You ever get that feeling that some thing's out of place? Like when there's a tiny grain of sand stuck in your shoe right under your little toe -- it doesn't hurt, but you can feel it just barely enough that it bothers you every time you think about it. And you just can't stop thinking about it.
I'm sure you've all felt that way. Right?
Now imagine that you take off your shoe and clean it out, but you can still feel the grain of sand. So you change your socks, wash your feet, use different shoes, go barefoot. At some point the grain of sand is gone -- it might've been when you cleaned out the first shoe or when you decided to go barefoot or any time in between. But you can still feel it. No matter where you go, what you do, how much you try to ignore it, you can still feel that damn piece of sand under your toe.
You start screaming, you start crying, you hit things, you scrub your foot until the callouses are gone and your flesh shines through new and you're finally exhausted enough to just fall asleep, hoping you won't feel the sand under your toe when you awaken.
And you don't. You wake up feeling great. You get up and get dressed. You've forgotten all about that boulder under your toe. Eventually you end up going outside and the first pebble you step on reminds you of the grain of sand and you can feel it again like it's been there with you all along.
And so you do the only thing you could do in a situation like this --
I'm having one of those days today -- one of those days where I can't stop feeling emotions -- and it sucks. I keep thinking about all the shitty, fucked up things that people do and it's making me sick.
Human beings are vile, disgusting creatures and the universe should be cleansed of this parasite that is the human disease.
I feel like I've been, once again, neglecting my blog. Recently, I've felt like I should spend a lot more time writing (partially due to people telling me that I should just quit my job and write full-time), but I haven't had the inspiration or the patience to actually sit down and do it. So I finally mustered up all the determination I could manage to have in one place at one time and here we are.
I finished work at 0745 this morning and I still have not slept for more than a few minutes (I accidentally fell asleep for a couple of minutes whilst transferring some things onto my laptop from my brother's jump drive. Luckily, I awoke quickly. I didn't want to sleep through the whole day and then be awake the whole night and end up being on the wrong schedule when I go back to work on Monday; this is the reason for no sleep. Also, I had a lot of laundry to do. I still have more to do tomorrow. I also cleaned up my room a little bit (honestly, it just looks cleaner because now there's less laundry on the floor...). I also did some exercise, which was great. I've exercised twice today. I'm going to try keeping it up.
Speaking of exercise. I really want to get fit again. I don't really enjoy being unfit. I'm a really big guy, and I know I have potential to have a great body -- building muscle is really easy for me -- but I have to work hard at it. Working hard at something requires determination and passion and focus. Three things that I just don't have -- for some reason, I've just gotten comfortable with having a mediocre body. But no more, I say! I shall become fit again. I want to be able to do 30 one-handed pushups without breaking a sweat again.
Anyway... Until next time, and stuff? ... ... ... ... OUT!
So. Somebody I work with asked me to write a story with her as the protagonist. I started it differently, but only got two paragraphs through before I gave up. I decided to start over. I haven't finished yet, but so far it's looking good. I just hope I have the inspiration and creativity needed to finish. Also, patience. I need lots of patience. Here it is.
The only thing hotter than the sun beating down on her neck was the sand dancing at her feet, between her toes, on her ankles. Like millions of devil’s tongues licking for the last of my sweat, she thought. She wished only for water and closed shoes; her throat tired and her feet cracked and dry, she pressed on north, hoping that soon she would be on the shores of the Nile. For weeks she had traveled the desert in search of the Seer, but had eventually given into defeat and turned back for the safety and life afforded by the GreatRiver. In the days following the revelation that she was destined to rule the Land of the Old Pharaohs, Vashenka had rejoiced – finally she would receive the riches and glory she deserved. Now – quietly, and in secret, always – she cursed the gods for setting her on a fool’s task. A task she now adamantly believed would claim her life. Although she had been born – and had lived a great many of her years – before the Final War, Vashenka thought little of her life before. Unlike so many of the others, Vashenka had done well for herself in this new world and had carved out of a niche in Egypt. Vashenka’s already-present faith had only been bolstered by the sudden and violent return of the Old Gods, and she had been blessed accordingly – during the Great War, she was one of a handful of elite assassins chosen by Ra to destroy the false gods of the modern world. She worshipped Ra and Ra, too, worshipped her – to the extent that a god could worship a mortal. Now, however, she cursed him for looking upon her with his fiery gaze while she thirsted so. Exhausted, she fell to the sand, giving up.
