Wrestling Inner Demons

I should preface this by saying I don't know squat about the opposite sex. My gift is reading people.

I recently started another battle with the face in the mirror, grappling with a massive inferiority complex that has caused me to harm a lot of people in its wake. I don't like hurting people (usually), and I despise being afraid. So this journey to overcome the fear of not being good enough is the next step in the journey of self-reconciliation.

I can look at you and tell you that I know I'm a good fighter. I know this because I've had years of getting my ass whooped to get tough, because I've devoted entire days to getting stronger, faster, more fluent in my technique; I know this because what I fear most is someone standing over me, with that damn look as though they are better than me. No one is better than me. Either way, getting good took years of practice.

I suck when it comes to girls. Believe it. I have friends who can attest to it. I suck because I am trying to overcome the mentality that I don't deserve to be with anyone. Hell, I didn't even start seriously dating until about seven years ago. Before that, I was in a tumultous relationship with the mother of my children, then one woman who may or may not have cheated on me...and then one really serious relationship past that in which I professionally screwed up.

What I do is when I become interested and they (God forbid) become interested in me, I take the most insignificant, minuscule little faults in that person and turn them into atomic disasters, and then use that as an excuse to push them away. Oh, and I'm great at pushing girls--people in general, but especially girls--away. I have a list of people who'll readily testify to that.

There is one thing worse than being rejected by ninety percent of the people in your life, and it's not learning that you don't need anyone to get by. It's when you learn in spite of all that, you don't want to be alone.

There's really not a lot to me, and I think that's my biggest hang-up. I make a single-digit hourly salary, I have more debt than punches thrown in my entire life, and I have two children. That's before you get to know me. Some of the guys who have pursued women I've been interested in have worked as freaking Directors of Operations for freaking hotel chains. Great, I think, maybe he can give me a job.

What I always have a hard time seeing is that the girl chose me. I never pay attention to that; I always ask why.

This isn't always the case; sometimes, I was just with the wrong girl. No names.

Now, here's the thing.

There's a pretty good chance my relationship status will change after this weekend--once again.

I've done things differently; I've confronted things that worried me head on, I've been straight with her about the issues in my life, and I haven't done that push-away thing I could add to my resume. She's still here. I won't use names, I won't blog anything her and me might go through because it's between her and me.

I may not be the be the brightest penny in the fountain, but I learn from my mistakes. She says I'm what she wants. I'm not going to question it. I'm just going to go with it. Hopefully I'll win this battle too.

It's Coming...

I was gonna twitter this, but it's too long. Figured I'd make it a diary entry.
The time where I return to Michigan to answer for previous offenses is not far off. None of these are serious; I should be back home inside of six weeks.
Although I could make arrangements to pay fines and waive jail time, one county in particular will not let me do this. I have to turn myself in. I will inevitably sit in jail for no more than ninety-three days. I don't think it'll be that long; when I left the area, they were sending people to other counties because the jails were full. Jeffrey Dahmer I am not; just a wise ass with authority issues and a penchant for shooting off at the mouth.

Heh. The follies of youth, right?
I'm trying to figure out when I'll do all this. Invariably I'll be moving within the next six months and I've gotten it figured that I'll do this while I'm between apartments. Either I'll store my stuff and find a place when I get home, or post two months rent at a new place and head off. The first option sounds better.

Doing this brings an official end to the Busterwolf era; I have no wants or warrants where I am. I've stayed straight for a year. I do this, I regain the ability to drive. I'm in a way better position to take care of my kids. There are other factors I can't go into just yet, but let's just say they involve people I care about.

The point is, I'm starting to feel it at at my back; getting on the bus, taking that long ride back to Michigan, walking into the police station, giving them my name and stating that they have a warrant for my arrest.

Then I'm at their mercy.
I swear this will be the last time I am at anyone's mercy.
When it's done, I can go home freely.
First, I need to go to jail. January and February of next year are going to be hard months.

