Focus and Drive

Monday, April 16th, 2018

They think driving a car is akin to life. There’s a start and there’s a finish. Birth and death. Life is a highway. Have you ever heard that song? “I want to drive it all night long.”

Not tonight.

It’s a good thing that life isn’t a cold rainstorm from start to finish. Remember that. Now, dry and warm, I already lost care for the repercussions of “blocking the box” (until that $115 minimum fine arrives in the mail). I already lost care for driving in the cold, heavy rain in a busted up sedan that doesn’t heat up and blow warm air onto my face like it used to. I already lost care for being late to work despite my diligence to always make it on time. I already lost care for walking into work, all wet and cold, without the greetings of a place I loathe to coming to.

Just remember that it was only one bad morning. It shouldn’t ruin the rest of my day. It shouldn’t ruin the rest of my life. Focus on the rest of the day. Focus on the next day. It’ll all be better.

Until that fine arrives in the mail.


Still Motivated?

Friday, April 13th, 2018

One day, the mind is racing, full of ideas. The impossible feels possible. The improbable feels probable. Present is motivation. Motivation is past, present, and future. There is a strong will to live. A smile on my face, even when the rain is falling. Dreams of a better future populate the mind, as if I were a tiny seed looking at an endless field of sunflowers. Anything becomes possible.

Today, it all seems different. I’m not going to delve into it. No need to perpetuate bad thoughts. Perhaps it’s just Friday. Friday the 13th. Even more so not to.

. . . (Is this how you use ellipses?)

Here’s a good thought:

I’ve had no coffee for the last nineteen days. I’ve had diet coke once or twice in that span, but coffee epitomizes caffeine for me, like cigarettes and tobacco. It’s what kept me going for years.

For a few days, the top of my head throbbed intensely. In a span of one day, the pain radiated down into my neck. A nap didn’t cure it. The overall pain made it feel like I was dying from a stroke. I don’t know what a stroke feels like, but it felt like the veins and arteries in my head and neck were exploding. Hemorrhaging. Like a stroke in the brain.

Like a ship sailing out of a storm, my mind emerged stronger. I gradually didn’t need crave coffee anymore. Sleep became better. More quality sleep. I began to remember my dreams. Nights were as if I were dead. My brain wasn’t processing thoughts via dreams. Maybe it was; I just wasn’t remembering. Yawning every two minutes during the day was no longer an issue. Even on five hours sleep. I would yawn even with a full eight hours of sleep.

It’s been a good nineteen days. I hope it’s only just Friday.

And I can’t wait to go home.


Wednesday, April 11th, 2018

I learned a new word today. “Stasis: a slowing or stoppage of the normal flow of a bodily fluid or semifluid.” That is from Merriam-Webster dictionary. How do I cite? Do I have to cite here on WordPress? What kind of English student am I? The worst. Optimistically speaking, one of the worst. Still not the worst. I could be worse.

Another definition included the word “inactivity”. It’s a word associated with bodily functions, but I was thinking about my own life. How many times do I have to write about the state of my life? It’s endless. There is a limitless amount of words. But I could keep saying the same thing over and over again. So stop me before I begin.

Let’s change it up. Let’s not take a word and think of the worst. Let’s not look at the definition of the word, think of the worst, and remember all that is wrong with life. Is that how pessimists think? So, I really am a pessimist? I always saw myself as an optimist. I still believe reaching the stars is possible. Anything is possible.

I was actually reading an article about horror movies. That’s where I saw “stasis”. Of course, my mind will make connections. Most horror movies have people dying. Many of them are gutted of their vitals and of their blood. It is then when there is stasis. A stasis of blood flow. If blood were a river of life, then there would be a stasis of life. A stasis of existence.

Some people still have their blood flowing, but there is stasis anyway. Where nothing is happening. There is no flow. No flow from one place to another.

I don’t want that. Keep the blood flowing. To the heart and to the brain. Keep the fingers on the keyboard. On the pen. Pencil. And just write. Practice makes what? Avoid banalities. Inactivity is what you see in death.

Where Do I Begin?

Tuesday, April 10th, 2018

How do I start?

The ideas are there. I know they are. I’ve been collecting them like a lake beneath stormy skies. Like a black hole sucking up star dust and light. For a few years now. A once small mind. Still a small mind with no where to begin.

What’s the point of collecting ideas if you don’t express them? What’s the point of learning something if you don’t use that knowledge? Even lions teach their young something. Their train of thought goes way back. Everyone has been bequeathed some kind of knowledge. What’s the point if that is your existence?

My existence is this: to write. That’s the only thing I ever had. The only thing I hoped I ever had.

What if it all stays inside. Like a black hole. What if the ideas don’t start pouring out? What if the light doesn’t return. Does a black hole regurgitate something so positive and pure? Maybe I’m uninformed. There is no answer in my mind. Perhaps it is still small. I’m sure I learned it somewhere before. A book I once read. An encyclopedia I once stumbled across.

Time passes without expression. Like a mummified person being bandaged alive. Or a person thrown into a coffin and buried six feet beneath the ground. Unless something is done, it’ll all end.

So, how do I begin [to write]? This story. A horror story. Life sometimes feels like a horror story. Everyone has problems. Everyone has their own horror story. It’s a horror story to feel contained. Things are closing in. I’m suffocating. I can’t breath. Like a man being buried alive. Some men are dead men walking. Some choose to be. Some don’t, but it’s their own fault. I am undecided. A horrible feeling.

