I may have stumbled upon something today, something I'm not sure I want to deal with. Some time when I was a kid my folks cautioned me against being lazy. My memory is hazy on the occasion, but knowing me I was probably being admonished for staying indoors reading books rather than going outside and playing, a condition I still suffer to this very day. Since that day (and probably even on that day) I've taken offense to being construed as lazy, but I've also been quite afraid of becoming lazy; somewhere, somehow our society has determined that laziness is a horrid trait placing a social stigma upon it. Quite often we blame things on the lazy, and quite often we label people as lazy when they don't do what we think they ought. So when I force myself to be lazy and then feel physically better for it I find myself in a weird state of inner turmoil.

I find myself in a situation I honestly thought I would never be in; and yet I am not altogether surprised at the turn of events bringing me here, just greatly disappointed. An event that should have been heralded with cheers, celebrations, and loud buffetings of congratulations has instead been met with shock, stunned silence, and a general miasma of upset feelings. I have been made an uncle, by my very own brother-in-law, to a bastard.

Life has been a whirlwind these past months. Some say time flies like an arrow, but I rather think time plays tricks on us advancing forward when no one is looking, and before you know it half your life has passed you by and all you did was blink. I should be back from whatever blogging limbo I was caught in. I have a few things on my mind that I will make time to write about, and as we decide to sell our house and buy a new one I'm sure that will present all manner of blogging fodder (read: I'll have one thing to write about which I will put off due to packing and un-packing, and will then forget about and thus make up some drivel about the stress of moving).

I'm no fan of change; it tends to throw things in chaos and turmoil. The bigger the change the longer it takes for the proverbial dust to settle. The only thing worse than change, are changes. Back around Thanksgiving I was offered and took a new job, and nothing has been the same since. Things are finally beginning to settle down, and I finally have some form of control, albeit slight, on my life once again. Not since marriage has my life been so thoroughly altered, and if this is but a prelude to having children I better understand vice.

Say what you will about change, but it happens. Some changes are for good, some are for ill, and some . . . some are just changes. Some changes can be prepared for, and some are unexpected and forced upon unsuspecting people. From my perspective the two biggest changes a person can go through are marriage and children. We have a culture about giving advice to engage couples about marriage; any couple anywhere can go through pre-marital counseling, and get an idea of what things will be different and some of the changes that will take place. Funny thing is, we don't seem to have anything of the sort for having children.

Most of the married friends I have already have children. Children being what they are, in a blink of an eye and all these children of our friends are already having birthdays. Their lives have changed, but something else changed, something I never would have thought of: our relationship with our friends have been subtly altered. I'm still trying to put words to the changes I have seen, and still trying to grasp the changes that will come about in the future, as children grow older, more are added, and my wife and I start having some of our own.

Weekends are special; they are not like any other part of the week. As such I have found that I like to, no almost need to, acknowledge that in some way. I want my weekends to be significant. I want to be able to go to work on Monday and know that I did not waste my weekend, but took advantage of the time away from work to do something that was important or significant. Take last weekend for example: I spent all day Saturday getting wood for our house. That one event gave purpose and meaning for my weekend.

I'm not looking to do something wildly important, I'm not looking to change the world or our house, but I am looking to do something with a purpose. There have been times my wife and I have declared a weekend to be a video game marathon weekend, and others we have hosted board game marathons, sometimes we even have a TV/Movie marathon. All those activities are fine simply because I am doing something I cannot normally do during the week.

This weekend seems to be something different. We forgot to define it, and as I now ponder our options it seems this will be a weekend without significance. I have a hundred little things I could do, and I might even want to do some of them, but none of them are things I can't do during the week.

There is one exception, this weekend, this very morning, I am finally able to put my philosophy of the weekend into words now. Maybe in the future I can put this to good use.

I would like to say I was a normal kid, living a normal life, having normal dreams, desires, and goals; I'd like to think the choices and decisions I made were all normal; I'm not sure I know what normal was; I'm not sure I know what normal is. One thing I do know, it is normal to have an awkward time in life, a time when you are between kid and adult. I can remember the time just before that was supposed to “officially” start for me, which is a funny statement to make; at the time I did not believe I fit the description of an adolescent, so I figured I was not yet officially in that in-between point of my life; thinking about it now, I wonder if perhaps I was there and just didn't recognize it.

There is a great many things about my adolescence I can't remember off-hand, and I figure that is a good thing. One thing I do remember though is a clear and distinct decision to become mature: I willingly chose to grow up. I'm sure it's fairly normal for every kid to want to grow up, and in that light this decision of mine doesn't seem all that significant. Strangely I found myself thinking about maturity some time ago and I realized something: I haven't stopped trying to grow up.

I honestly thought I was over and beyond this, but the reunion brought it all back again. Or maybe it is different this time. I've said many times that I was a social misfit in High School, but I want to emphasize this was not my desire. I secretly wished I could be accepted, to be found cool, to have some redeeming trait or quality that made others want to be around me. I wanted to be wanted for who I am, not as just another number in a growing mob of misfits (and this is probably grossly unfair to my friends in High School). I wanted to impress them, the people I looked up to, the people I admired, the people I wanted to be around and associate with, the people who appeared to always have a good time. The reunion brought that all back again, but this time a little differently.

A good friend of mine could be oft heard quoting, “If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all,” and this morning I think that could very well apply to me. This is a big weekend, maybe the biggest I have had in a long time (probably rivaled only by my wedding). This is a big weekend, and I woke up with a sore throat. Tomorrow is my ten year High School reunion, the first reunion we've ever had, and the only contact I will have had with some of the folks for eleven years. The following day (Sunday) is my birthday, and another reunion event. Yes, a big weekend, and not one I want to be sick during.

