Money, money, money, money...or lack there of

When you think about it, 1998 isn't very long ago. It's only 10 years (which is a lifetime to a 5th grader). I was 25 and on the verge of finding my place in the world. But that verge wasn't so much a jumping off point as it was an on ramp that kept looping back on myself.

I had no money, no job, no prospects. Rent was next to impossible to come by. I had quit my job in September with no other job lined up (it was a miserable position and almost impossible to get to without leaving at 5am and getting home at 10pm). My roommate had nothing in common with me, we had fallen in together by circumstance, and he worked hours opposite of me. When we did see each other, the conversation would invariably turn to how much money I owed him.

I probably shouldn't have quit that job. But I was reasonably sure that I could find a temp job fairly easily. I was wrong. I didn't have a car, so I couldn't get to the jobs that were offered and available. I lived off my meager savings for months. By January, I had $11 in my account and I owed what seemed to be a metric ton of money to various people. My roommate had elected not to renew our lease and move out on his own. I moved into a room for rent with kitchen access and took a job in a deli. My hours were irregular, I walked everwhere (through snow, sleet, and rain) and my social life was non-existent. The people who owned the house were miserable and barely acknowledged my existence.

It was then that I really understood the importance of money and learned to hate it with a passion. Which is probably why I am terrified of not having enough money to support Sam and myself.

I'm sure it goes deeper than this, as I think I would by fine with no money if I was on my own.

A blog by any other name...

Will be just as difficult to keep up with.

Over the years, I've made more than my fair share of keeping a journal. Online, offline, in leather bound books, in scholastic lined notebooks. Most of them have failed to a certain degree. I have a stack of them under my bed. Some of them have the chronicles of trips, but nothing more than those few weeks. Others are half filled with drivel (yep, it's crap).

What is this? Why am I unable to commit to writing a few lines a day? I have no lack of confidence in my abilities as a writer. My last job, where I was dubbed a "wordsmith", saw me move to another level of writing. It was that which caused me to look for a job where all I did was write. As I said in my interview for my current job, "I am extremely talented."

I think I lack focus. I don't know why I write. Short stories and fiction, I don't know to end. To me, life goes on. Scenes are concluded, but nothing in my life has definitely ended. Stories go on. Observations and op-eds? I see too many sides (though I am unabashedly liberal). I'm a go with the flow kind of guy, and it makes focus difficult.

I'll try to keep this up. I really will. I'll make it a favorite and I'll try to use it as a warm up for the "official" writing I have to do. Speaking of which, next week I get to be a speech writer. And do voice over work.

I want to be a judge

I watched So You Think You Can Dance last night (it's a guilty pleasure and it's not just to look at pretty girls dancing. After years of watching dance with my wife, I actually can appreciate the art and athleticism of it and recognize many of the subtleties). It is my firm belief that the judges made a huge mistake last night and let an incredibly talented male dancer go from the show, keeping two good, but lesser, dancers.

His one weakness, as I saw it, was a lack of talent in putting choreography on himself. The judges termed his routine as a series of "tricks". I agree that it was disjointed and didn't necessarily flow with the music. But as a series of movements, each one highlighted his abilities. Because they didn't fit with the overall "story" playing out in the music, I think they were misconstrued. I think they did viewers a grave injustice.

But not him. The brief time on the show gave him a great deal of exposure. As Sam has told me, a decent male dancer has no problem finding a job dancing. There's a severe shortage. And this kid, while young, is extremely good. He should have no problem moving on the dance world.

The external introvert?

I haven't pushed anything out recently, despite the intention. I will try to change, as always.

When I was growing up, I was very much an introvert. That's not to say that I didn't have friends, but I had no problem being alone. I actually enjoyed it, sometimes preferred it. What the hell happened?

I used to disappear for hours into the forest behind our house. There were various forts to retreat into, trees and hills to climb, and a horse farm and golf course to explore. Not to mention just walking through the woods on trails (later, I would learn that this is called "hiking". Apparently, I did a lot of hiking when I was younger).

I would delve deep into my mind, explore there. I don't remember having anyone to talk about any of this with. I read a lot, which opened me up to a lot of ideas that I'm not sure that I fully absorbed.

I wouldn't call myself an extrovert, but my introverted self is no longer in control. I get lonely easily, sometimes. I get jealous and angry. I fall in love everyday, three or four times (okay, this happened when I was younger too, when I was the kind of having un-acted-upon-crushes). Sometimes though, I need to think. And keep thinking. When I do, it's not always easy to stop or find someone to explain what I'm think to.