Unrecognizable
Tonight I sat alone, soaking in a moisturizing gingerbread bubble bath, listening to Mike Doughty and REM and The Refreshments, and doing Sodoku puzzles. When I finished that, I turned on my Christmas lights and played my piano in the (relative) dark for over an hour. It was a relaxing way to end a day otherwise spent baking Christmas treats—that I'll never eat—for family members who probably don't really want me to come home anyway. Sadly, tonight will the best and most enjoyable night of my holiday season.

Every time I see overweight brown-haired middle-aged men, I assume they are disgusting perverts. I give them mean looks for no reason whatsoever. I roll my eyes at them, as if their every movement—their very being—repulses me. I assume they are imagining every nearby woman naked—especially those my age and younger. I feel sorry for their wives and children. I feel sorry that their daughters will grow up with these same prejudices. Or worse, that they'll turn into the kind of women their creepy fathers stalk.

I cannot stop this.

The only things I truly enjoy anymore are solitary. I look forward to being alone more than I look forward to anything else. This feeling is especially pronounced at this time of year. Each year at this time, I worry about making it to the next year.

I cannot stop this.

I feel so sad for Ginger Ammon. I don't even know her. I keep wanting to write something, but there's nothing to say. So I say nothing and keep feeling sad for her.

I remember sitting in Dave Maloney's house one night during our college years, while his roommates were having a party. I tried to use his turntables, and quickly discovered that turntables are very difficult to use. We listened to Ben Folds Five and talked about God knows what. But I liked that night.

I remember always going to Jenny's house after school, sneaking one or two of her mom's wine coolers before heading home, and worrying about my breath giving me away when I went to my own home. I remember sneaking cigarettes by the dumpsters behind Meadow Market. I remember practicing dance routines with Jenny and Trish in the backyard of Jenny's apartment. When we were in 9th grade, Jenny's oldest brother duct-taped us to chairs in front of the TV and forced us to watch C-SPAN. He was convinced that we were socially, culturally, and politically illiterate (we were), and he wanted to change that. I liked that day.

I remember walking outside, alone, at night, and not worrying that anything bad would happen. I liked those nights.

I remember skipping classes and meeting Megan, Erin, and Dave in the smoking room at Atwood. I remember doing Megan's homework for her. I remember Erin announcing that she'd officially become a "sandwich artist." I remember Jefferson the fly, and being ridiculously smitten with Brian Meyer—a fact that is horrifically embarrassing now. I remember meeting hot Eric, and Megan and Erin telling me to just have sex with him—that this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I remember walking to Riverview from 5th Avenue in the middle of winter, thinking it must be the coldest trek known to modern civilization. I remember meeting my future husband Ryan during my freshman year, becoming friends with him, and having a secret crush on his friend Jason, who was an honors student and a writer—and hilarious. I've never told a single soul about that secret crush. And then Jason graduated and got his plays published and moved away, a fact which has sparked more than a few hours of contemplation for me. I remember Mark Dougherty, absolutely loving him, laughing so hard with him, and then never talking to him again.

I remember helping Mom in the garden and collecting caterpillars in jars. I remember going ice-skating on the creek, after Dad stomped on the ice to make sure it was safe. I remember playing in the sandbox, and riding my bike everywhere, and building snow forts with Heath Bakken, and having snowball wars across the streets with Scheff's, and begging for a dog.

I remember my job at the grocery store, and how Roy would hump the pop displays on the end of aisles while I was cashiering: he always stopped before anyone saw him, and all the customers wondered why on earth I was laughing so hard. I remember how Finner would always hide in the stock room to listen to the Vikings games on Sunday. I remember Finner's mom always coming through my line and asking me to date her son. I liked Finner a lot, but I don't think I wanted to marry him. Plus, I was 16. Finner is married now. I think my little brother told me that he has a kid.

I remember staying up and talking to my little brother, thinking he was years ahead of his age—in wisdom and general intelligence. I remember my shock the day my little brother first stopped me from beating him up. I love my little brother. Sometimes I get very sad thinking about how much I used to tease him, and sometimes I worry that I'm responsible for making him as shy as he is. I am truly sorry for this, and I hope he knows that. If I could take back every mean word I've said to him, I'd do it in a heartbeat. I consider my little brother one of my favorite people on this earth.

