"What good am I?"

How do you like the new title block? It reminds me of Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey. Except my introspection may not be quite as facetious.

My mood has been steadily growing worse with every passing moment, even while I sit here typing I can feel my anger and moroseness igniting. But I don't have to wonder why. I know why. And that's exactly what I am afraid of.

I am so damn tired all the time, it is not surprising to find myself annoyed by everything around me. It seems that when I do become exhausted enough to sleep solidly, I still wake up groggy, lacking energy or any amount of motivation to crawl out of bed.

I've been traveling quite a bit lately too, "keepin' the turnpike in business" as my dad says. Last weekend I drove 3 hours west towards Pittsburgh and back to retrieve my now fixed truck. Then I spent 2 days in Philadelphia during another snowstorm for an interview that didn't even happen. Today I had to drive north for lab work and more expensive prescriptions I don't really need.

And on top of unemployment and fatigue I realized that I still have trouble expressing my feelings. That might seem weird to those reading this, but what I mean is those raw feelings deep-seeded in the very core of your heart that allows one to open-up and feel a subliminal connection; "peering into one's soul".

I've been called on this flaw years ago, and the truth of it has been regurgitated through the silence of a recent conversation. I am in the middle of an epiphany with myself, or so I thought, since the last few months. I guess it hasn't been enough of a change to really be noticed. I notice it of course, but no one else can actually see what I'm thinking.

What good am I if I know and don't do,
I If I see and don't say, if I look right through you,
If I turn a deaf ear to the thunderin' sky,
What good am I?

Stranded in Somerset

Through the tunnels and the trees, I drove 5 hours west to the hilly city of Pittsburgh, in negative degree weather, during a snow storm, on a very important playoff weekend. Since it was my first time there, I insisted on playing the "I'm-a-tourist" game before my scheduled interview (and so I could find the location of said interview stress-free).

The perfectly round snowflakes swirled from the sky as though a bean bag chair exploded overhead. We drove through the maze of streets and bridges anyway, trying to sneak onto the incline for free, gazing at the barrel vaulted ceilings inside the Cathedral of Learning where two floors of classrooms are converted to resemble the classrooms of other countries, and of course Primanti Brothers...

The bar was packed and every one was decked out in Steelers decor. It was good I was already dressed in my usual black hue so I didn't stand out too much. The Pens game was being broadcast on all the TVs so I guess you can say I fit in anyway. Their "almost famous" meal stuffed in between 2 pieces of bread was certainly an experience. It's impossible to eat it without getting it all over your face.

My interview at the American Business Center went well, and it gave me some good leads, moving me another baby step closer to that paycheck. I left shortly after, headed back east on the turnpike. After driving for a while, somewhere outside of Somerset I come around a turn and suddenly lost my power steering. I drifted off to the narrow shoulder, turned on my blinkers, carefully squeezed out of my partially opened door and held my nose as I watched a green puddle of anti-freeze gushing out of the front of my truck.

It's snowing again, the temperature is quickly dropping, and I'm wrapped in my Mexican blanket reading as I wait for the tow truck man I called to rescue me. $150 to tow my truck off the turnpike, I still had to pay my share of the fee when I exited, and realized I'll have to pay even more to get my truck (that is "in good shape for a '93" Rob the tow truck man ironically told me) fixed.

After a total of five hours, I finally got the hell out of Somerset, but my poor truck with the busted water pump is stranded at the local mechanic's until the weekend. I am very sad and pissed off.

"Curiosity is the mother of invention."

At 2:00 AM I successfully scared my dad by jumping into the door frame he was about to walk through yelling "A-HA!" Just because I can't sleep doesn't mean I can't have fun with it.

I've completely immersed myself in projects this week. These are things I want to do and should do, but the motivation really emerged from my stubborn avoidance of other thoughts currently consuming my mind. Instead of properly dealing with anything, I mix it in with my creative juices. Here is a list of what I've been up to so far:

1. Making Lists ~ Including this one, I'll make lists about everything: things I hate, random facts about myself, goals, etc. I'm wondering if I should actually do something with them, like compile them together to file because right now they are scattered on post-its and notepads with no real purpose in mind for them.
   
