Category: Journal

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You can read me like a closed book.

Which, roughly translated, means “not at all.” I made a comment on December 2nd about how it’s been a long last couple days and I do plan on writing about them, just not tonight. Today felt pretty long as well and I have no idea how long the story will take to write, so I’m going to put it to the side for now and try to fill in the details tomorrow. Or the next day. Sometime over the weekend. I’ll get it done, promise.

When thinking about the upcoming entry, I remembered a paper I wrote for my Leadership course in the Augsburg MBA program. It’s called “Reflection paper, Part II”, which I felt was quite clever and original. But I read through it again and decided to pull out a couple paragraphs for people that resonate more for me now than they did while taking the class.

“I feel comfortable working with other people, but when it comes to showing confusion or vulnerability, I try to glaze over the subject or ignore it altogether. In my mind, it’s so I don’t upset other people, but according to Cashman, it’s a weakness in self-leadership. Leadership from the Inside Out and I’m stuck in the basement.

“I was thinking about a story earlier for some reason and it didn’t strike me as being relevant to this paper until I started writing it. (If it was in the reading material, I couldn’t find it.) There was a person who had some incurable disease and was slowly dying, but didn’t want to bother anyone by talking about it. Most people didn’t know there was a problem until she died and some of them were furious with her afterward. Why? Because she wasn’t willing to share. They were her friends, but she refused to let them act as friends because of her personal discomfort with talking about her illness.”

To assuage people’s potential concerns, there are no incurable diseases involved here, but there is that sense of not wanting to bother people. I know that opening up should enable closer relationships, but there’s still a tiny little voice in my head that interprets “opening up” as “asking for pity.”

Anyway! Like I said, I’ve had some long days recently and I’m tired. It’s just past 8:00pm and I’m tired. For someone who occasionally stays awake until the sun comes up in the morning, that’s pretty sad. And so now I’m thinking it’s about time to change into my jammies, curl up under the covers and pity myself to sleep.

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Not Really Fast Nor Furious

I was riding in the car with my mom yesterday and she wanted to switch into the left lane. She hit the turn signal, but before she could move over, some car sped up from behind us to cut her off. The driver couldn’t hear her, but she still told him, “Okay, fine, don’t let me in.”

A moment later, I burst out laughing and said, “Nope, you really are a dick!” Needless to say, she was confused. She became less confused when I pointed out the car’s license plate at the next stoplight:

2FST2H8

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Some emotional memories die hard

Some of you may have already noticed the change in the menu bar at the top of the screen: there’s now a page that has YouTube videos of every episode from Season 1 of Beauty and the Geek (there’s a link to the VEVO page there that has seasons from the U.S., the U.K. and Australia). Putting all of those videos here on the blog required getting their web addresses, so I went to each one, copied the address, then decided to check out all of the comments sections as well.

Comments were sparse compared to chat boards when the show was on the air, but that’s kind of a given since it was eight years ago. Still, there was one… I don’t want to say it struck a nerve, but I almost responded to it. During Episode 5, she thought it was sad that when Scarlet was so pissed off at me, “no one stood up for Shawn, not even Shawn himself.” My response would have been along the lines of “It’s hard to stand up to someone when you agree with her.” And for some godforsaken reason, that inspired me to watch our final confrontation. [Insert ominous music here]

She asked me if I wanted to come pick up branches and I knew she was going to yell at me again, so there wasn’t much point in delaying the inevitable. That time, though… I’ve probably described it in here before. I can’t remember the last time I’ve come so close to snapping. If she’d said one more thing, I would have. I knew I would have. And as I watched it happening again on my computer screen, I suddenly realized that I was clenching my jaw. Hard.

I turned the video off pretty soon after that, then brought my laptop downstairs to my room. Strangely, I’m in “the basement” even though it’s at ground level. I decided to play a game on my phone for a little while, then heard a noise. Out in the driveway. The sound of a car door slamming.

My first thought was wondering why my parents were home from the family cabin so soon. My second thought was that they took the vehicle that’s parked in the garage and there was no reason for anyone to be in the driveway. My third thought was remembering when someone tried breaking into our house while I was home. Into my room in the basement while I was in bed.

I leaped out of bed, grabbed some clothes, grabbed the shorts that had my keys, started to move to the stairs, then reached back to grab my phone. In retrospect, I could have used the house phone to call the police, but my first instinct was that I’d need to call using my phone.