I remember sleeping by Sammie, listening to her smack her gums and adjust her position about three billion times every night. I remember sharing a bed with Karen when we were very young. She would always tap on the mattress and convince me that it was her heartbeat. I remember that we'd stay up talking for hours, and we'd finally have to do the whole "no more talking starting right....now! Okay, now! Now!" I love my sister, even though we irritate each other all the time. She thinks I am heartless and insensitive. I think she is over-emotional and too sensitive. We will figure this out some day.

All of these things I remember have nothing to do with my life anymore. The life I once recognized is unrecognizable.  That makes me sad. It also makes me wonder if there will come a time that I look back on these recent years with happiness. Are memories selective? I suppose I will look back with lots of laughter on all the memories I have with my dogs. But that makes me sad, too. It makes me sad that no one (besides my dogs) wants the kind of love I know I can give.

I am supposed to call Dave Maloney back. He called last weekend, and I am a bad friend for not calling him back yet. I am not good at talking right now, but apparently I have plenty on my mind.

Those who say the past is not dead: stop and smell the smoke. [DECEMBER 23 2005]

Three Gardens
Q.  Why does Santa have three gardens?
A.  So he can hoe, hoe, hoe!   [DECEMBER 18 2005]

Still Future Tense
Sometimes, when I find myself still thinking about it, I'm surprised to be left with just one thought: he was so sad and so sorry when it was all over and too late.  I still wonder why he didn't care while there was still time for fixing, while "too late" was still future tense. I still wonder why I didn't do things differently, why he didn't do things differently, why we—being very smart and very sensible people—couldn't figure something out. And what I'm left with, every single time, is that there was no solution. There was nothing to work out.

I still wonder how I could have been so wrong. I still question how I'll ever trust my heart or my mind again. If there ever is a "next time" for me, I certainly better have a stronger plan than my original pipedream.

I don't regret that it's over nearly as much as I regret that it ever started. That's the last thing I'm ever going to say about it. [DECEMBER 13 2005]

2005 Holiday Letter
Once again, that special time of year is upon us. As the sounds of jingling sleigh bells and laughing children fill the crisp night air, I’m reminded that Christmas is a time for deliberate and thoughtful reflection—wistful remembrances of the year gone by, and delightful anticipation for the mysteries of the year ahead.

This year started much like any other: I got another dog. Lucky and I eagerly welcomed “Finnegan” to our clan. And talk about a smart decision: Finny was lethargic, heartworm positive, and grossly underweight when he arrived. He had a whole host of conditions and infections (several eerily ending with “-worm”), combined with a persistent (and productive!) cough. At least 10 times daily, he churned out indescribable white goo from his ears, nose, and throat. A burden, you ask? Only if purchasing and administering 15 expensive prescriptions during the first few weeks with a new dog who is not yet loveable or rewarding in any way could be considered a burden.

After Finny’s health had improved a bit and the dogs were finally settling comfortably into their new lives and environments, I decided to confuse them a bit by finding a(nother!) new home for the three of us. This marks our fourth home in as many years, and we are truly enjoying the moving experience. In June we headed east, hauling our meager belongings into the delightful, primarily non-English-speaking community of Robbinsdale—just blocks from the well-established North Minneapolis area, near the tranquility of North Memorial Hospital. While I don’t feel nearly the sense of personal safety that I’ve known for the last 28 years, the dogs enjoy their backyard. So far this year, they have deftly slaughtered a beautiful songbird, while terrorizing an entire community of squirrels.

As the year trudged along, I decided to take a second part-time job—an apparent effort to (1) afford more deluxe sheep-skin beds and gourmet treats for the dogs, and (2) punish myself for the many sins of my past. I became an instructor at Rasmussen College, where I taught an advanced writing class. During this class I was, once again, slapped in the face with the overwhelming problem of basic adult literacy. Gems of literary genius like the following flowed freely through my classroom: “I am fisicly very bizy,” and “I have work too job.” It was, as you can imagine, a most satisfying and rewarding professional experience.

One thing has remained unchanged during the last years: I continue to absolutely adore my Mikey, while simultaneously (and completely without justification) badgering and berating his motives and trustworthiness.

