Under the Cap

2011-09-18T20:19:00.000-07:00

I don't ask for much. At least I don't think I do. When I say "ask" I don't even really mean a request - it's more like an expectation. I have very few expectations from the people I know. The first is being mature. A very big part of being mature is knowing the responsible and adult way of responding or reacting in the situations that you're put in. Often times this is non-existent. People either completely overreact, get angry, and say things that they don't mean or they're completely useless, ignorant, and negligent. I can't seem to find a happy medium. It's a complete disappointment no matter which way they choose to act.

I asked my father over a year ago to help fix the holes that are in my apartment walls. I never expected him to drop everything and rush to get the job done. I was patient - as patient as anyone could be. Weeks and sometimes months would go by before it was brought up by either one of us. Most of the time it was brought up by my father who would tell me to expect him on a certain day because he had some free time. The same thing always happened. He'd tell me to expect him and would call the night prior to tell me what he had planned for the day he was coming. On the day he was supposed to show up he'd call and talk about all the things he had done so far with an exhausted tone in his voice as if he were trying to indicate to me that he was already overwhelmed with errands and would have no time for me. I'd usually find out that after he called me the only tasks he had done were simple errands like picking a few items up from the grocery store and cutting the grass in the yard. After his conversations with me he would take a nap, wake up for dinner, and then sit in front of the television for the rest of the night until it was time for him to go back to bed.

He finally called me yesterday to tell me that he was coming up and that I should expect him in the "late afternoon" as he put it. In my mind "late afternoon" is somewhere between 2pm and 4pm. Any hour after that is somewhere in the evening hours and not when a person is supposed to start their day. After waiting the majority of the day it was now 6pm and I was hungry. I asked my sister, who was visiting, to take a drive to Wendy's for a quick dinner. We left and returned in 20 minutes. I got home and called my father to ask him when, or even if, he was coming to my apartment to begin the job and he told me (in a very angry and disgusted tone of voice) that he had already been there and I wasn't home. After I explained to him that I was only gone for a few minutes to get food he couldn't have cared less what my reasons were and hung up the phone without saying goodbye. Before he hung up he told me that he wasn't going to come to my apartment and would have to "reaarange [my] schedule" to do the job some other time. It's as if the whole day had been lost in his mind. At 6pm it was apparently early enough for him to come down and get started. Now, 20 minutes later, the day is lost and it's too late to begin doing anything? Am I supposed to be sorry that I stepped out of the house to get something to eat after waiting and wasting almost my entire day for him? There was no phone call to let me know that he was on his way or if he even actually was ever coming down. Was I to just sit around and wait all day with no word until he decided it was the right time to begin the job?

In his mind it's my fault the day was wasted. It's all my fault. It's always my fault. It's my fault for not being home when HE was ready to begin and it's my fault for not waiting. I know from experience he's thinking that I did it deliberately. That I was being inconsiderate of him. He's thinking that I have no regard for him, his plans, or his life. He's thinking "I take my time to help my son and he does this to me?"

The truth of the matter is this: My father wanted to have this entire day off and not be bothered by anyone. He didn't want to move from the couch and didn't want to do anything but what he wanted to do. He opted to come to my home in the evening, much later than I was expecting him, and he is angry that I wasn't there momentarily. Instead of taking the time to call me or think about the real situation in a mature way he has to find someone to point the finger at for why things didn't go as planned and to justify why he is angry. He gets mad at everything and in order to always have a reason for being angry he makes an enemy out of everyone. He can't accept the idea that the fault might be his own, but he also can't accept the fact that he gets mad when there is no need to be mad, so in order to rationalize his overreacting he finds reasons (as ridiculous as they may be) to become angry.

The truth is that he never wanted to come to do the job in the first place and he used this miscommunication as an excuse to stay at home for the rest of the evening (which he wanted to do the whole time) and in order to justify that choice (to anyone who may be asking) he needs to be able to defend his choice which is being mad at yours truly. A mature person would look at this situation and remind themselves that it probably would have been a smart and responsible idea to let yours truly know that they would be hours later than what was expected and, perhaps, ask me not to leave. Another mature choice would have been to call yours truly to find out if I was still home.