Upon waking up I was panicked that I might have to call in sick, as I really don't want to miss out on this weekend. I could not, and still cannot, tell if my symptoms are a result of trying to get sick or just dog-tired exhausted. Either would produce the same symptoms at this stage in the game, and if they go away during the day then my poor rotund body is screaming uncle in its loudest voice, and I'm not quite hearing it.

Cut it any way you want, but I am not very well motivated today. I want to crash on a couch and have my own samurai and/or kung-fu movie marathon. That and a fuzzy cat to sit on my lap to keep my company . . . . Back to work. Break's over.

My wife called our mortgage company this morning for a couple of reasons. Last night, as were were going to bed, she pulled out our most recent statement so she would have the necessary information for calling and inquiring about our account. We wanted to know if they were going to try to process the check more than once, as that seems to be standard. If that is the case (and it is) we would have time to go to the bank, shore up our funds, and not do any lasting damage (which is being done). While looking over the statement we were both surprised to see the due date as September, not August. I assumed it must be a typo of some sort. I was wrong.

By some weird and freakish event we got a month ahead in our mortgage. The check that failed was next month's payment, and while we are still going to pay it I can not pay one month if I need to, in order to get back on track. It's a little ray of sunshine on an otherwise terrible moment. I still am not sure how or when I got ahead with my mortgage, but I won't complain and I won't argue. We've got some grace now, and I'd like to keep it that way.

It has taken a year and a half but I have finally discovered I am territorial. My wife and I live in a suburban neighborhood, which in and of itself is not bad unless you consider that we both grew up in the country. I'm still not used to suburban life, and I doubt I ever will be. I'm not claustrophobic but I feel cramped and unpleasantly surrounded living where I do. I yearn for the open spaces country life provides (yet I hate the lack of broadband options). While we wait and hope for a return to the country I have to endure some of the “features” of suburbia.

For a time I mistook my territorial attitudes for my strong sense of privacy. Our backyard is relatively secluded, and we do most of our living in the rooms that face the back yard. It is not to say we do not like the other rooms, but I don't like having neighbors and the neighborhood kids able to look through my windows and see what I'm up to. Kids are kids; kids play; suburban kids play wherever they can, irrespective of the borders and boundaries adults have established. It has always bothered me that kids play in our driveway, using it as an incline to gain speed on their bikes, or walk across our yard to visit with other kids on either side of us. At first I thought it was because it's a violation of my privacy, and while that may be true, I think in a more base sense it's a violation of my territory.

I have never in my life felt more in need of a vacation than I have of late. Four years ago I was walking into what would prove to be my most difficult year for time-management. It was not a bad year by anybody's understanding of the concept. It was a tough year, a hard year, and I still feel I often failed to properly manage all my duties, but it was a growing year. I learned where my limits are. Perhaps it something that comes with age, but before that time I was not really aware of my limitations as I should have been; standing now on the other side of that bridge I still look for my limits, to know when I'm pushing too hard and doing too much, and for that I am quite thankful for that year, no matter how hard it seemed. Yet, strangely I find myself exhausted in a new way, in fervent need of a break. I have not hit my usual limits, but I might have come to the end of an undiscovered one.

I have had enough. I have reached the limits of my kindness and self-restraint. One more push and I will explode. Just one more incident and I will likely seek out a pastor to cuss out just for the fun of it. One more little altercation and I will probably try to make an old woman blush and a child weep in anguish. I don't know what kind of sick game is being played at my expense, but I quit; I'm done; I give up; find another pawn; I refuse to play anymore.

For the past six to eight months we have suffered unexpected financial set-backs. Every single month, to the tune of something more than $100 we have to shell out money for something we never planed, never wanted to buy, and could not really afford. Most moths it was more than twice that amount. Today the IRS decided I made an error in my taxes and are demanding more. So, that trip we were saving up for on our vacation/anniversary . . . canceled. Very canceled. So canceled we will be spending the week at home trying not to eat so we can save money on food. (Maybe that's a little to extreme.)

I quit. Uncle. I give up. Will the old man behind the curtain please step out and fix this mess? I certainly haven't caused it. I'm trying hard to fix it, but when working a combined 80 hours a week doesn't do a damn bit of good I can do nothing else but to either go on a homicidal rampage and collect some of these taxes I pay, or just give up.

Bear in mind I am given to hyperbole given my mood. Read between the lines for the facts, read the words for the emotional turmoil and anguish, and if you dare to correct me I'll rip you a new one that will never heal.

I've never enjoyed being bored. I have had times in my life where I would prefer boredom to the overwhelming tasks, duties, and responsibilities that face me. This is one of those times. There is not any one thing that has been sucking the life out of me, but many little things have either consumed my time, my energy, or my my emotions. Years ago I worked with a pastor who described certain modes of life (both for people and for the local church); I am in Survival Mode, not because the things around me are too terribly to face, but because I am stretched thin to my limit. It could be worse, I could be in Maintenance Mode, but I'm sure that will follow in a couple of weeks (or months).

I've done some thinking lately; I've thought about life, and the list of things I want to do before mine is over. The list is not terribly long, but the duration of some of the items are marked in years and not days. I'm tired of realizing life is short. Somewhere along the way my memories went from being measured in years to being measured in decades, and that scares me. Where did the time go? Just yesterday I had all the time in the world, but today it seems the end is nigh and I've got nothing done. And that's the problem: the span of a life is unpredictable. I don't know if I have decades left or years left, and while I might ponder that question (and assume decades) my list of things I want to accomplish grows, and my list of accomplishments remains stale.

I'm getting tired of putting off some of my more involved projects, and I think I'll try to find a way to fit them into my life (which will probably mean sacrificing something else). I don't want to be yet another forgotten soul who left nothing behind but a few grieving children.