Beyond these happenings, 2005 was blessed with many amusing anecdotes. Chief among these was the time that my entire family was visiting and the main sewer line backed up in my basement. During our Roto-Rooting excitement, a less-than-considerate neighbor stopped by to borrow some maple syrup—which I promptly dropped, spattering the sticky goop in my kitchen and enticing my Hungry-Hungry-Hippo-dogs to come and get it! If you’ve never encountered the hunger of a large-breed and long-haired dog stomping in maple syrup and proceeding to traipse across your just-polished hardwood floors, it’s truly an amusing experience. Naturally, I was the definition of grace under these circumstances, and never did I utter an uncharming word.

My blessings go far beyond those you’ve read here, but space and time are at a premium, and I must stop—for fear of appearing conceited. I wish you and yours the happiest of holidays, and a wonderful year ahead!  [DECEMBER 4 2005]

Knowing
I love knowing that I'm capable of being completely fine on my own. I hate knowing that I have to be. [DECEMBER 1 2005]

Twice
People don't hurt me twice.  [NOVEMBER 24 2005]

Okay, Karen...
Here's the cookbook you requested, once again.  After I take it off this page, you'll be able to find it in the archives.  [NOVEMBER 20 2005]

Extraordinary
If there was a better way to go, then it would find me.
I can't help it, the road just rolls out behind me.
Be kind to me, or treat me mean...
I'll make the most of it; I'm an extraordinary machine.

Anyone Know If
Does anyone know if Dave Maloney is still alive?  [NOVEMBER 1 2005]

My Dream House
Here is my dream house. I want to move in RIGHT NOW! [OCTOBER 29 2005]

Another Red Dog?
No, I didn't get another pet---but I've made my long-term moonlighting gig official with Red Dog Writing Services. Check it out!  [OCTOBER 27 2005]

In an effort to spare any women who read this site the unnecessary misery of a failed relationship, I want to share her wisdom:

"Too many women think that their boyfriend or husband is supposed to be their best friend. They think that he should talk about everything, and love thinking about things and analyzing things and contemplating things like women do. But men aren't built like that, and women aren't gonna change it. If women want really satisfying conversations with people who understand and appreciate all our little female nuances, then those women better make sure they have good girlfriends."

This isn't a good thing or a bad thing...but the longer I live, the more I realize that it's the truth. It's the way things are. Period. [OCTOBER 9 2005]

Advice To All Young Couples
The difference between a relationship that can work and one that can't---the difference between a relationship that's worth saving and one that's not---is willingness to try. If two people are willing to try, everything will be okay.  [SEPTEMBER 30 2005]

Down To Earth
I always laugh when celebrities refer to each other as "down to earth." How would they know?  [SEPTEMBER 28 2005]

You Know
What's Hilarious? I tell people I'm doing fine, and they believe me. [SEPTEMBER 20 2005]

Didn't Get It
Mike worked hard this weekend to make a firepit for us in my backyard. Finny didn't get it.  [SEPTEMBER 18 2005]   

Did you know that 7% of girls in grades 5th-8th, and 12% of girls in grades 9th-12th said they had been sexually abused? (Commonwealth Fund Survey of the Health of Adolescent Girls, 1998.)

Did you know that most fashion models are thinner than 98% of American women. The average American woman is 5'4" tall and weighs 140 pounds. The average American model is 5'11" and weighs 117 pounds. (Eve Ensler Reader, 2004)

It's space. And not just room, either, as in square footage. Not just room to move. But space. Air to breathe. A removal of all these city filters. There is no place for me to go, no safe haven like I've always had. Growing up, it was the end of the cornfield next to Hans Ringen's house, or my secret spot in the elementary wing of the old school, or even the church--where I'd let myself in to light candles, think, and play their (much nicer than mine) piano. In college, it was the river. And now, it's nothing. There's nowhere for me to go that's really, truly away from people. I can't escape the city noise, that low-moaning-always-in-the-distance hum of the highway. I can't get away from self-aggrandizing people who are consumed by material goods and beautiful people. I can't rid myself, even for a few moments, of the stench of city and suburban life—of grease that's always frying and beer signs that are always illuminated, of 2.3 children running around the yard with 1.2 pets. I can't even drive away from here, because to get where I NEED to be is simply too far. Besides, that's what everyone does here on the weekends, anyway. I'd just be joining them, moving my "gotta-get-away-from-here" attitude right along with everyone else.