I bolted upstairs and ran to my dad’s room that has a good view of the driveway. I saw his truck and my car, but nothing else. (That’s why I brought my shorts with my keys: if someone was there, I could hit the button to set off the car alarm.) I moved to another window and looked out. Nothing at the end of the driveway or in the street. It really didn’t matter that I could see outside. The sky was dimly lit at 5:30 in the morning, but it would only take a couple minutes to get in, grab some valuable stuff and get out.

I finally sat down on Dad’s bed and realized that I was shaking, breathing too quickly and it felt like my stomach was twisted into knots. I tried to relax, standing up to look out the windows now and then. Still nothing, but that didn’t stop me from shaking.

I eventually got up and went to another room where I could see behind the house and the fronts of the vehicles. They looked fine, so it was probably an acorn or branch or something that bounced off one of them. Either that or someone got into and out of one of the vehicles without making any noise, which made staying inside a great idea.

I sat down on the recliner for a while and hoping that it would help me calm down a little. And it did. A little. Then I decided that I wanted to grab my laptop so I could either chat with some people on Facebook or write a blog entry. (Kind of ironic that I was thinking about writing about emotional memories and my jaw clenching when watching that video from Beauty and the Geek.)

So I stood up and walked toward the stairs. It was just a couple strides before… have you ever been cold, but not cold enough to shiver? It builds up in your system for a couple seconds, then there’s just one big body spasm? That’s how the shaking started again. I was okay at first, but pretty soon, I was shaking again. Still, I was committed to getting downstairs and getting my laptop. I needed some sort of connection: I didn’t want to just sit in the recliner by myself.

I got to the top of the stairs, made it three steps down before I sat down and started crying and hyperventilating. I would have been sobbing, but my breathing was too fast and shallow. I couldn’t do it. (It was bad enough that I’m tearing up writing this.) I got just calm enough to stand up and head back upstairs.

A few minutes later, I got mad. I put on my best scowl and started thinking, “I’m not going to be a victim in my own home. I’m not going to be a victim in my own home. I’m not going to be a victim in my own home.” That scowl stayed on my face the entire time I was downstairs and I kept that thought in my head as I quickly grabbed my laptop and walked back upstairs: “I’m not going to be a victim in my own home.”

It worked long enough for me to get back to the recliner so I could sit down, turn on the computer and log onto Facebook in hopes that I could find someone to chat with at 6:00 in the morning. Sleep was not an option. Unfortunately, I wasn’t getting any replies, so I went with what was behind Door #3: write a blog entry.

It’s helped some. I got to write about emotional memories (and had two examples instead of just one!). Focusing on writing has helped me get rid of the shakes, though I’m still tearing up from time to time. Sleeping might be an option eventually, though this recliner feels pretty comfortable compared to my bed downstairs right now. In the meantime, maybe I’ll try to find someone to chat with on Facebook. I could try calling someone on the phone, but if my hand starts shaking again, I might drop it, which could sound a lot worse than a car door slamming.

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“Air Traffic Control, this is Shawn…”

“… coming in for an unscheduled and unpleasant landing.”

With all of the snow and rain that’s been freezing and melting and freezing, the condition of moisture on our driveway has been fluctuating on a pretty regular basis. A few times, we’ve had to clear off over six inches of snow. Last week, it was turning to water and running into the street. Now the temperature has dropped below 32 degrees again and according to my dad, “It’s slicker than slick outside.”

I was walking down the front steps to drive to play rehearsal this evening. (I’m working behind the scenes instead of being on stage this time, but it’s still fun.) I keep my car parked in front of the garage that’s right next to the steps. There have been several instances where I brushed the snow off my car and slipped on a patch of ice located immediately in front of it. No casualties, but I knew it was there. Tonight, for some ungodly reason, it never occurred to me that the melting and freezing might have made that patch of ice bigger.

My foot hit the bottom of the steps and I was airborne.

In retrospect, I think I landed pretty well. Sure, my legs shot up into the air and I landed flat on my back, but I cleared the steps so I didn’t hit any edges. Well, most of me cleared the steps: the back of my head introduced itself to one of the decorative bricks sitting next to the bottom step. Thankfully, my winter hat is made of a thick cotton that’s long enough for me to fold up on itself, so the two layers cushioned the impact. Aside from the potential loss of dignity (and who really needs that, anyway?), I strained the left side of my neck and that’s about it.

I ended up being late to rehearsal: I didn’t plan extra time for brushing and scraping off my car plus a few more brief slips on the driveway—I was taking short steps to maintain a tight center of gravity, so I stayed upright. I eventually made it there in one piece, then drove home and walked up the front steps in one piece as well, going the long way around the car to avoid that booby-trapped section of the driveway. I can usually remember a lesson after learning it the hard way just once.

