Bella

Isabella.

That's the name of my little girl. Well, she doesn't seem little anymore. This blog has become sort of entertaining for me to go back and see small portions of my life.

She's 11 months old now and is walking around like crazy. She actually tries to run a little and usually falls because of it. I've got a ring hiding in my closet for her mother. In a year I've had a kid, learned to love that kid - moved into a new house, learned to hate that house - started a new job, banking is just as boring as I thought it would be - and have actually prepared myself and my life more than 5 minutes into the future for the first time ever.

I'm not sure if the confused, spontaneous me that I was would be happy or sad. But, that's growing up, right? That's what I'm told.

Now I see a little girl more lost in the world than anyone, and I have to have the answers. So, it's that time of my life where I start doing what everyone else I know has done for years: make them up.

It's funny how trying to not act terrified by the world is supposed to mean you're growing up. It really just means you're a better liar and more stuck in your ways. But, Isabella needs those lies. So, each day I wing it and try to fuck up a little less than my parents did. Small success stories.

Either way, I have a beautiful little girl.

as tall as cliffs

I'm having a child. A human being. I'm going to be responsible for it. I'm going to fall in love with it.

The internal struggle isn't a struggle anymore. There is still resistance, but the decision has been made. Despite my lack of belief in a Deity, whatever definition of the word fate I do or don't believe in probably played some sort of role. Sure, that's fake spiritualism. It's the warm and fuzzy shit that people need to believe in. This shit that annoys me. But, maybe it's what I need too.

Year after year, I still don't know.

But, a child!

Crystal wants a girl. The idea of a girl excites me. It's different. I think it would be more of a challenge, which I like. I've dealt with boys my entire life. Too much boy/guy/man shit. Teasing, taunting, embarrassing.

Truth be told, I think I'd be a better parent to a daughter. Because, it doesn't fit in my comfort zone. It doesn't fit in that zone where I get lazy and resume old bad habits. It would be something I'd have to learn. I'm of the assumption that I know how to raise a boy. I'm of the assumption I know how a boy is supposed to grow, and how that boy is supposed to turn into a man. But, I never realized that about myself. But, I have that assumption. And, when I'm numbing out the world, I turn to my assumptions. Assumptions, the hereditary gift.

With a girl, I'm forced to learn. Forced to be new. Be someone better. The idea of a boy scares me. Because, I want to be a good parent. I have no idea what that means. What is a good parent? My parents both made mistakes, and I seem to still blame my behavior on the mistakes of my father. Will I pass on that sort of fucked up, penetrating self-pity to my daughter? Probably not. To my son? It scares me. I'm stronger than that. I'm just not strong.

Until next time, random blog postings. I'll see you in a few months. Hopefully, with more news of my child.

My trip home went as well as I could have ever imagined.

It recharged my batteries.

I felt brand new when I came home. And, the thing was, I started to slip. As I passed La Crosse, passed that place I stopped a thousand times to pick up Lucy, my chest tightened up. It was that physical reaction to my own disappointment. But, I fought it off.

I listened to happy songs. I listened to sad songs.

For the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to be sad. I missed Lucy, but that's to be expected. I dated the girl for a year and a half and she actually helped me a lot. I should be sad. Normally I wouldn't allow myself to be upset. It's one thing to not show your emotions to others, but I haven't even shown them to myself. This whole time I've thought the problem I was having was that I was upset, but the actual problem is that I wasn't letting myself be. The last two hours of the drive were the best I've had in a few years. I let myself myself be me. I let the wall crumble.

It has returned, but I still feel better. I finally realize how I want to feel. Pure inspiration.

Imagine taking a test and knowing the answer to a problem but not being able to fill in that stupid little circle. You're not sure why. Your brain seems to be functioning perfectly. Everything is fluid. Things have slowed down. Yet, your arm doesn't move. Your hand can't grasp the pencil.

