first year of law school. Unfortunately, what I've been telling everyone is basically the truth. I've been asked countless times how my first year went, and I always respond "I don't really know; I was too busy playing handball." I actually haven't been playing as much recently as I was earlier in the year. I've gotten good enough at this point that I've actually started attempting to rest on my laurels, which is stupid, since I have no laurels. I'm just in a weird spot where I can't get good games out of the people that show up to play, and I haven't failed badly enough to want to drill by myself. So basically, I haven't put myself out there for this either. At least I still have the reassurance that "if I really tried, I could be as good as the people that beat me."

I could say something here about how I'm going to try. About how I'm going to jump rope, row, run, and drill every day. And you know what? I might wind up doing that. But I'm tired of breaking promises because I can't hold myself accountable. The temptation is to say that this next promise will be different, but unless I'm making it to someone other than myself, it doesn't mean enough to me to follow through. That has become clear.

(As an aside, this is why I am amazing at group projects. As soon as someone is relying on me, I am proactive, I step my game up, I make sure things get done, etc. But personal projects always get done at the last minute. I single-handedly wrote every group project I was involved in this year. And it was fun. But my own success doesn't mean that much to me.)

Now that I've started thinking about it, it's fun to wander down the "where else does this apply?" train of thought. In tennis I showed up to every practice, every clinic, etc. and worked as hard as I could because I wanted to be a model for what could be accomplished if you put the time and effort in. In handball, I show up to every practice that doesn't conflict with school because I know people will be there and I want to be the guy who puts time in. But I don't try as hard because I don't have to to win. In school I've established my image as the slacker, so I find it impossible to try. The obvious trick, then, is to set an initially high standard, make it a precedent that others are aware of, and use that as fuel for my commitment. This doesn't work for writing because of my insecurity with letting others read what I write. I tried brazenly not being embarrassed, and it almost worked, but then I didn't see any results and reverted back to cowardice.

Even now I backpedal. I hedge my comments with "I know this is played out/old hat" even though if I were just confident, nothing would change. The people reading this aren't reading because they hold me to a high standard; they're reading because they care about me. And if they care about me, they care about what I'm thinking and what's bothering me, even if it really is the same stuff as always. (Here's where I would normally make a commitment to do better about that, but won't because... duh.)

This has been a pretty dissatisfying post to write, which is fitting, because a lack of commitment is itself dissatisfying. I hope I figure out a way to solve this problem. I'm not content with the way things are. So I'm going to leave it at that.

Thanks for reading.

I tricked myself into posting

All I wanted to do today was write. But this blog doesn't really hold the appeal it once did. I don't feel like I am really communicating with anyone here. And at the same time, I am not 100% comfortable making it my personal journal. So it's been in limbo, and I still don't quite know what to do with it. I like knowing it's here. I like knowing that there's somewhere I can write the things I don't quite know how to say, or the things I don't have the courage to say. I just haven't felt like taking advantage of it recently. So for those that still check here, I apologize. It won't always be this way. I will have things to say again, of course. It could start right up again tomorrow. Or even right now, if I decided I had more to share.

There's an odd assortment of things in my head right now. I'm used to it, I suppose, but I'm not sure what to let out, what to embrace internally, or what to suppress (both from myself and others), especially as far as this blog is concerned.

Here's a quick update about what's been going on since my last post:

I turned in my final writing assignment for legal writing. It will also be my writing sample for moot court, journal, and job applications, so it's sort of important. I'm not thrilled with it, but I'm not disappointed either.

I won that doubles tournament I was talking about. I played one on two for most of it. My partner hit the ball four times in the entire finals match. So that was pretty fun. State singles is coming up soon. People around here take that pretty seriously.

I hurt my back last Saturday and it's still sore. I don't know whether I pulled something or if it's just normal stuff. It doesn't prevent me from doing anything I really want to do, but is a constant reminder that I better really want to do whatever it is I'm thinking about.

My neighbor has become more avid about his guitar playing. I am less thrilled about that than he is.

I played in a Magic tournament. I got my entry fee back, but didn't do that well. I think I can make the appropriate adjustments. In the meantime, Magic for free is generally a good thing in my book.

I have become intrigued by boxing/kickboxing/mma stuff. I've been reading about it and watching videos on technique on and off for a while now. I am wondering about taking some sort of class, but also know I have better uses for my time.

Intramural frisbee has started for the spring season. We won our first game via behind the back passes, no-look scoobers (and hammers), and copious blades. Which is to say, I had a fun time.

