I was dumped recently.
Should you feel sorry for me? Sure, why not? I like attention. But here’s the good news. According to my single lady friends, the quality of men who are forty years old and single are a real horror show. So are most of the women, but I’m not worried. Crazy people find crazy people. And, thankfully, according to my therapist I’m not crazy. I pay her good money to re-confirm this opinion every week.
I really thought I could outsmart a firepit.
For the past four days I’ve been at a Tony Robbins seminar in the suburbs of Chicago. Over five thousand people have come in from eighteen countries to listen to the man with the huge hands help them help themselves. During the past few days I’ve cheered, yelled, screamed to the heavens, cried, and danced to over fifty songs. I’ve hugged well over a hundred strangers and given group massages to participants. When I leave to go to the bathroom I instinctively high-five people coming out of the bathroom. This would not be well-received in polite society. But, hey, this is Tony Robbins. It’s the culture of the event. You drink the Kool-Aid.
As some of you know I’m on the board of Band Back Together, a fantastic not-for-profit organization that showcases stories of emotional distress, physical and psychological trauma, and surviving. It also celebrates the victories we have over adversary. If you’re not a regular reader I encourage you to check it out. I’m proud to be on staff.
For the second time in about six months, I got pulled over.
I was driving to a doctor’s appointment this evening and talking to the friend I wrote about the other day where I offered to eat her kidney stone. I live in Chicago and it’s impossible to speed. I’m even one of those nerds that does a complete stop at stop signs. I’m not all law-abidin’, though. I turn on red all the time even when there isn’t a turn arrow in the left lane or if there’s a “no turn on red” sign in the right lane. I’m an outlaw when it comes to turning. But, this time I know I was just driving along at 27 mph through downtown Evanston.
Tomorrow I’m flying to Atlanta to speak at AimingLow’s blogging conference aptly named NonConference.
This will be my first speaking event where I address bloggers. I’m grateful to have been asked and over the past few months have tried to create a worthwhile presentation/discussion for attendees. My topic is about taking risks with your writing and trusting in your abilities.
I sort of got into it with my therapist today.
A problem I’ve had throughout my love life has been getting women to agree with me on all my opinions. If you disagree with my stance on something I feel passionate about, I take it as a personal attack. I then think we’re not a united front and mismatched. But I also think you’re lying about your position. That, under sodium pentothal and a heat lamp, you would admit that my stance on the topic was, in fact, your stance.
Yes, I’m talking about you.
We all had a sad day today. At least the few people I talked to. And since four people is a relational sample to the rest of the earth’s population, this is apt. We were sad.
Let us collectively stick out our lower lip and make a solid frowny-face. That is actually fun so don’t do it too much as it takes the darkness out of depression. Stay in the shadows for a little big longer, please. I need you at your worst so I don’t feel alone.
On the way home from work riding my bike ten miles I realized I had nothing to write about for tonight. This is not uncommon and often I sit in front of the keyboard for many minutes trying to come up with content.
For some reason this thought popped into my head seemingly from nowhere:
As many of you know I have written a post every day this year. I’ve also bragged in interviews that I haven’t published a poor one yet. Each one, while not perfect was at least a 7/10.
You may disagree. F you and your silly hat.
However, this is the first time I’ve had a true block. Usually I can go back through my day and find something funny, interesting, or touching to talk about. While I may not know where I’m going, within a few hundred words it takes shape.
I'll never give this child another cigarette, pinky swears!
