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Showing posts from September, 2016

Temper Tantrum

Note: I had something clever for the title, but at this point I can neither remember what it was, nor do I care to be clever. I'm calling it what it is. A good old fashioned temper tantrum.

There is likely to be a fair amount of negativity in this post. It is, after all, a rant of sorts. So, if that's not your thing, I get it. It's normally not mine, but as I've mentioned previously, sometimes I write in this blog to get that shit out of my head so I can move on to other things. Like which Netflix series to binge on next.
I also normally don't bitch about work on this blog. At least not since I actually got a job that I love, feel respected in, and feel like I'm making a difference at.  So...that isn't really going to change, but some of what precipitated this little blowing off of the steam, as it were, is work-related. So, there's that. Don't worry. If you're a co-worker that happens to be reading this-first off-how did you even find this blog…

Introspection and a Brain Dump of Sorts

There is a thing that people when they fail at something. In the process of doing this thing, they look at what happened, what went awry, is there anything to be done to prevent the same kind of failure from happening in the future. And what can be done in the future, should they attempt to undertake the same challenge.  This process is commonly called 'growth.'  It requires some serious introspection and asking yourself the tough questions sometimes.

Which explains why I haven't really done much of it since the second divorce.

The last person you should really look to is the guy who has tried to be married twice (didn't really take either time). It's OK, though, from the first marriage I got an amazing daughter. From the second marriage I got some good lessons and insights in to the kind of person I am and the kind of people I need to be in my life. was kind of an 'all's well that ends in divorce' kind of scenario.

If you are looking for me to …

Developing Character

I have for some time now been attending meetings of the North Central Ohio Writers group.  It's only been about six months, but someone in the group yesterday said that it feels like I've been part of the group forever.  Not needing to overthink on the drive home (I'm sure I'd be doing that anyway--how else do you pass the span of 75 minutes on 71-S??)--I asked if that was a good thing. I was assured that it was. I no longer have to worry about if I'm family or fully accepted by the group (although I'm sure I still will at some point because doubt is a constant spectre in my life that waits until things are just dark enough to make its presence known).

Yesterday's meeting was awesome. I learned and experienced quite a bit about how to build characters for my stories. 
And I didn't write a single word.
But Todd...a writing group that doesn't write--for a FOUR HOUR MEETING?!?!
So... I walk in...slightly chagrined that they all seem to be waiting for me…

The First and Final Meeting of Overthinkers Anonymous

If you have spent any amount of time on this blog, it should be readily apparent to you that I am an overthinker. I used to think it was just me. I have a very layered thought process about things. The areas where I think I have disappointed someone, or may have done something to cause someone to think less of me (and therefore exclude me from their life) are the ones that pretty much set me in to a tailspin. 
I whipped up this crudely-drawn scenario, because, as it turns out, I'm not alone.  So, this piece is called "The First and Final Meeting of Overthinkers Anonymous"  It's kind of how I think such a group might go. The guy starts off the meeting and everyone instantly starts overthinking things.

Turns out, though, that I'm already in a group like this.  Apparently other members of my tribe (who shall remain nameless) also fall under the siren song of this affliction. But just like the Argonauts, tied to the ship's mast with wax in their ears, this group…

In the Bag

It's no secret that I'm a bit of a bag junkie.  I used to say that I was a bag whore. But I have come to realize that someone might take that to mean I would perform certain favors in exchange for a kick as bag, and that simply isn' You know what? Let's just say either one of those terms probably works, but for now we'll say bag junkie.

I'm a huge fan (read:obsessive) about having the right bag for the right items for the right situation.  To that end, there are often times where I will switch bags midstream, depending on what I'm doing or where I'm going.

I have a work bag. It's a messenger bag. I also have a work backpack that gets used if I'm traveling to one of our stores. The messenger bag is day to day work stuff. The backpack is travel to a store work stuff.  The traveling to a store backpack usually has WAY more stuff than I need for a daily basis simply because I never know what I might need when I'm on site that I won&…

The Bean That Brings People Together

I'm about to tell you an incredible story. A story of a forty-four year old man who had, up to this point in his life, never had a coffee or coffee-type beverage.

I grew up around coffee. My parents drank it. Chock-Full-O-Nuts sat in the coffee filter overnight waiting for just that right moment in the morning when the timer kicked in to start the pot brewing 10 minutes before my parents' alarm woke them to start their day. I loved that smell. The smell of coffee. I love that smell almost as much as the smell of a print shop. A real print shop. With presses. And plates. And ink like a gelatinous creature in metal cans that gets mixed in to just the right color by a master craftsman (like my dad).

But I digress. Second to the love of the smell of a print shop is my love of the smell of coffee (frying bacon on a crisp autumn morning is a very close third).

Many times in my life - ok - three times in my life, I decided to try coffee. It's bitterness seemed like a cruel joke. …

Why Are You Here?

There is not really a way to ask that question without making the recipient of said question a little uncomfortable and putting them on the defensive.

Why are you here?

WHY are you here?

Why ARE you here?

Why are YOU here?

Why are you HERE?

It's such a seemingly innocuous question, but it can have many answers, depending entirely on the emphasis. Side note, I always read or say the word emphasis like emFASSis. Don't know why, I just felt like I had to share.

So. The question. Or questions, because really the same four words can make five questions. Each question can be a rabbit hole of existential self-discovery. Which, really is redundant. It should be existential discovery (the self is implied by the fact that we are talking about existentialism).

The question is too vague for the confines of this blog.   To be honest, if I'm going to even enter a discussion on that question, there will need to be a nice open field and a cloudless night. And the non-sobering machinations…

Which is better? One or Two?

Just over a week ago I threw up a post on ye olde bloggy blog that wound up getting 188 views.   That is the highest hitting post of mine on this blog to date.

Don't you hate that? That feeling like you have to write and then when the time comes to actually put pen to paper, the words flee.  I hate that.

But I keep writing. Because those words. The words that flew away may never return. They may light on the tip of another writer's tongue. And that's OK. They will make their way in to this world one way or another.

I had to get an eye exam today. Aside from being required to for my whole diabetes thing, I am overdue for an update to my current prescription.  And the eye exam confirmed that. Then I got the dreaded question, "Do you have problems when you're reading?"  I tried to look confused. It worked.  "What I mean is, do you ever take off your glasses to read."  I nodded before I could even stop myself.

That started a whole new stream of "Th…