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A Scout is…

It’s been a very long time since I’ve gotten the jitters upon receiving an unexpected email that didn’t involve Nigerian princes or horny women. That changed this afternoon when I checked my Inbox via my phone and found a message from the Boy Scouts of America. It wasn’t asking for money or suggesting I watch Are You Tougher Than A Boy Scout? on the National Geographic Channel, Mondays at 8:00/7:00 Central. (Sadly, it coincides with our own Boy Scout troop meetings, so I haven’t seen it yet.)

The email requested that I take a survey because “The Boy Scouts of America is in the process of a careful and deliberate review of our membership policy, as it relates to national membership restriction regarding sexual orientation.”

I cannot tell you how awesome I think this is. I’m immensely proud of being an Eagle Scout and an Assistant Scoutmaster. (I don’t care how many people have said I’m the worst Eagle Scout ever after seeing me crash and burn on Beauty and the Geek, I’m still proud of it.) One thing I haven’t liked about the Scouting program is their anti-gay policy. I know a lot of other people who agree with me, some to a much greater extent: they’ve mailed their Eagle Award certificates back to the National Office. I’m not willing to protest to that extent because that would feel like I was giving up on the program entirely. I don’t like that one policy, but being involved in Scouting has done me a lot of good over my lifetime and I want as many kids as possible to share in those experiences, sexual preference be damned. Needless to say, I was excited to get that email and opened up the survey immediately. Continue reading “A Scout is…”

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Not quite an Indian giver

First off, I’d like to apologize for my extended absence on here. Part of the time was spent fighting off some sort of illness (not the flu, thank God, but whatever it was required a lot of sleep, a lot of fluids, a lot of chicken noodle soup and a couple hot showers scattered in there as well). The other part of the time… I have no excuses and beg the court to show mercy. If it doesn’t, then I probably won’t be able to finish this blog entry. Bummer.

In the last couple weeks, I bought a bunch of gifts for family and friends. Consider them very belated Christmas presents, “Giving Day” gifts or “I suck and I’m trying to make up for not getting you anything for your birthday in seven years.” Whatever they are, I went on a bit of a buying spree. On Friday, I met a couple friends for dinner—as a form of coercion, I let them know I’d be bearing gifts. Normally, it takes us eons to find a good day and time to get together, but apparently, the temptation of those gifts was pretty coercive since we met up in less than a week.

I brought a bag with me that had four items inside, one of which was a gift for someone else and one was for me. One of my friends there was Brian Farrey, author of The Vengekeep Prophecies and just an all-around swell guy, especially since he wasn’t overly judgmental when I missed two of his book signings. He agreed to autograph some books, so I brought one for my niece and one for myself—thankfully, his signature in mine didn’t include anything overly judgmental.

The third item in the goodie bag was a book for Jeremy entitled The God Question, which I thought was awesome for two reasons. 1) Jeremy is a religious individual and I thought he’d enjoy the subject; and 2) it was signed by the author, Andy Pessin. (He was a philosophy professor of mine back at Kenyon, so getting it signed “To Jeremy” didn’t require too much begging.) I gave the book to Jeremy, who thought it was pretty awesome, too.

The fourth thing, my gift for Brian and Ben, was because they kept telling me to watch The Big Bang Theory. They were the ones who applied the most pressure and ultimately inspired the blog entry about “Should I watch it?” back in mid-November. I decided to give it a shot, so they lent me their copy of the first season. I definitely enjoyed it, but not as much as they do: I have yet to insert any lines from the show into the middle of a conversation.

Anyway! When I returned Season 1, they admitted that due to various sales at stores, they’d purchased the fourth and fifth seasons, but not the second and third. (Given their ability to quote lines, I’m pretty sure they’ve already seen all the episodes anyway.) Thus, I decided to fill half of the hole in their collection: I bought them a copy of Season 2. It wasn’t signed, but I thought they’d still like it.

And they did… sorta. Just before bringing out my gifts for everyone, Brian and Ben explained that they had something for me as well. Just recently, they went out and bought something for themselves, then brought it to lend to me: Season 2 of The Big Bang Theory.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Consider the title of this entry. I didn’t want to be an Indian giver. According to Wikipedia, it’s “a person who gives a gift (literal or figurative) and later wants it back, or something equivalent in return.” I told the guys ahead of time that they didn’t need to buy me anything—saying “Thank you” was enough. Suddenly… I got my gift back. Brian and Ben were very gracious and accepted mine with thanks, then “lent” me their copy of Season 2 on a permanent basis. My gift was their gift was my gift. Bummer.