Someone please tell me what to do. I feel almost trapped here, even though I like my house better than anywhere else I've lived. I feel stuck in a constant crowd of angry, rushed people. I feel an inner depressed alcoholic just ACHING to come out.

Tell me what to do. Seriously.   [SEPTEMBER 6 2005]

She carefully lowers herself, kneeling beside the stump of a once proud oak tree. She pulls the tattered yellow notebook from her bag and places it on her newly discovered table. Little is contained in that notebook except the rare notes from classes she’d rather not attend and some (quite impressive) doodles and love-letters-that-will-never-get-delivered. She feels inspired today, though. She feels new and whole and genuine. For the first time in her life, she feels surprisingly real. 

She begins to write, and the words ooze from her pen, flooding paper with thoughts she never imagined she could have.  Capture those thoughts, she tells herself.  There will never be another peaceful moment like this in your life...

For inspiration, she slowly surveys her surroundings once again, soaking up the soft spring scents and basking in the brilliance of the day’s brightness.  Allowing the silken, unkempt grass to grace through her fingers, she tries desperately to immerse her senses and relish in the glory of this day.

She notices a single piece of paper blowing carelessly by, and walks to pick it up.  It is a page torn from a book.  Page 204, it says, The Catcher in the Rye. She begins to read: “That’s the whole trouble. You can’t ever find a place that’s nice and peaceful, because there isn’t any. You may think there is, but once you get there, when you’re not looking, somebody’ll sneak up and write ‘Fuck you’ right under your nose.” She gathers her pen and notebook, putting them back into her bag. She stops to appreciate the moment one last time, before anyone sneaks up...  [SEPTEMBER 5 2005]

Never Feel That Way
Long weekends never feel that way. I had Friday off, so Mikey and I went to the State Fair (where I got to feed a horse, and where my long-held notion that I should live on a farm was officially cemented). Then on Saturday we went to the Minneapolis Farmers' Market. I got the BEST salsa ever, and I'll be going back soon to buy some more. On Sunday we (and by "we" I mean "Mike") finished an old grouting project. Later we went out to eat, and then had a campfire and roasted marshmallows. And now today, the last day of this long weekend, I'm mowing lawn, washing dishes, doing laundry, sweeping, mopping, dusting, watering, hauling wood, and generally getting things organized. I could use another few days off.  [SEPTEMBER 4 2005]

Tick
I wonder why old people always have the loudest "tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tocking" clocks. You wouldn't think they'd want a reminder.  [AUGUST 28 2005]

A Simple Man
For too many years, I mistook my dad for a simple man, who knew too little of the “real world” and who lacked the ambition, persistence, or wisdom to explore it. Little did I know, then, how ambition, persistence, and wisdom are defined. Ambition is not seeking the all-elusive best-selling novel, earning advanced degrees, or meeting with important business leaders. Ambition is waking up knowing that you’ve got at least 15 hours of hard, physical work ahead of you, and that the harder you work, the more you can get done. Persistence isn’t driving through rush-hour traffic each day, and then coming home to water your lawn to a perfect and weedless green each night. Persistence is getting to the barn when it’s fifty below and dark as night in the dead of winter, milking all those cows, twice a day, every day, for all those years. And wisdom isn’t understanding all the lessons of science, history, or literature. Wisdom is understanding the stuff of life: the stuff that tells you what to do in any circumstance, and that gives you the gumption to follow through. Wisdom, ambition, and persistence are exactly what made up my dad.  [AUGUST 23 2005]

Patience
I don't know who this "God" character is, but he's been going all out lately—trying to teach me some patience. [AUGUST 21 2005]

Can I Please Get an Award?
When I first adopted Finny, he was heartworm positive, GROSSLY underweight, had roundworm, toxascaris, kennel cough, dermatitis, tapeworm, and bacterial and yeast ear infections.  He coughed almost constantly, and had (I'll spare you the gory details) lots of white discharge from his ears, eyes, nose, and mouth. In the first months I had him, he needed the following medications: Otomax and Otifoam, Clavamox, Doxycycline, Prednisone, Ivermectin, Panacur, Droncit, Cephalexin, Epi-otic, and Miconazol.

After just six months of my tender-loving care, my Finny is officially a HEALTHY DOG! Notes from his last vet visit? "Finnegan is a happy, healthy, easy-going, and well-adjusted dog." HOOOOOOORAY!!  Can I please get an award?