That is essentially the point I am at right now with a few critical issues in my life. While it might be equally as frustrating as the noise and mass confusion that used to fill seemingly everything I did with my life, it's a noticeable improvement. Something real. Something I can touch.

You can step on a scale every day for 3 months and see that you have slowly lost those fifteen pounds you want to lose, and you tell everyone how happy you are. But, it's only when you try on those pants that you haven't worn for 3 months and get that proud, accomplished feeling that you truly convince yourself that all of those things you were saying are real.

The small steps are coming together. The house might not be built but I can read the blue print.

I have no idea why this entry is full of analogies. I guess that's the way I feel the most comfortable writing. Analogies make things easier. Analogies are improving my journey of me being me. If I don't have an answer, I can find parallels to compare it to. An everyday issue such as weight loss or building a house. I have these answers. And, ironically, I've done them both recently.

I'm working as a framer right now. I build the wood framing on houses. I don't care much for the people I work with, but I've adjusted. It took a bit longer than expected to adjust. Adjusting is my strongest personality feature, which probably isn't a good thing, and is almost certainly the root of the aforementioned confusion. My father is an adjuster. Maybe that's the cause of his underlying anger and frustration too. Who knows?

What I do know is that I'm becoming happier. It is slow. I'm stepping on the scale each day. The scale that embodies my own happiness. Some days I go backwards. Some days I move forward. But, as a whole, I'm moving forward. I can see and feel it. The problem is, I wear the same baggy clothes. Daily reminders of the person I was. It's difficult to forget. Hell, I don't even know if I want to forget. But, I know that I'm changing. And, I'm happy for that.

I put on that old Sigur Ros song. I feel those same feelings, but the justification has changed. I can still see the scar, but I can't feel the pain anymore. I'm OK with that.

Heysátan

I forget.

I forget on purpose.

I'm at an impossible stage.

I'm torn between two worlds.

One world is confusion. But, the epiphanies that come few and far between in that land of confusion are when I finally feel like me. Feeling like me is something that is difficult to describe.

Everyone defines me with the exception of me.

Feeling like me has been something that has disappeared more and more. These random nights. These random nights at 4AM. These nights. These nights are disappearing. And, I once knew that as a bad thing. I don't anymore.

The other world is the world that everyone wants to help me into. "You're so intelligent, Michael. I just want you to be happy." Their intentions are good. They see that I am lost, and being good people, they want to help. But, they can't help that they are people. Being people makes them, unfortunately, selfish. They want me to be what they love about me. And, the saddest part lies in the fact that this is the biggest flaw I can find in them.

I don't want their help. I want my help. The blind leading the blind. It's a stage of life mostly filled with confused sadness bordering on depression. But, it's who I am.

So, I'll get a job. I'll get married to a woman that loves me. I'll have two, maybe three children. I'll do it all with a smile on my face. Everyone will see how happy I am. I am the master of deception. I deceive even myself. I'll tell everyone how much I enjoy mowing my lawn. "I zone out. It let's me think." They'll be intrigued. But, the only thing I am zoning out is that slowly diminishing fight to be me.

Me.

The word I wish Webster's could define.

So, I'll drink a 12-pack. I'll smoke a few bowls. I'll escape. I'll get the slight joy of living in both worlds at once. I'll entertain everyone just enough to let them know nothing is wrong. Everything is wrong.

I have got to be the most selfish, self-destructive being living on the planet. The loss of my naiveness is the biggest loss I've ever faced. The bubble that let me live in the other world and not even know I was doing it. The transformation from happy drunk to angry drunk.

The world I want to live in doesn't exist. If you can't see it, hear it, taste it, or touch it, it doesn't exist. Not to the human mind. I'm in my own confusing movie.

But, my story is slowly dying. Each day my life has less foreshadowing and more flashbacks. The death of me. I'm writing myself out of my own script.

I'm going to bed soon. And, when I wake up, most of this wont make sense. I'll tell myself I was just in a bad mood. I'll forget. I'll forget on purpose. But, I am the master of deception. I deceive even myself.