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm supposed to wait all day long for someone when they say they are going to come over and never leave the house for any reason. Maybe I am the rude one after all. Maybe I am the jerk for not staying here. Maybe I should have been the one to make the phone calls and find out before I even considered ever going anywhere if there was the slightest chance at all that he would be coincidentally leaving his home at the same time I was leaving mine. Yeah, maybe I'm the wrong one...

...and maybe shit doesn't stink.

School Days

2011-07-25T20:54:00.000-07:00

I came home to find that I'd been tagged on Facebook. Not so bad. The problem was 'who' uploaded and then tagged me in the picture.

I've always had a deep resentment for a lot of the people I grew up with because of the things that were said and done to me. I was the guy who, if he snapped out and shot up a school or blew up a building, people would look at his history and say all the warning signs were there. They'd say that I was driven to do it by my life experiences. I could never do such a thing, but if I could do it it would almost be understandable. The victim takes victims. Anyway, that's not the point of this entry and, frankly, it's a little "dark" for my tastes in reading so we'll move away from that.

Throughout my school years I was "that kid" who was always picked on. The poor boy in hand-me-downs who wore glasses and looked like a nerd. I was a target and it was an every day thing until junior year in high school. Different schools just meant different assholes. What bothers me is that everyone who was tagged (27 people) in that photo along with me spoke so fondly of their memories with that class. Those years were some of the worst for me and to look at the faces of my former antagonists makes my blood boil.

Regardless ...

... what's the point of complaining? It's always overlooked. They tell you that you're too sensitive or that it wasn't as bad as you think it was. They weren't in my shoes. In a way I'd like to know what they remember about me so I can stand proudly and say "Look at me now, fuckers!!!" In truth I'd much rather have no association with them. I mean I haven't even thought about them since school was over and if they all passed away tomorrow I wouldn't shed a tear. It'll feel real nice to tell them all to go fuck themselves.

In the Pitts

2011-07-24T09:53:00.000-07:00

I almost couldn't leave. I just didn't want it to end.

We got back around 2:30 in the afternoon yesterday. On most days seeing my cities' skyline excites me. I reminds me that I'm home, that I'm in one of the greatest sports cities, and that Pittsburgh is a place I can be proud to call my home. Yesterday I just didn't feel that way. It was a reminder of another sort - a reminder that I'm right back in the middle of the same troubles I was so desperate to get away from last week. It was actually depressing to see that same skyline I commonly love to stare at from the hills of my neighborhood.

It didn't take longer than 10 minutes for my father to jump right back into his life at home and go running, almost literally, back to his workplace to catch up on what's happened since he's been gone. After taking a job as a Union Steward for the company his nose has been so far up the gossip train's ass that being out of the loop for a week was nearly unbearable for him. Several times during the vacation he talked about his job - a violation of our pre-set vacation rules - and our family had no choice but to ignore him or simply leave the area. He talked about calling work, for one reason or another, but I knew it was because he needed to catch up on all the latest goings-on. He had to know - who was hired, who was fired, who said this, who said that, who was fighting with whom, and what (if anything) his boss said about him. I wanted to, and still want to, believe that maybe somewhere in there he was concerned about my future with the company and was anxious to find out but I just don't know how his mind works anymore. All the things I thought I could expect from my father seem to have become unpredictable at best.

It was great to talk with my mother on the way to Geneva. It seems like my mother and I have gotten closer than ever since I moved out of their home and she is always more than willing to talk with me about any minor or major thing that is on my mind. We talked about simple things like the weather, getting away from the city, and the history of our extended family taking trips to Geneva since my grandfather was a child. I thought that as a person grew older they would become less and less dependent on their parents, but I've found that the older I get the more I need them. I suppose as a child you need them physically and now I seem to need them emotionally. Not long ago my brother and I were with my mother on a shopping trip and somehow the ball got rolling about what would happen after she died. My brother quickly tried to change the subject. I think he, like me, isn't going to be able to face the loss of our parents.