Vashenka awoke to the smell of meat being stewed over a fire. Rabbit, perhaps? Her throat felt like she had swallowed a thousand needles, but she discovered that she had started to salivate again – she had been hydrated. “You’re awake, girl. No, don’t try to sit. You are still weak from the desert. The sand almost took you, you know. What made you go out in the desert like that with no water?” The man’s voice was old and rough, but soothing. “Ra has blessed me with the ability to travel the desert for many weeks without water. I misjudged the time it would take to complete my task.” Vashenka’s throat hurt as she spoke. Carefully, she opened her eyes, hoping to not be looking directly at the sun. She found that she was in a warm tent, and it was late in the night. “Who are you? What day is it? How long have I slept? Where are we?” “Did you complete your task, girl?” The Old Man – for now that she had opened her eyes, Vashenka could see that he was indeed quite old – ignored her questions and continued as if she had not inquired anything of him so urgently. “You looked headed toward the Nile. Either you gave up, or you did what needed doing.” Vashenka hesitated. She did not know whether to trust this man or not, but something told her she should answer honestly, “I… I did not complete my task. Daily, Ra turned his face toward me and beat on me with his radiance. I was forced to give up and return home.” “Tsk. I see. Why are you so quick to believe that Ra had something to do with your failure? And why are you so quick to believe that you have indeed failed?” The old man started pouring stew into a bowl. It was rabbit, and Vashenka’s stomach growled in anticipation. “I can tell that you are hungry, girl, and still tired. Eat now, and then sleep again. We shall talk in the morning.” “Thank you, Old Man.” Vashenka started eating immediately, then paused, “May I ask your name?” “My name. Yes. Well, I have many names. The Greeks called me Tiresias, to the Druids I was known as Cathbadh. And Odin himself knew me as Mimir. Here, in Egypt, I am simply called the Seer. But you may call me Old Man, if you please.” Vashenka was shocked. “You are the Seer!? I have traveled far to find you!” “Sleep now, child. There is time for talking later.” The Old Man muttered under his breath and waved his hand across Vashenka’s eyes. She suddenly became drowsy and turned to lie back down and sleep. The Old Man caught her half-eaten bowl of stew before it fell to the ground. The Old Man smiled to himself and went out into the dark night to stand watch until Ra once again protected them.
It was already bright and the midday sun was high in the sky when Vashenka ventured out of the tent. She felt much stronger after the few spoonfuls of stew she had eaten the previous night. Her dreams had been plagued by visions of the Nile drying up – people had long thought that it could happen, but there had never been much fear for the Nile flowed strong even as other rivers dried over night. At first the Old Man was nowhere around, but Vashenka soon noticed him coming over a sand dune to the East. He was carrying a large water skin and Vashenka was immediately reminded that she remained thirsty, even after being hydrated so recently. “Where did you find water in the desert, Old Man? The Nile is still very far away, of that I am certain.” Vashenka knew the Old Man could not have walked to the Nile and back in a week, let alone one night, and she knew there was not an oasis for hundreds of miles. “Of the old gods, the one who has always liked me the most is Bacchus. When I am athirst, he fills my skin with wine.” The Old Man was grinning from ear to ear, waiting. “But I am parched, Old Man! I need water, not wine! If I am to complete my task, I cannot be drunk as a fool when I return to my home!” Vashenka was angry now and her eyes glowed with the red of Ra’s light. “Hah-hah! Don’t worry, child. I do not indulge in wine myself. I know some of the old ways of Alchemy and I use my skill to create water from this wine. How do you think I survive out in the desert like this?” The Old Man laughed a deep, resonant laugh that sounded much too young and powerful for a man of his years. He poured some wine from the skin into a goblet and handed it to Vashenka. She waited for the Seer to do something to the wine in her goblet but her turned from her and headed into the tent. When Vashenka looked down into her glass, about to cry out to the Old Man for his magic, she discovered that the wine had changed into crystal clear water.
Physically, there are two things that I know for certain I inherited from my grandpa: my nose—which is large and European—and my chin—which is understated without the underline of a beard.
Aesthetically, I learned many things: the love of nature and the outdoors, the love of the taste of beer whether it includes alcohol or not, the love of Dean Koontz and Stephen King, and the insatiable need to always have access to one’s favorite foods – even if it means learning to cook it yourself.
Theologically, through his own conversion, my grandpa showed me that nobody is ever lost and anybody can find faith and God’s love, no matter how many people may say it’s too late.
This morning, my grandpa taught me how a man can pass on with pride – by never giving up and fighting every step of the way until his final breath.
