Neglectful In My Posting.

To my dearly devoted readers,

It's been quite obvious that I've been remiss in my posting duties lately. School has become the focus of my life these days. Between classes and extra work outside of class hours I find myself with precious little time to do much relaxing. When I'm not at school I'm at work for the weekends and I never have a day off. As a result I'm feeling a bit thin. Happy, but thin. I intended to a take a day off from school a while back, but I just couldn't justify it to myself. On of my new friends from school is dealing with much more than I am and she always makes it to class. It's inspiring and it keeps me going day after day.

On the subject of "keeping going" I wanted to share with you something. We were assigned the task of writing a short piece on a mentor. Of all the writing projects I've had to work on this one really stumped me. I think it's because I've never had an official mentor in a way you might immediately think of. No sports or club leaders that sought to make me a better person. I did start to think about my dad and the role he plays in my life. As I began writing I found myself weeping pretty steadily. I think I hit the right nerve required to write this piece. Tell me what you think.

I have been on the edge. In the first year of my illness I spent every night before bed contemplating a way out that wouldn’t hurt anyone. It stopped being scary and simply became an exercise I would perform before shutting my eyes and falling asleep. I think back to the days where I would be curled up in the foetal position on the ground, crying and screaming as my skin cracked and bled relentlessly. Back to the days where I would scald my skin for the painful relief it would temporarily grant me. Each and every one of those days my Dad would be at my side.

He became my reason to live and for each day of that year he was the reason I kept going. He has always been the strongest member of our family, making sure there’s food on our tables, clothes on our backs and love in our hearts. I cannot think of anyone else I have ever met with such a strong will. I often feel guilty for arguing with him considering how much he has given me. In the middle of the night, when he had work the next morning I could knock on his door and wake him up so that I didn’t have to be alone on the nights that I didn’t think I could make it. He never denied my company and never told me that he had to get up early.

At this juncture in my life I have no interest in being a parent; however when I think about how my Dad granted me life day after day it makes me stop and think. Stop to think that if I could even have just a shred of that influence on a child’s life then the life I’ve had handed back to me will have purpose.

Every word of it the truth.

In Tune.

Call it a curse, call it a boon, but I've got an innate sense when there's negative energy in the air. Part of being emotionally receptive means you often pickup emotional waves that people give off whether they intend to or not. I'm not talking about anything magical or mystical here, just an ability to pick up certain feelings in a room with people in it.

I don't know how much I believe in things like feng shui, or spiritual energy. What I do know is that certain environments or rooms have a feeling about them if you key into them. In general my house has varying degrees of tension and even hostility. It's not overt and it's not oppressive, but it's there. If I had to pick a room in the house that feels the safest and most relaxing it'd have to be my brother Paul's room. I don't know why that is, specifically. Part of it could be his personality has rubbed off on the walls and floor so that when you walk in there you are welcomed by a generally happy feeling. Interestingly enough it's also the room our cat spends most of her time in when she's not out with the family. Read into that what you will.

When I walk into a building the first thing I do is try to pick up a "vibe" about the place. Now mechanically this includes things like lighting, acoustics, decor, etc. I've been to a lot of homes and I'm usually fairly accurate about my feelings of a place. If I feel a setting is tense or hostile, usually the conversations in those rooms follow suit.

Let me give you an example. The other day I was at work, and without any specific cause I felt all tense and anxious while up at cash. I later discovered that there had been a few grumpy customers just before I arrived at the counter. Obviously a good portion of this was reading my fellow employee's faces as well as their body language. I just do those sorts of things naturally and peripherally. I can tell when someone's having an off day or if they're hiding something. I think this is why I've been dubbed as a good listener. I don't just listen to your words, I watch your movements, your gestures, where your eyes go and the way you stand.

It's remarkable when you start to notice these traits in people. Try this with someone. Have a conversation with them about something you both like. Part way through, shift the conversation to a subject you know they're less comfortable with (for any number of reasons) and watch them. You'll see them change and when you can start to read these changes passively you can start to be a really effective communicator. Beyond that you get to where I am which means you don't even need the person there to know something's up. I've walked into my house after school or work and been able to tell that an argument took place. Again, mechanical things like the way a book is sitting on a table, or how the counter top looks can all key me into what's taken place in a given room.

This may actually work against me in the relationship department. The "curse" of this kind of sensitivity is you can't shut it off. You can dull it and attempt to ignore it, but it doesn't go away. When you're dealing with a partner and you're trying to just carry on a nonchalant conversation you can't help but read into every facial tick and hand gesture. Ultimately what started off as a simple conversation about something innocuous turns into a great epic of feeling and revelation. This gets tiring and puts immense stress on a relationship. I'm not content or comfortable to be with someone and not dissect their brain and heart with questions. A lot of people don't want to be examined or scrutinized.

What do you think? Do you like it when people pry and inquire? I often welcome the opportunity for people to ask me questions about myself or what I'm feeling. I'm pretty damn self-aware of my own thoughts and feelings at any given time so I'd be able to answer honestly.

I know this post seems really egocentric, but you know what? I don't care!

The Then, The Now.

I'm over at a friends house and he's busy preparing Thanksgiving dinner. Don't worry, your calender is working just fine. It's become something of a tradition for Mark to prepare and host Thanksgiving dinner for the household and even former tennants. Each year it has grown a little bit, adding another person here and there. This year we will be sitting around the fold-away tables sharing warmth, food and laughter.

However, sitting at the table writing I find my mind wandering to one thought in specific. How much of what we're doing now, here in this room is "authentic". What I mean is, are we hosting this "adult" dinner because we feel that in our early to mid twenties this is what people do? I'm finding it difficult to look at myself as an adult. In so many ways I still feel very immature and young. I find myself having the thoughts one could say are immature. Stubborn streaks, irrational anger, moon-eyed lust. Does this change when you get older? Does life get more serious and straightforward? I think about how my Dad raised us. I think due to circumstances he had to be more mature and pragmatic than most other fathers. As a result my view of adulthood was one of bills, appointments, obligations and fitting in fun when you can.

I relish these "grownup" times I spend with my friends. It helps ease the transition from being a young adult to a full grown person. I think if I were left to my own devices, my formation as an adult individual would be entirely guided by the media. I find that even now I try to live up to a standard of human that has been dictated to me by the media. I keep waiting for my steam to run out. That is to say, living life at 11, making sure to go out every night and do things with everyond is going to take its toll on me, I'm sure. I justify it by saying I'm making up for lost time. While I'm sure that's true, I have to really start to recognize that I only lost two years. In the scale of my life that's not much. It's not as much as some people lose due other illnesses. Diabetes shaves years off your life, cancer can take even more. One of my new friends, and easily one of my most personal friends knows that her life will be cut short by her MS. With all of that in consideration I think I should look at those two years as having been a brief pause. Something that gave me the time to consider what I wanted to do next.

I think when I give thanks at dinner tonight I'll try to keep that in mind.