taking inventory

• Cap, gown, and diploma.
• Grad party with friends and family.
• New/old job with exciting possibilities.
• 4 hikes (pathetic!)
• Beach three times, water twice.
• Shave ice at Waiola's 5 times.
• 2 mangoes.
• First digital slr camera.
• 3 music gigs.
• 25 inches of hair cut.
• Two 1001 crane projects.
• First aid certified.
• 30 gallon salt water tank (initial), triton snail, dwarf moray (deceased).
• 5 gallon salt water tank (current).
• 4 births, 2 deaths.
• Las Vegas, San Francisco, Maui, Washington, Oregon, Big Island.
• Forklift operator.
• World Beer Pong champs (Team Columbia).
• 1 sweatervest.
• 1 love lost.
• 12 pounds gained.
• 1 pair squeak-free sneakers.
• Larger mattress, pillow top.
• 3 new body aches.
• 1 anxiety attack.
• 3 colds.
• 2 crushes.
• 2 weddings.
• 1 blog.
• No dog yet.

night surfing

I wonder what kind of tone this blog would have if I wrote during the day. I find myself terrifyingly withdrawn into a temperature-controlled, soft, dark cocoon whenever I feel like writing. All I can see beyond the keyboard is the glow of "78" from the air conditioner. I'm sure some vitamin D would change things up. For now, I'll sit in this dark arena with the monitor casting a double glare off my glasses. But on to the reason I'm here tonight.

After reading a few disturbingly real news articles, I got to thinking about Legacy again. I was obsessed with my legacy for a while. Honestly, I probably still am. What am I contributing to this world? What can I pass on that can be sustained? I don't have any kids (yet) obviously since that would probably nullify this whole rant. Kids are okay, but I don't have any right now. Moving on.

I'm starting to feel selfish about some of the things I've done to leave a legacy. Not that they weren't cool (trust, one in particular was way cool) but big whoop, I didn't change the world. What good did it do? Okay, before I get all down on myself I can honestly say that I've done things that help people become creative and inspired. Maybe... maybe I just want to do more of that kind of legacy work.

I love working with my hands. My hands are awesome. I have short fingers, but they do good work. No, for real, I have short fingers. Regular, guy-size hand, short lady fingers. Anyway, just thought I'd mention. It's not unreasonable to imagine that I can change people's lives with the work from my hands. Music, craft, writing, maybe not so much cooking. But what else? Never mind my hands. It's not about the hands.

What does it take to change lives for the better? Do we do it for ourselves, or do we do it for others? How much of a balance can there be between the two without feeling selfish? Oh, then there's altruism. Is there ever such a thing as a purely unselfish act? And then, of course, does it matter?


ps, just realize that there's a kind of counter on this thing for visitors.
hello, reader. pardon the lack of caps but I tend to type this way when I'm feeling a little more relaxed. but please note the proper capitalization of "I". it's a strange sensation to think of how far these words can go. with that, take heed, dear reader. help others when you can. if you can make a go of it, do it purposefully for as long as you are able. know that little things can change the world.

what better time

Do I miss her or do I miss the idea of her?

Over and over this thought spins, rotisserie style, with the misshapen lump of meat that causes the rotation to silently thump the sizzling air at the bottom of its repetitive rotation, in my head night after night.

Where did she go? What is she doing? Does she miss me like I miss her? Would I ever have the guts to ask? Is it reasonable to ask? Is it fair to ask?

I can't remember her birthday, but I remember the brand and distinct smell of her skin moisturizer. I remember wanting to slip my arm around her waist while she was cooking. Was it bok choi or choi sum? Something green.

But I remember not knowing whether I could say "I love you," like someone who really is in love. I want to say it, but do I want to say it to her? The romantic in me has never given up; I suppose that's where the "hopeless" prefix comes from as well. It all depends upon the time of day. Realist by day, hopeless romantic by night. I'd make for a terrible superhero.

Also interesting how physical yearning can screw up the senses. Hunger would be the most obvious example. I've written about food twice so far in this post but surprisingly, have not gone into Homer/Pavlov drool mode. But I'm talking about how a lack of physical contact, casual or intimate, can mess with the state of mind. I'm trying to remember the details on an old experiment about very young monkeys without mothers who had different types of inanimate objects for companions. Basically, the subjects that had a soft object with face-like identifying features with them were the ones that didn't end up neurotic. I'm jisting of course, and probably making some stuff up for the sake of argument. What's the argument? Well I'm actually getting thrown off track because, ironically, I'm getting hungry. I'll hurry. Okay, I like hugs. Will that work? Okay, no. I love hugs! Hugs are awesome. I wish people would hug all the time as an acceptable way of greeting. Sure I hug a lot of my friends all the time, but I'm talking about instead of shaking hands. Imagine that. Who doesn't feel better after a good hug? None of this shoulder-lean-in-pat-pat-done crap. Alas, there is a time and place for everything, even hugs. I guess it would end up creepy even for me if people hugged all the time. I like hugs because they're special. If normal is the baseline then special shouldn't happen all the time. But how cool would it be if special was the baseline with intermittent moments of normalcy? Good golly, I think my life is like that. Well shit, thanks to everyone for making my like special!

What the hell was I complaining about again? Oh yeah, missing her. I don't know if that will ever get resolved, but it sure makes for good brain activity. I think I like this better than sudoku.