Yet Mostly Oblivious
Aging isn't a fun thing to witness. It plays an evil trick on us all: we are forever removed from it, carefully witnessing the aging process in others, yet mostly oblivious to (or in denial of) our own deterioration. As I witness aging in others, I can only pray to age as gracefully as possible—and to accept the aging of others with the patience and respect it has earned. [AUGUST 10 2005]

I just found out today that he and Becky have split up. Ha! At least I didn't damage and forever confuse the lives of my 3 little girls, right Bill? You couldn't just work it out, huh? [JULY 24 2005]

Just the Boys
Attention, ladies! Next time your boyfriend/husband thinks he'll be spending some time with "just the boys," make sure he first fills out the application form to the left.

And Party E-vuh-ry Day
Several casual conversations have recently helped me to realize that I'm getting old. One of those conversations went like this, as I sat enjoying lunch with a 20-year-old co-worker:SHE: "So what are you doing this weekend?"ME:  "Oh, probably just working on the house, playing with the dogs, hanging out.  What about you?"SHE: "I'm really excited, cuz I'm going to a crazy party. Like, a crazy party. And I haven't been to a really crazy party in, like, forever." ME:  "Yeah, I haven't been to any crazy parties for a long time either. [read: nearly a decade]SHE: "I know. For me it's been, like, six months."Stick a fork in me, boys. I'm officially done.  [JULY 23 2005]

Two Different Colored
If you really want to piss me off, point out that my dog (Lucky) has two different colored eyes. Say something like, "Oh my God! Did you know your dog has 2 different colored eyes?" No shit, Sherlock. Or you could say, as hundreds of others have, "Whoa! Your dog's eyes are freaky!" Thanks, idiot. Your baby is ugly and your mom should have swallowed you. I've always said that I hate stupid people, but it's not just their stupidity that bothers me. It's their constant need to PROVE exactly how stupid they are. Quick lesson: the more you talk, the dumber you'll sound. Guaranteed. And if you're gonna be a moron, just SHUT UP!Crabbily yours...  [JULY 21 2005]

My Otherwise Darling
Today, my friends, was a spectacular day for my Irish Setter Finny, and a horrific day for me. Today, my otherwise darling Finny—my friendly, rollicking, silly, funny, attention-mongering, cuddle-hogging, Devil-May-Care Finny—deftly, without a moment's hesitation or a flicker of doubt in his little pea-brain—swatted down a sweet, innocent song-bird. While this sweet-singing creature of God struggled to regain her balance and bearings, my otherwise darling Finny quickly snatched up the little beauty in his mouth, chomping just long and hard enough for me to hear her last songs, a combination of confusion and desperation, and watch the final futile twitches of her helpless little legs.

"No!" I yelled, running frantically to try to save this little bird I'd only just met. "Drop it, Finny! Finny, no! Let go! Bad dog! No, Finny—let her go!

"He didn't care. He seemed proud, in fact: those quick reflexes were finally good for more than intercepting Lucky's belly rubs. Any training I'd previously attempted proved in vain. He had a bird, and he (obviously) expected great praise for this feat.Praise, however, he did not receive. In fact, I now feel bad for scolding him, ignoring him, and refusing to touch his filthy dead-bird-infested body for hours. I knew, even as I cringed at the carnage before me, that he believed he was doing a terrific thing. I knew he was proud: he kept trying to "present" me with the bird. When he realized I was not happy and did NOT want the bird, he finally placed it at my feet...almost carefully, as if confused by my refusal of his gift.

Today, my friends, my otherwise darling dog became a devil dog. Were I not such a bird-loving softy, I'm sure I'd find myself less repulsed. But today I learned that I truly and sincerely do NOT enjoy cleaning dead birds from my yard. Eeeewwww! [JULY 18 2005]

When
When night is here and day is done,
That's when I have all the fun.
When day is done and night is here,
I like to drink a lot of beer. [JULY 13 2005]

I Didn't Realize
When you have relatively little life experience upon which to base your opinions and ideas, those opinions and ideas are very easy to form, and even easier to believe earnestly. As you gain life experience, though, your opinions and ideas become nearly impossible to cement. You begin to realize how little you know, how little you've seen, how little you've felt and experienced. And if you don't begin to realize this, you're probably an ignorant moron. [JULY 12 2005]