But for now, I need to go to bed.

Busterwolf's Day Off

Depending on our first encounter, you may think I'm brash, cocky, arrogant, or quiet, awkward, humble, maybe even shy. I've also heard mysterious a couple of times. Sometimes all of the above, sometimes all at once.

With the imminent completion of my client's novel looming, I chose to take an impromptu day off and walk the city. I had a few things to do but truthfully, I just wanted to get out of the house. So, dressed, up, running, and Powered By Zune, I left the house.

My first trip is to the local fax shop which is about a mile and a half away from me. I cover the distance in about fifteen minutes and am pleased with my physical conditioning. I feel like I could run it. They're tearing up the street at the nearby corner where Madison meets Whitton, a major intersection, and the workers are uncharacteristically polite. Maybe it's the season.

I have to fax my final check amount and date of employment to the local office so I can get food stamps next month. The guy running the shop is a local, and most locals over fifty automatically don't like people of color, so equally automatically I'm ready to get in and get out. Turns out I was wrong; he was cordially pleasant, he even faxed my document for free since it was in town. I felt stupid. Sad thing is, I have a fax machine as a part of my copier; I just have no idea how to set it up.
I make a crack at the roof worker as I head into the next door dollar store and pick up a few snickers fun packs. I had no idea Spider-Man was black.

Now here's the thing. Libraries to me are what bars are to most people; I go in, I get soaked, in knowledge or fiction rather than booze, and I go home feeling better than when I entered. I plan to go into the library and lounge around long enough for Billy to get home. Doesn't happen that way and I end up checking out nine books, all of which I have to carry home on my back. REALLY need to get a car.

My first highlight is when I make camp near a fifteen-year-old entrant in the Britney Spears lookalike contest. She's typing madly away on a netbook, and I've never seen one of these things in action before...I've heard a lot of mixed opinions, but I'm not as strict on my technology requirements as others are.

I swear, too, I was checking out the computer, not Britney. Really.
Anyway, she finally catches me ogling her netbook and plays it off, because she thought I was checking HER out. Which I wasn't. But anyway, making small talk, (I'm getting better at that) I tell her I've never seen one of those before, I was just curious as to how they worked. She slides it in my direction and tells me to give it a go.
Yeah, maybe in three years or so.
I tell her thanks anyway, I learned what I needed to know. She asks me, with a grin, how I'm supposed to make an informed opinion if I don't experience the object of my curiousity. Wow. That's a quote. High schoolers think they're so smart.
I chuckle. Thanks anyway, I say.
Well, can you tell me what you learned? She asks.
I smile, and tell her.
"It works."

I check my books out and exit. I wave goodbye to her on my way out the door.
Next stop is Billy's house. Nothing big there, save I raided a bag of his snack food and watched people raise a black bear from a cub. Why do people raise black bears? They're black bears. Eventually they want to hunt you. In most cases, anyway. This is just my paranoia talking. Tammey, my eternal cheerleader, is kind enough to bring me some metformin. Time to go home.

It wouldn't be a full day off if I didn't get to head out at night, though. At my old office, they put a block on the internet. Weird, because I never once looked at porn sites there. But yeah, sure, why not, I need to get the bigger coffee pot (which makes a much better cup, I have to say).
Hello to Tammey again. I can't get into the computer, but I'd like to see some old friends while I'm here.
I pass a few tenants who wanted to inflict grevious injury on me at one point. A couple of them had their chance. They see me coming and walk in the other direction. I smile.
I shoot the breeze with a guy who shares my interest in muscle cars, and then visit someone who wanted more than what I could give them at the time. I told her I was sorry for handling things the way I did. She asked me if there was a way to get in touch with me, and truthfully, if you don't have the internet, there isn't. I don't think I could've given up my contact info anyway. I'm not off the market, but I'm not in the game, either.

"How do I get in touch with you, then?" She asks.
Again, I smile. "You don't. I'll find you."