The trip was everything I expected it to be. It was quiet and calm. The waves were crashing against the beach, but they did so gently. Those CDs people pick up with the sounds of waves and seagulls can't imagine what they're missing. It was a very hot and humid day when we arrived but there was such a cool breeze that the heat could only touch you for a moment and then was gone. We unloaded our things, made up our beds, and while my parents went shopping for our food the rest of the gang took some time to explore and soak in some sun. I sat on the beach and remembered my last blog where I said "I want to be able to sit near the beach with the waves crashing at my feet and smile like I haven't done since I was child. I just want to enjoy how it feels to be able to truly breathe again". At that moment I did exactly that. I smiled from ear-to-ear and felt so overwhelmingly excited that I nearly screamed. Instead I clenched and pumped my fists in victory as I lost myself in time and cared nothing for the world back home.

I accomplished my goal. I did what I set out to do. I would be lying if I said I actually believed I'd be able to do it, but I did. I left my worries behind me for the first time in over a decade. I owed it to myself to hit the reset button and enjoy my life again. I think that's why it was so hard to come back. I didn't want to give that up. Coming home forces me to return to the life I couldn't wait to leave and there's nothing I can do about it until I leave again. This time I won't wait 14 years to do something about it.

I wonder what next week looks like :)

Me and Time

2011-07-15T17:10:00.000-07:00

I'll be leaving for Lake Erie tomorrow to spend a long needed week away from the "same old" scene here in Pittsburgh. It's been far too long since I've been able to really relax. I want to rediscover what it means to be calm. The kind of calm where you can stroll on the boardwalk without having to look over your shoulder for the junkie who wants to steal, the bum who wants to "borrow a cigarette", the smelly retards who talk loudly to the driver, the unsatisfiable customers at my job, and the obnoxious screaming of undisciplined children everywhere I shop. I want to rediscover what it's like to wake up in the morning and enjoy the sunlight breaking over the horizon. I want to to be able to sit near the beach with the waves crashing at my feet and smile like I haven't done since I was a child. I just want to enjoy how it feels to be able to truly breathe again instead of feeling like my body is under the weight of a thousand stones that keep getting stacked higher and higher as each year of my life goes by.

I owe this to myself and my well-being. We all owe this to ourselves. I want to believe that I can go somewhere that doesn't have to be on an island or on the other side of the globe to find peace and quiet. I want to believe that I can be somewhere where it's just me and time.

Nothing else.

If it's that good maybe I won't come back at all.

FB

2011-07-14T16:27:00.000-07:00

It's almost therapeutic the way we put our personal business out there on Facebook in the hopes that someone will acknowledge our "status" and reassure us that what we are saying is valid and not a meaningless thought gone by. What makes us post images of ourselves doing things we do in every day life? Do we need someone to tell us that what we're doing, where we're going, or where we've been is important? It's almost like it's a window into the lives of people that want the world to see them in a certain way. An advertisement for who we are or, rather, who we want you to think we are. We share stories, secrets, opinions, pictures, and videos of our lives with friends and family in the hopes that they will find it entertaining or, at the very least, worth their time. I guess I'm different from the pack. I don't need to post a status every 10 minutes about my life. I don't need 640 photos of my evenings out with my friends. I don't need pictures and videos of money, women, cars, clothes, jewelry, material possessions, drugs, alcohol, or shirtless self-portraits saturating my Facebook page. My self-worth comes from within and not from what other people's opinions are of me. It's a shame that so many of us need to feel that what we do, say, and feel is worth a damn. I can't live like that. I won't live like that.

Blog Is Open

2011-07-14T15:40:00.000-07:00

I have no goals for this blog. I don't imagine that it will be quoted or featured anywhere. I don't imagine it will do anything except satisfy my need to talk about a million different things that I shouldn't have an opinion on but I have one anyway. Just a simple window to the what's going on under the cap.