Horror should be my specialty then.

Thursday, March 29th, 2018

Thursday, March 29th, 2018

10:33 AM.

Melville, New York.

Here I sit, at a front desk in a day hab site for individuals for autism. There’s another front desk down the hall with windows behind it. Now that’s a front desk. I feel like I’m at a side desk. There’s no window here except for the door that leads into the vestibule, which has a glass window on it. But from where I sit, the angle doesn’t allow me to see anything outside. It’s supposed to be raining today. Is it yet? Is the sun out?

Is the sun out for baseball? It’s Opening Day today. I was a huge New York Mets fan. Huge. Since July 7th, 2017. That was the day the Mets were in Houston, playing against the Astros. It was like the bottom of the 14th inning. The Mets were on defense. A base hit wouldn’t won it for Houston. The ball was hit hard to deep center field. Carlos Beltran ran back, his head squarely up, chasing the ball. He stumbled up Tal’s Hill, one of the most ridiculous things a baseball could ever have. It was basically an incline located deep center field. Robbing home runs would’ve been tough enough in such a deep park.

Anyway, Carlos Beltran stumbled up that hill and made a miraculous catch. I was a New York Mets fan since then. And they won the game three innings later. I don’t remember how.

I was a Mets fan when John Maine threw a one-hit shut out against the Marlins on the second to last day of that season. When Tom Glavine gave up seven runs in the first inning to close out a 2007 collapse. When Johan Santana gave the Mets a chance on the second to last day of the 2008 season. The last game at Shea. The injuries of 2009. The trade that gave up Zack Wheeler. Matt Harvey’s first start, where you could tell, he was going to be special. He was attacking the inside of the plate. The R.A. Dickey trade for Thor and D’Arnaud. The 2015 World Series run.

But I haven’t been watching since. Not in 2016. Nor 2017. I haven’t had the time. Only for basketball. I guess I lost my appreciation for the beauty of baseball. Instead, I would rather have time. Baseball could go on for over three hours. Basketball is 48 minutes non-stop scoring plus timeouts and free throws and halftime.

What was I talking about? Oh. My day.

I had two people who looked like they were trying to check what I was doing. They are people of position who are capable of giving me something to do. I would rather not. I would rather just stay on standby and practice my writing. I think it’s average, if not above average. I should describe more.

This desk is messy. It’s disorganized and cluttered. Even as I have my focus on the computer screen, typing this, the mess is all in my peripheral vision. So many office supplies and paper that needs to be organized. What’s the point of having a fake flower around? Maybe because there isn’t a window here. Never mind that point. Why are their pebbles in the jar. Maybe because there isn’t a window here to look out at the rocks in the large parking that is barely filled. Never mind that point as well.

“Tiffany, come here.”

I wish I could share details about where I work. There are so many things I could write about. What’s wrong. What’s right. What’s working. What needs more work. But I don’t want to undermine my work nor the people here. All in all, though, they are doing a good service. What I do, I just stand by. Watching.

Is that my point? I’m learning by watching. This was supposed to be an entry describing my day. But I didn’t learn anything watching the Mets. I don’t know. Rambling now. Stop. Just stop.

It’s Official: I’m Obese

Wednesday, March 14th, 2018

It’s been a while since I’ve checked my BMI. I know how it works: normal is, what, 18 to 25? 25 to 30 is overweight. 30 to 40, I think, is obese? Above that is morbidly obese.

While I was at a desk, sitting in my sedentary job, I took a look at myself, after having had a pretty nifty lunch at White Castle. By the way, I had two double cheeseburgers, two crab cake sliders, a small hash brown, a small shrimp nibblers, and coffee with five creams and three sugars. (As I wrote that out, I realized, “Damn. That is a lot.”)

I took a look at myself. I felt myself. (I’m not saying that’s what she said.)

For a while, I’ve started feeling a tad… unwell. It’s not quite obvious. It’s like feeling 10% unwell. Something is a little off right now, and it’s become a constant. It’s become chronic. Scary word. A lot of it has been mental. Being unfocused. Being lazy. Loss of libido. Feeling down. The physical stuff, I googled:

“What causes pain under the foot?”

“How long does it take for a scratch to heal?”

“Do I have diabetes?”

After doing two seemingly useless online Q&As for fun, I found out that I’m at a low to moderate risk for diabetes. In other words, I didn’t find out anything new, except that it takes a week for a scratch to heal, so I’m still good.

But do I have diabetes? I would have to go to a doctor to have that question answered. My hunch? I’m going to get there really soon if I don’t stop eating an entire bucket of Turkey Hill ice cream in two nights. I can’t help it though. It’s delicious. Unfortunately, “all natural chocolate & vanilla” doesn’t mean I could consume more obviously.

Then I thought of something, and went straight to a BMI calculator.

“What’s your height? : 5 feet, 9 inches”

“What’s your weight? : 205 pounds”

“Your BMI is … 30.3.”

I don’t know why I was a little surprised. For the past three years – three years ago can’t be the last time I checked my BMI – I was negligent, ignorant with the idea that my BMI was stuck at 25. I was 170 pounds then. But it’s weird that even after all the weight gain, and my seemingly sinking IQ, and the chronic pain in my right foot, and recent days where my mouth has gone dry, and even the sensations in my chest, it’s a single number that scares me the most.

Isn’t that weird?