Have You Seen
Have you seen this site yet?  It's a collection of anonymous postcards from people around the US, who share their secrets.  I laughed my ass off.  [JULY 11 2005]

Mad World
And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad...
the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had.
I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take...
When people run in circles, it's a very, very mad world. 
—Gary Jules, Michael Andrews

Trails
The Gods are annoying today. Why can’t I just be left alone sometimes? They leave their trails everywhere for me, forcing me to choose between climbing and cleaning. [MARCH 30 2005] 

Photographs
A photograph of my grandma—my mother’s mother—sits on my desk at work. It’s positioned directly in front of me as I type, reminding me just how quickly time passes. I never knew grandma; she died when my mother was very young, but I can tell I like her. She looks classic in the photo: happy, beautiful, and just a little silly. I bet she had a great sense of humor and the kindest of hearts. [MARCH 28 2005] 

Silly, Insecure, and Slutty
Attention, young girls: I understand that “freedom” and “equality” have provided you with opportunities you wouldn’t have had years ago. But embracing and appreciating those opportunities by wearing half shirts, Daisy-Duke shorts, or string bikinis is not exactly advancing the cause. Let me assure you: you don’t look sexy, independent, intelligent, or confident. You look silly, insecure, and slutty. Now go put some clothes on. [MARCH 27 2005]

Femininity
When I complain about the negatives of being “a girl,” I can’t help but feel that I’m doing a tremendous disservice to my gender. At its very core, feminism requires an embracing of femininity—even while femininity is being redefined by feminism.  

I seem to reject all that is traditionally feminine. I don’t want boys to like me for my beautiful eyes and my cute figure. I don’t care if they like my hair better when it’s long. I don’t want to spend my time worrying about clothes, hair, makeup, dieting, dating, children, telephones, or shopping, and I’m not even sure that I want babies (gasp!). I don’t appreciate that femininity tells me to feel ugly and gross when I work hard and sweat. I don’t want to be told that I’m “such a girl” when I cry, or when I’m slow to figure out directions, or when I struggle to figure out a 15% tip. These things have nothing to do with my gender. I hate that being told I’m “such a girl” is a terrific insult. I should be proud when people say it.                              

Don’t get me wrong: I’m not ashamed to be a girl. Being a girl affords me many unique opportunities. But I hate feeling like “just a girl.” I hate sharing ideas only to have them discounted or dismissed. I hate wearing baggy clothes to avoid the inevitable eyes-wandering-south during conversations. I hate knowing that playing dumb and stifling my ideas is always a safe alternative. I hate that I’m not supposed to “chase” boys I’m interested in, and that I’m supposed to wait to be kissed. I detest the mandate that requires me to be shorter than, smaller than, dumber than, and otherwise inferior to my boyfriends. I know I’m smarter than most of my boyfriends, and I resent that my understanding of this fact automatically qualifies me for arrogant, bitchy woman status.  [MARCH 25 2005] 

Comic Genius
The Gods are a riot today, filling me with deep belly laughs. The comic genius of female Gods comes from the strict seriousness with which they approach every part of their life. The comic genius of male Gods, however, comes from their lumbering physical presence, and the complete lack of concern they seem to hold for the world outside themselves. Gods will tell you everything you need to know about humanity, if you only pay attention. [MARCH 23 2005]   

A Celebration of Failure
People can’t both love you and want you to fail. For instance, I’d always assumed that my parents loved me. But they don’t want me to go to post-graduate school. So now that they know I won’t be going—that I failed in my attempt to go—I wonder if they celebrate my failure? It’s disturbing to imagine that they might take pleasure in my disappointment. [MARCH 22 2005]

Looks
What's left when looks fade? I'm starting to believe that I'll have very little to offer, given my obviously limited intellectual capacities. [MARCH 20 2005] 

As it turns out, bad times can be really, truly shitty, and even the smartest people with the best of intentions can't always make things work. I was completely under-prepared. And I think most people are. The people I know with truly bad marriages—and I know many—stay married because they're too scared to do anything else, or because they don't want to disappoint their families, or because they're embarrassed, or because they've been married too long to give up now. It's sad. I'm sure these people approached their marriages with the same level of excitement and optimism as I approached mine. It just doesn't always work that way.