I am attending a prom tomorrow. For the fourth time in my life, actually. I should warn Ian that every previous time I have attended a prom, I have wound up in a relationship that spans multiple years. (We are going as sober volunteers. We have the last shift.)

I am still lonely. I wonder if I was lonely before and didn't know it, or if I'm just projecting an emotion that I feel I should be experiencing.

I biked to school in a suit through a blizzard yesterday for a client counseling simulation. That was even less fun than it sounds.

Ah screw it. Let's make this a real post.

A person I knew from the Magic shop in Ames just published a book online. I read the excerpt. It is awful. I don't know what people's standards are these days, but certainly I could meet them. At least, that's what I'll keep telling myself. While not actually trying to get published, of course.

Speaking of contradictions, I am becoming more and more aware of mine with each passing day. Talking with Ian after the Magic tournament really brought out a few things. We were talking about duties to oneself and society. I posited (to the surprise of exactly no one) that we had a duty to ourselves before any duty to the rest of mankind. That makes sense to me on both a personal scale, and also when taken in context with evolution/natural selection. Of course we are built to try and survive no matter what. He asked me about how many lives would have to hang in the balance before I believed it would be irresponsible not to sacrifice myself. I said there was no number. But at the same time, I've also decided internally that there are people in this world I would die for. So while I don't believe that there is a "real" responsibility as far as altruism is concerned, I hold myself to a higher standard.

This got me thinking, and it holds true pretty much across the board. I don't care that my friends drink. I hold myself to a higher standard (assuming, of course, that drinking is a bad thing; you're free to disagree). I don't care that people don't exercise. I hold myself to a higher standard. In general, it seems I don't care that people don't do the things I do as well as I do them (for the most part (and yes, I'm aware I'm egotistical)). I think this is probably both annoying and confusing to people. I know one girl from handball called me "undateable" because I was "too healthy and responsible." Which I found hilarious, but also a bit telling.

Then again, there's a significant part of me that likes the feeling of superiority. It's like I revel in "forgiving" people for not being as awesome as I am. Which is pretty messed up. I wish I had more analysis for this point, but I'll have to think about it a bit more before I can draw more conclusions.

Like the rest of the world, I have jumped aboard the 2048 train. It was mentioned in XKCD, so I downloaded it, and sure enough, it was intriguing. I quickly came up with a pattern of play that produced success. The real challenge, it turns out, is patience. I get caught up in making progress to the extent I overlook some small but important reaction, and then it all falls apart. A very unforgiving game once you get past a certain point. This is as far as I've gotten at this point:

I've been jumping back and forth between watching poetry and watching people talk about their creative process. It's weird how I can't quite sympathize with either one, at least right now.

I crashed my bike for the first time this "winter" on April Fool's Day. I tried to turn while on a frozen puddle covered with snow and wound up with a bruised/scraped knee/shin. It figured that would be the day for nature to pull such a cruel trick. Fresh snow in April? Yup. Crashing my bike? Of course. You win this one, world.

But that didn't even hurt as much as the pedal I took to the back of my calf/ankle the previous day. I have stairs I have to navigate, and I always take the opportunity to pretend I know what I would do in a cyclecross race, but this time I missed the pedal going for the flying mount-up and wound up ramming the entire bike with my weight behind it into my left leg. Ouch. I don't even know how the pedal could have reached the side of my leg, but I am missing skin in about eight places as a result. I'm impressed, really.

At one of my many lunch talks, I was told that 40% of law students become clinically depressed. I'd hate to think what would happen if someone who was already depressed decided to go to law school...

Speaking of the decision to go to law school, another person from the Ames magic crowd recently announced he would be attending Drake for law. His post on Facebook was met with many accolades. I had no idea how to respond. I was happy that he was happy he got in, but I also felt like gloating because I got in there with their most prestigious scholarship and turned it down. But I also don't envy anyone trying to be a lawyer, since apparently there are no jobs (according to more of these lunch-time-speaker-people). But, he might have a plan, which is more than I can say.

While I'm on the topic of a plan, I learned that I can take up to six credits outside the law school that "substantially relate," so I might use that opportunity to start toward a hard science background with an eye toward a different type of grad school. Now I just need to figure out what other type of degree I might want...

I'm serious, though, when I say I want to stay in school. I love this environment. I don't know what more to say than that. It's awesome.

I'm going to cut off there. I have some job applications I need to fill out, and I have some more brooding to do. Busy day and all that.

Thanks for reading!

Grumble grumble grumble complain (but at least other people are doing cool things)

Day9 taught me about Graham's Number. If you're curious about how ridiculous numbers can get, take a look:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1N6cOC2P8fQ

I am bitter.