2. In depth Reading ~ This is nothing new, but I managed to organize a schedule: what to read next and when I need to finish it aka reading at least 5 books at the same time and when one is done replace it with new one(s). I can't simply read a book either. With my halloween rocket pencil in hand, I edit, take notes in the margins, leave comments at the end of the pages, look up words I don't know, and research any well-known figure or historical reference. It really becomes quite the educational experience.
   
3. Creative Writing ~ Although the whole "here is what happened and this is how I feel about it" is all good and therapeutic, I thought I needed to challenge myself with a new form of writing. Still drawing from my life experiences, it's a more poetic style that brings a different, beautiful perspective. I can't take credit for the idea because it comes from a book I studied in a literature class. And I am definitely not as good as the originator.
   
4. Sketchbook ~ Brainstorm ideas for art projects (ink, charcoal, collage), search corresponding images, observe colors and shadows and textures, and draw sketches with every detail written in. Then all I have to do is actually create them...
   
5. Coffee ~ Okay so maybe this one doesn't fully constitute a project. Maybe it's just more of an addiction, but I keep myself well supplied.

And I know you all must be wondering by now, so here is my beloved halloween rocket pencil:

"How are you doing?"

I'm asking the question people ask a thousand times a day. But when you actually mean it, it has a global giantness to it that still yields the tiniest of answers.
"Fine."

I haven't slept much. The last few days have been rough and now with dangerous amounts of caffeine in my system, I have to get out of this damn bed. Coffee-drunk, I stood shaking in front of the bathroom window to watch the sunrise.

Two days ago I finally decided to stop being retarded and make a long-overdue phone call. I nervously scrolled down my contact list and pressed the green button. Instead of the sound of a distant ring, I heard a voice no one ever wants to hear. [...The number you have dialed has been changed, disconnected, or is no longer in service...]

Tears began to form again, my airways were quickly closing up, while vigorously telling myself I can't break down just yet. It can't end like this when it never had a chance to begin.

I tried again the next day and was excited to find it working again. We finally got a hold of each other, and I suddenly found myself immersed in the most intense, terrifying, life-altering conversation. Despite the emotional extremity involved, it helped me to realize my capability of being human, how much I truly care, and the importance of a much-needed friendship. It gave my life meaning and purpose to know I was there for someone in need and knowing I would fall apart if something happened.

Exhausted both emotionally and physically, I still made the effort to make a follow-up phone call today to fulfill my newly awakened compassion, be sure things were okay, and possibly evaluate what was said the night before.

He doesn't remember talking to me at all.

I think I saved a man's life last night... and all I'm left with is a broken heart.

"Sometimes skulls are thick. Sometimes hearts are vacant. Sometimes words don't work."

I always think that when I wake up New Year's day, everything should be different, feel different, as though everyone gets a second chance, everyone starts over, we all begin again.

As usual nothing changes. I still have the same thoughts, the same fears, hopes, anxieties. Still sipping my usual black coffee out of the same pheasant mug.

But something weird did happen this morning...

I got home around 3:00 AM, drowsy, cold, and completely wired. The party I came back from was fun; hanging out with good friends, laughing hysterically at ridiculous games, and trying to light fireworks in 10 degree weather.

I didn't think I would be able to get to sleep from all the sugary and uber caffeinated beverages I consumed over the last few hours. But I collapsed, only to wake up at sunrise with no chance of falling back to sleep again.
As usual...

I grabbed the book I was reading and anxious to finish (a book I could have finished in one day if given the chance). It's James Frey's follow-up to his first controversial memoir, and even better I might add. By the last 10 pages... I cried, sobbed actually, uncontrollably. I had to stop reading to let the tears flood out of my eyes so I could see the words on the pages in front of me.

I have always read books that make me sad, make me want to cry, always engaging myself with the character as much as one is able. But never did I let myself go, never have I felt that involved with a book, a character, a man's life.

My hands were shaking. My eyes, stinging. Mascara smudged on my pillow. I looked like a fucking train wreck.

Everything is still the same. But everything changed.