Marriage seems little more than reassurance you'll have someone to come pick up your body when you die. But that's only if you're the first to die! I'm just guessing here, but I bet when you've been married forever, death seems like a pretty easy way out. I know it did for me.

Besides—and forgive me, guys—I have yet to see a real-life marriage that's a good deal for the woman.  [MARCH 19 2005]

The Gods
The Gods are restful tonight, moving little except to occasionally stir the breeze with their graceful dances. Even Gods find themselves jealous of each other at times, but tonight is a much-needed exception. [MARCH 18 2005]

Because
I loved him because he made my own alcoholism seem so much less raging. [FEBRUARY 13 2005]

Amen, Brother
"...and I'd like to have the most enormous library, and I'd like to think that I could read those books forever and forever, and die unlamented, unknown, unsung, unhonored—and packed with information."  —Richard Burton [FEBRUARY 7 2005]

Life
"Knowledge gives writing authority...but caring gives writing life."  —Alison Sinclair  [JANUARY 20 2005]

Chomps Away
My dog only eats when I'm in bed. Then she grabs mouthfuls of food, brings them right next to my head in the bedroom, and chomps away. This is all quite a process, mind you, and a loud one at that. It requires just over 20 trips for her to finish her bowl of food. Then she's ready for sleep.

For those of you who know me in the 3-D world and have been following Lucky's separation anxiety saga, here's an update: the problem seems to have been largely solved by simply not shutting the baby gate anymore. Lucky now has full run of the house. Even though she still gets a little frantic when I'm leaving, she is no longer damaging herself or any property. So that's cool.  [JANUARY 19 2005]

Solved
Perhaps an abnormally high portion of my adult life has focused on wanting to make my parents proud, wanting them to be glad I was born, and hoping they view my life and my choices as good ones. Tonight, with a variety of other thoughts swirling around my mind, it occurs to me more clearly than ever—but I'm not sure if that's good or bad. Perhaps what I most need to do in order to make my parents proud, to make them view my life as "good" and worthwhile, is to stop wanting the things I want. They would be happiest, probably, if I just got married, had a couple kids, bought a nice small house somewhere in the country, and stopped with all the bullshit about getting a Ph.D. and moving away.

If I've made my parents sound like simple dim-witted know-nothings, I don't intend to. They're smart, hard-working, and mostly reasonable people. It has occurred to me that what they most want is for me to be content and happy, to stop always wanting more, and to just be happy with what I have. This, like most every other conflict in the history of humanity, is little more than a breakdown of communication and understanding. What they most want is for me to be content. What they don't understand is that, in order for me to be content, I need change and challenge. Problem solved. [JANUARY 17 2005]

Eight.
On Thursday I'm picking up my 2005 Rav4. It has 8 miles on it (yes: eight), and heated leather seats, and a moonroof, and full-time 4WD. Lots of other cool stuff, too. I couldn't be any more excited. YIPPEEEEEE!  [JANUARY 11 2005]

The Hardest...
The hardest thing is when you realize that the people who've known you the longest don't really know you at all. [JANUARY 6 2005]

Hmmmm....
This weekend I saw the best bumper sticker ever: "Don't pray in my school and I won't think in your church."  Amen, brother. [JANUARY 3 2005]

18 Resolutions

1. Update this website at least every three days.
2. Stop giving a shit what anyone else thinks.
3. Begin converting to a vegetarian diet. (This will be very hard; I love the taste of chicken bacon fat!)
4. Get another dog for Lucky (a brown Doberman with uncropped ears).
5. Clean my damn house once in a while!
6. Teach Lucky 10 new tricks.
7. Keep writing and reading a lot.
8. Stop thinking I'm so much smarter than everyone else. If this proves impossible, get dumber.  ;)
9. Get together more with friends I care about. Stop getting together with friends that aren't good ones.
10. Continue to be a non-smoker!
11. Be nice to Mikey.
12. Move.
13. Learn lots of new stuff.
14. Keep contributing to worthwhile causes.
15. Start going to bed at a decent hour.
16. Continue to minimize everything I own and spend. Remain debt-free. Save more money.
17. Remove the "F" word from my vocabulary. I realized this weekend exactly how vulgar it is.  [JANUARY 1 2005]

Oh, and if possible: kiss Brett Favre.