So there you have it. Nothing big, nothing dramatic, nothing catastrophic. Just a day off, plain and simple.
I often feel in the center of a maelstrom that I helped create, where I'm just barely in control of my life. Now that I spend roughly eight hours a day staring into a monitor trying to make sense of my (and other people's) imagination, it was good to just get out and do nothing for a change.

Happy holidays. Thanks for reading.

Just Random Stuff

Floppy disks for coasters. I did it because I didn't want to waste money. And it turns out that Diet Code Red is almost as good as the real thing. I have to remind myself that I'm on a budget, and I can't run through them too quickly. It'll be a minute before I can go shopping again.

I slept under a bridge once in NYC and I wasn't as scared as I am right now...but I'm starting to get past it. I don't hate anything more than being afraid, and I don't have time for it.
I would be in extreme dire straits and only then, at the height (depth?) of desperation, I'd ask my parents for help. It was a coin toss and always came with a lecture as to how I wasn't living right, or as they approved. Small price to pay if it meant surviving a bit longer.

I'm not really in dire straits now, I'm just freaked out that I'm not good enough to really cut it as a writer. I try to draw on the same confidence that made me a good fighter (funny how they rhyme) when it comes to writing, and it just isn't there. I have more to lose here. What would it mean if I wasn't good enough? It means I would settle on some mundane career for thirty or forty years just to survive and to me, that is worse than dying.

I do not settle. Call it pride, call it ego, call it whatever you want, but I do not settle.
Truthfully, I think I'll make it as a writer. It might take time, but I'm willing to put that in, even if it's all of my time or what I can squeeze in after work. I'm a very patient person.

A fear I have been forced to confront lately, and I owe some thanks to Billy behind this one, is that I am not good enough to be a husband. I don't know if this is true or not. I can only be myself, and hope that's enough for someone. I know in my heart I'm a good person. I'm not lazy and I'll take a bullet for the people I love.

Whoever I enter a serious relationship with will have to accept that my life is on the mend; my credit is under repair, I don't have a lot to my name, I'm not educated, and not only do I not have a driver's license, it'll be a minute before I can get once, since I have so much to answer too in Michigan. I also have two kids that come before anything else.

I don't need any financial help from anyone I get involved with--something Sam never got. No matter what I'm doing, I can pay my own bills and even save money without breaking law or jaw. I just would like someone to be there.

I think all this stems from the fact that I can look directly ahead of me and see everything I've ever wanted and talked about--and I'm terrified to reach out and grab it.

I guess it's my move.

The Cloud

As someone who lives on the outskirts of the technology sphere, I don't understand the big deal about working in the cloud. In fact, I think it's dangerous that things are moving towards this trend, something I liken to a "skynet" mentality.

For those who may not be aware, the term 'working in the cloud' loosely leaving the desktop behind and placing the majority, if not all, of the workload on the internet--the 'cloud'.

This hails from getting into the internet around the mid-nineties when "this page cannot be displayed" still dominated roughly a quarter of everyone's surfing experience. Granted, things must be doing better; I can't remember the last time I saw a broken page or 404 error that wasn't quickly rectified. We're living in a better internet era than what we had ten years ago, but it's still prone to errors. That's right, yahoo, I'm looking at you.

Here's what scares me.
Imagine someone under the descending blade of a deadline goes to retrieve their 2MB file from Google Docs for some last minute editing--and the 404 error comes up.
Sometimes it only takes a refresh to straighten things out--but that's not the case here. Eventually the user is redirected to a smarmy page that explains its all Google's fault, not yours and of course they're working to fix the problem as soon as possible.

This might not seem so frightening to some of the more financial secure of you out there. If you use a system like this to pay even some of your bills, it can be horrifying.

Then again, maybe I'm just a control freak.
Either way, if my programs are going to fail, I'd rather they failed because of something I did, rather than something completely outside of my control. This is why I like my documents and my important data on my hard drive, or my external hard drive, or in my possession at all times.

