my careless contagion

Graduation: a beginning and an end. But mostly a beginning because even the word commencement means more than just a ceremony; it means a beginning. The above photo was taken shortly after my high school graduation in 1996 (which looked a lot different from graduation this year, I must say). I'm on the right. The other two are Jeff and Michelle. The photo was taken for a short news story of importance because we had all come from Hot Springs and ended up in Broken Bow. We knew each other from one town and somehow all made our way to a different town in a different state, eventually graduating together. While Michelle is still my friend today (she's moving back to Nebraska soon), Jeff has gone under the radar and I'm not sure how to contact him. His father died a few years ago (right after his dad retired, I heard). His dad coached both my brothers. I recall him on school grounds before they moved with Jeff's younger brother. I instantly recognized him and wondered wh...

James Bay's Wild Love , featuring a blonde Natalia Dyer (and an unholy number of purple butterflies), was originally a song I steered away from. I like the song, actually, but I wasn't able to agree with the sentiment because I was going through a tumbler of heartache and change. Lately, I've started to see the light at the end of the tunnel (and I hope it's not an oncoming train). Could I be close to being ready to love again?  Let me say that I'm not in a relationship right now. I'm in love with a woman, but I'm not in a relationship. I'm free to do as I please, which up until now has mostly consisted of avoiding life. I know I'm not ready for a relationship, but I see daylight, and it's nearly time to get up out of this slumber and face a new day. At least I get that feeling more often these days. The truth is, I may never be ready to move on, but there's something in me that says I have to at least try.  I have taken a few moments ...

The realizations are coming hard and fast. I've been a fool; that's understood. I've begun to see myself for what I truly am. And it ain't pretty, folks.  My good qualities are known. I hope big. I love even bigger. I am driven. I don't mind throwing myself into hard situations. I've learned I don't have to rely on myself all the time. But, I'm still independent. That's all good.  What bothers me is what I didn't see. Or, rather, what I didn't want to see. I deceived myself in matters of the heart. I walked right into a pit and a snare — one right after the other.  I will attest to her good qualities until the day I die. I've known this girl since we were ten years old. I watched her grow up into an impressive young woman, lost her for many years, then discovered her to be the same person she was then, only better. She's amazing. I can't say it enough. She's the smartest woman I've ever known. She has an eerie in...

I'm not obsessed, I swear. I just obsessively think about this girl like there's nothing else in the world to think about. Really, it's no big deal.  I've decided on a simple comparison of our lives to illustrate just how impressive I think she is.  After my last Facebook (FB) purge, I have around 80 friends. She gets more than that many likes on her posts. She's one of the nicest, friendliest girls I've ever known with a heart as big as the moon, so it makes sense she's garnered a lot of friends. She doesn't use FB to troll people or post stupid memes. She uses it to reach out to her people, to educate, to praise, to cherish those in her life. I don't currently use FB, but when I did I mostly posted articles about stupid stuff bears were doing. Yes, bears.  She has talents I don't have. This list could be very long. She's creative and crafty. She can bake a cake. She can run a half marathon, mow her lawn, pay the bills, feed the kid...

Confession time. My life is a mess. I really should be suicidal, but I'm not. I think it's pure fear keeping me alive right now. It's a beautiful day, but I feel wrecked once again.  Last night I woke after midnight and couldn't go back to sleep, got up, read one of my textbooks, and then got on the internet and decided that was a bad idea. The waking in the night, every single night, has to stop. I want to pull my hair out, but then I'd look like even more of a freak.  I've fallen off a cliff of epic proportions. Maybe I was unaware the whole time my life was crap, and I'm just now realizing it.  Most people have stuff figured out by the time they're 40. I'll be 41 soon, and I have exactly zero figured out, except I'm a mess. The things I formerly took pride in are no longer there. I've severed ties with people and the past so severely I no longer have ties to anyone or anything. I live alone. I have no friends. I talk to God alm...

I could have written about my hangnails or something, as the instructor never read our work. One of the last things I had on my list to write about this summer was this pesky letter that's been haunting me since 5-6-1996. But, I first had to read the letter, which I didn't want to do, as it felt like a can of worms. But, I'm getting good at opening cans of worms. The first thing that struck me was how poorly written the letter was, how sloppy my handwriting was, and the fact that I included a blank page (?). But, it was an honest letter from a no-BS kid who was really glad to be done with the "hell" of high school. Little did I realize I would be launched into another academic abyss very soon. In many ways, going to a community college (for a kid who got a 29 on his ACT) was like going back to the 8th grade. I met the woman who would take up more than 20 years of my life on 5-6-1997, exactly a year after I wrote this letter to myself. What in...

  The author's letter to himself, written in 1996. Perhaps he was too bored to write "death." The last day of high school in 1996, my Physics teacher assigned the class the task of writing ourselves a letter. I don't remember exactly what the point of the exercise was, but we had to wait a significant amount of time, say, 10 years after graduation to open the letter. It's been more than 22 years, and I still haven't opened it. I'm a little annoyed by the fact that it has been sitting there so long, just waiting for me to open it. I tell myself I know what I wrote so I don't have to open it, but, honestly, I have no idea. I know I was a dewy-eyed young man with some untarnished ideals, but I had also endured quite a bit of heartache in my 18 years. Graduating from high school seemed anticlimactic. My mind had already started to wander down the path I thought I was going to take. There was college to look forward to, a career, lots of f...