The league finals were on Saturday, and rather than playing us normally, our opponents put their best player in doubles and their second-best player at #3 singles so he could beat our worst player. They won, of course. I was stuck playing Steve Johnson (their captain, the coordinator for midwest handball, and my new pretend nemesis). I didn't really warm up, so he got 8 points in the first game. Then I remembered I was upset and he called a timeout after he hadn't gotten to serve once in the first fifteen points. He sided me out, and then I closed it out, 21-0. And that was all I did. Waste of my time. I played a couple of doubles games with random people, but it was really disappointing because league games are a time I consider one of my few opportunities to improve by playing people better than me.

It's getting nice-ish outside again. I know I should take advantage of it, but I'm feeling all hermit-y. Which is probably code for depressed, but I'm distracting myself adequately. The power of the internet.

Congratulations to my sister on her Callahan nomination! She's put a lot of time into getting as good as she is, and it's nice to see her team reward that.

I have applied for a couple of summer positions. I doubt anything will pan out, but at least this way I can say I tried, right?

I am playing in another doubles tournament this weekend. Nobody really seemed interested, so I'm playing with Alex from my collegiates team. He is a C player, so I've already made it clear that I'm going to be taking all the shots. We'll see how good he is at getting out of the way.

I want to be doing something, but I just can't get excited for anything. Usually I enjoy writing here, but I'm not really feeling it today. Or yesterday, when I started this post.

Hopefully that changes. I have a note in my phone of things to write about at some point, so when my enthusiasm does kick back in, at least I'll have stuff to say. Sorry for the lackluster nature of this entry. I'm sure I'll be back to my vociferous, loquacious self soon. This whole semester has been pretty lackluster, actually. My classes aren't interesting, and I'm pretty sure I'm digging myself into a giant hole by not caring enough. But that still doesn't make me care...

Congratulations to Sarah S on being done with her huge tests! Graduation from Monterey is imminent! I'm incredibly impressed. From zero to fluent in Arabic in less than two years! And here I am, spinning my wheels.

This is by far the least appealing Spring Break has ever been. And I never even participated in spring break "college style."

I guess I'll watch some movies.

Geez, I'm throwing quite the pity party here, aren't I? It's weird being aware of the fact that I'm being stupid for being all down on myself, and still unwilling to change anything about it. I know I possess the willpower to pick myself up, but at the same time my brain is making the argument that it's not like I have a better way to spend my break anyway, even if I were cheerful. So here I am.

I watched the first season of "Orange is the New Black" over the last two days. A classmate recommended it to me. I asked what it was about. "Lesbians in prison." Sold. You had me at lesbians.

I accidentally made my pasta dish in too much water, so now the sauce is really runny. So I'm going to eat that before I convince myself it's unappealing. Thanks for reading!

Bragging

Well, it's Sunday again, and it snuck up on me without me having done any writing again, so I guess I'll get to that right after this post. I just wanted to make sure I got this post up before I forgot all the really cool things I did that I need to brag about. Because isn't that why people have blogs anyway? Gotta feed the ego.

So... I wrote a 15 page legal brief this week. I wasn't really sure what sort of standard to judge it by, but then I read some of my classmates' and it turns out I did a pretty good job. I think we all did it pretty close to the night before, so there are typos all over the place (at least in the ones I read, not sure about mine, since I suck at catching my own mistakes (egotistical)).

Then, since I hadn't slept, I took a nap before my simulated mediation conference for my Law in Practice class. Aaaannnd I nailed it. It was pretty awesome. My client said my partner and I made him feel the most confident and secure out of any of the people he had worked with, that we seemed to know what we were doing, and did a great job explaining all of the stuff we needed to take into consideration when negotiating a settlement. We were successful in getting our client to his bottom-line price and justifying our reasons for getting him there. It was a great experience because it really emphasized how you need to be able to condense the law and reasoning into some basic points for your client to understand, and still be able to talk on the appropriate level to the mediator/opposition without your client getting lost. It was pretty fun, and I didn't even hate working with other, real, live human beings! Success!

Friday was the start of the Minnesota state doubles championships. After not having fun playing in the open division with my previous partners, I enlisted my dad. I figured if anyone would be able to tolerate me not letting them hit the ball, it would be the guy who managed to not kill me for the first 20+ years of my life. And sure enough, we are both alive today. So really, the success story starts there. But also, we made it to the finals! Which was pretty awesome.