I think the cloud mentality is too dangerous because it essentially places control of important information in other error-prone human being who may be miles smarter than the rest of us, but they make mistakes just like the rest of us, too.

Something to keep in mind the next time you think Google Docs is a blessing, since they don't charge you...;)

Beast Within

I feel so disconnected lately...November, what a month, it only ended five days ago, and it feels like eons. I feel like I've been living in December forever, in an eternity of Christmas carols and too-bright displays of a holiday I just don't want to know right now.

And at the same time...I feel as though I have no right to complain. I feel like I've been freed, after twenty-five years of hard labor, and now that I am back out in the sun, I don't know what to do. Here I am, doing day by day what I have spent my whole life working towards...and I still have one hand at the edge of the pool.

I've had this energy inside me as long as I could remember. It's a rising feeling that feels like an ever-brightening bulb beginning at the pit of my stomach and filling my whole being, pressing against my skin from the inside and threatening to burst its way out, free of mortality.
It was borne from rage, no doubt, years of what my father and I put each other through and kids in school who kept finding ways to be crueler...although to be honest, there were plenty of times I brought it on myself. I would talk shit just to get them to come after me, sometimes. I couldn't tell you why. I just did it.

I grew up--that tends to happen, and this energy stayed with me. I first thought it was evil, and I was okay with it. I learned to control how bright the bulb got. I could see the punch coming from two towns over and in that primal moment when I caught the wrist, and forced my enemy to the ground by his shoulder, I was on top of the world. In the madness of destruction that is a fight, I was the wolf king of the jungle.

But it was evil. It had to be repressed, purged.
So I quit fighting. I tried to suppress it, keep it down, and get it out of my system altogether. I tried to literally stop being angry--a fool's errand. I tried to settle into this uncomfortable truce with this beast I had inside me...I was stupid enough to believe that it would only come when I summoned it. Even if I had no idea what it was.

I'm telling you I believed it was evil until two days ago.

I should've been at the pit of depression--hell, I probably still am--I lost my job and my fiance (whom I sacrificed aforementioned job for) inside of two weeks.
But I finished NaNoWriMo.
I may have been *technically* out of work, but I'll clear enough on my contract to cover rent, food, and bills for the month. How unbelievable is that? I hope I never get past the shock.
My job would take me back eventually and back me up anywhere I wanted to go, making the whole world my playground again.
I love my children, and I'm talking to them again.
I lost Sam. I loved Sam. I will love others, and I might lose them too. I'll keep loving and losing until I find The One.

So there it is.
Couple of days ago, I'm at my first writer's meeting at the local library and here I am, swiping ideas back and forth with people who have the same type of creative buzz I do. It was the first time in life I'd ever done this. I was ready to come out of my skin and I don't think they knew what to make of me, but they seem to have accepted me all the same.

On my way out of the library...there it is again. The light bulb didn't gradually appear like normal; this time it was at its brightest, instantaneously bursting and filling me up to the point that I thought I might leave the ground. It was the first time I ever felt it...and I was not angry.
Not now. I told myself. There's no reason for it. Not now. Not now!

It was so intense that it became a physical pain, threatening to fold my stomach in half. I let loose a grunt and fell to one knee, clutching my stomach it hurt so badly. I figured it was stress; everything was finally getting the better of me. Why now?

Then I heard it, as much as I felt it; the omnipotent voice in my head that has never steered me wrong.
Let go.
At first I didn't know what to think, I hadn't heard it before, but as sure as night is above me now, I heard it again.
Let go!!
I looked up, ahead of me, down the street. It was vacant as far as I could see it. My heart was a percussive drum resonating throughout my ears and the rest of my body. The light receded within me to a dim fuse, my legs became dynamite.
One foot in front of the other, feeding from the wolf within, I took off. Racing down the street at top speed, fast enough to make Sonic wonder what the hell just passed him, I had a conversation in my head;
What about the bum knee?
There is no bum knee.
There is no pain.
There is no excuse.
There is no reason why you cannot.