Now, I don't want to belittle my dad, but the strategy was basically that I played one against two for the entire tournament. This started off a bit shakily, and we were down by a sizable margin in our very first game (against opponents who weren't that good). We mounted a spectacular comeback to win 21-18 (or 19) after being behind 18-10 or something. We did better in the second game, but we had a second match Friday due to our low seed. So we played the three seed and dropped the first game. We won the match in a tiebreaker, and I was pretty thrilled to have made the semifinals. We were playing the second seed, two decent open-level guys. Well, they enter the open division in tournaments around here, anyway. They aren't the guys who would win an open tournament with a lot of entrants, but they are both probably top 15 in the state. I got on a hot streak and we stole the first game 21-4. The second game was more of a battle, and were behind for most of it before tying it at 15-15. We were up 20-17 and dropped four points in a row to go to another tiebreaker. We took care of business and made the finals. At that point I was really feeling the tiredness set in, but I will attempt to avoid making excuses. Andy and his dad both served really well, and we got beat pretty badly. But hey, we got second in the state! So that's pretty nifty.

I just finished watching through the footage of the tournament, and I really need to work on getting my whole torso through my left handed shot. I set up pretty well, but because I'm so focused on making contact I forget to swing with my whole body and I wind up not quite committing through the whole motion. I also have a tendency to jump into my shots on that side instead of staying down. That's either because of bad footwork or lack of confidence. So I have some more things to work on.

My mom jumped into the court a couple of times and she's already looking like a handball player! It is sort of like when I jumped into tennis from scratch: no bad habits. And she's very coach-able, so hopefully she doesn't develop too many quirks before I see her again.

It feels a bit weird writing this stuff after the fact, because my main audience already knows all this stuff. My parents were there, and I talked (bragged) to Sarah S today already, so that only leaves a couple of people that I know even read this. But if I'm ever looking back at these entries, I suppose I'll want to know that I was feeling pretty positive about things (at least for a while).

We went out to eat on Saturday night at an Ethiopian restaurant. The first girl I dated was Ethiopian, and people would always come up to her (people neither of us knew) and ask her if she was Ethiopian. My reaction was always how can you tell? Is there some secret Ethiopian marking I am unaware of? Keep in mind that I had met approximately three Ethiopians at this point in my life. So when I walked into this restaurant I was like it all makes sense now! It was a bit weird eating dinner surrounded by ex-girlfriends, but hey, the food was amazing. And as a nice little bonus, we even knew how to eat it because we had eaten over at my ex's house before.

I then convinced my parents that, despite being quite full, we should get ice cream. Which was both a huge mistake and a huge success. I'll let you fill in the details yourself.

When I got back and could finally deal with the pain in my belly (stomach the pain, if you will...), I fell right asleep. At like 8:00 or something. So naturally, I woke up at 3:00 ready to start my day. I've been up ever since, though the first few hours were spend wondering if I'd ever be able to move again. Of course, I did have intramural frisbee playoffs to attend, so I biked over to that. We were undefeated in the regular season, so we had a bye in the first round. Our second-round team only had four people show up, so they forfeited. They asked if we would like to play a bit anyway, so I joined their team and we played five on five. We went up 3-0 and were winning when we called it quits so my real team could play in the finals. We went up 7-2 at half and it wasn't really a difficult game. We played pretty tight, and I completed all but two of my throws, so I felt pretty good. I also caught the disc over some people, which is always great for the self-confidence. I then biked home, though at that point it wasn't so much biking as pedal-boating. The forecast had said a high of 27 degrees or something, but I think it hit almost 40 (according to a facebook status I glimpsed). A few of the "puddles" I biked through were more than six inches deep.

I then watched the coverage of a magic tournament in the background while reviewing my video from the weekend. I took some screenshots. (I took a lot of screenshots.) Here are the highlights:

I chose a sequence of me up close to show my hitting motion in detail. I think it's kinda crazy how far my elbow bends. The second picture you can't even tell I have a hand...

amputee playing handball

it grew back!

Here's another sequence where I misjudged where the ball was going. So I'm running toward the wall...

I totally know where it's going

Oh crap, no I don't

course adjustment

diving lunge

got it!

I was totally the right person to be taking this shot...

Just doing what I do

At this point I started noticing how every one of my diving pictures looks the same if you find the right frame

Dad doing work!

Turns out having a partner can come in handy

Outta my way; I got this

Nice and close to the camera

between the legs

yet another picture that looks just like the others

gettin' my closeup

I'm going to write a bit for fun/casually now. Then I have some homework. But it was another great weekend with my parents, and satisfying overall.

Thanks for reading!