I couldn't have stopped if I wanted too--and I didn't. Even as the cold air raked its way out of my lungs and my legs became rubbery, I had ceased to be any kind of human being for a scant few moments and transcended, allowing the wolf to assume control, finally, without any complaints from the logical side. I felt like I was doing fifty. I covered five blocks in less minutes than that.
When I got to my house, I became human again--and nearly passed out, wondering what the hell I was thinking.

I think science calls what I feel every so often a state of euphoria. I don't need a technical term. It just felt great, and for the first time, as I get up and go to bed when I want, talk to who I want, eat what I want, do what I want, and still get my responsibilities done...this is what I spent my life dreaming about, don't you dare get scared now.

I felt like writing this...I'm going to watch Hancock and hit the sack. I have a lot to do tomorrow.

Nanowrimo and Beyond

November 2008 was a life changing month. I turned thirty-two. I re-established contact with my kids and started a plan to get custody of them on at least a part-time basis. The sudden inclusion of my kids changes everything when it comes to my priorities.
Second only to talking to my children, I entered a 'competition' in which you had to write 50,000 words in thirty days, with no planning ahead or any other shortcut-taking.
Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month) is something you enter to win. It's where you find out who you are.
At first, I didn't think it was that big a deal, to write 50,000 words in thirty days, but then again, I've never placed any sort of cap on my writing; I would write until the story was done, and I would write whenever, and where-ever, the mood struck me. Very literally, literary abandon.

When the reality of the monstrous word count set in, and it felt like emptying the ocean with a tablespoon, I was going to bow out. Then something funny happened, on twitter of all places; one of my followers asked me; "Oh, I thought you were a writer. Tell me about Modern Magic!"

It was a genuine question. I had mentioned it plenty of times on twitter and lived with it more than half of my life. Yet, when I went to answer, I stumbled. All I could say was that it was my 'life's dream', a place where writers could work and develop their ideas freely...but I couldn't think of anything concise.
What a profound moment. How could I not answer a very simple question about a dream I had been living with for more than twenty years?
Then it hit me.
I could no longer speak passionately about Modern Magic because I could no longer see things clearly.

I focused on the book. I would sit and write for hours, and when you put aside all the planning, drama, and bullshit...when you just let the inspiration flow freely, you may find that you are at your best. Writer's block, in my case, often comes in the form of being unable to think of something specific, which puts the story on hold for weeks, sometimes. What I learned to do was create a first draft and use placeholders to keep the story going.

I lost my job with Securitas (due to something unrelated) but I finished the competition. They may not mean much to someone who doesn't understand the daunting task of writing fifty thousand words in one month, but saving those gif files, and printing that certificate...that meant everything to me. After all this time, I finally understood why God put me on this planet.

I also understand the exhilarating, terrifying world of freelance living. I will make enough money from my client's novel to ensure that I do not have to go back to outside work this month. I wonder if God removed Securitas as an obstacle so I could at last come into my own. She continually praises my work and promises she has more on the way. I have won and lost enough contracts to get at least a feeling as to what the life promises. The question is; can I sustain myself, and two boys on it?

Yeah, I think I can...
I've begun to look up do-it-yourself publishers for my own novel which has "an interesting premise" I'm told. I'm trying to work my way past the fear of a slew of rejection letters--which I know inevitably are coming. Almost no one makes it big on their first book.

Then there's my tumultuous relationship with Samantha, which needs a final resolution. This is all I can say on that right now...

I'm a writer. This is what I do. Everything else will fall into place. God is with me and that's all that matters. My name is Avery K. Tingle, and I'm Here To Bust This Groove. ;)

Thanks for reading! Hope everyone has a happy and safe holiday!