First off: sorry for the hiatus. It will happen again.
Right to business then!
Entire websites have made their living off of lists, so I chose to make my own.
Some background first!
Modern gaming has evolved beyond mere gameplay (your phone apps don't count, sorry). More and more developers are striving to create believable worlds for the players to immerse themselves into. Great strides have been taken in recent years in the formation of atmosphere within games. While my personal opinion is that 2K's Bioshock series is at the forefront of this evolution in design, there are others who manage it very well. It is also my personal opinion that one of the most important things lending itself to the creation of this atmosphere is the music found within games. To that end, here is a list of the 5 video game tracks that have left the greatest impression on me.
-The Elder Scrolls: Morrowind - Main Title. This song underscores everything that was great about this game to me. Every time I hear it I am thrown back to the hundreds of hours I spent scouring that volcanic island to the darkest depths of it's strange reaches. It had the most soul and depth of any Elder Scrolls game yet, and as my first sandbox/rpg it was a life experience that will never leave me.
Morrowind - Main Theme
-Bioshock: Infinite - Elizabeth's Theme. The newest example from this list. It won't be the last Bioshock title you see on this list. These games are on such a higher level than what almost any other studio is doing right now. Their story is always intoxicating, their twisted atmosphere inescapable, and this song lays out the beauty that can be found in Infinite's message perfectly.
Bioshock - Elizabeth's Theme
-Halo: CE - Opening Suite. God, how many times did I start this game up? The weight that this game left on my shoulders every time I had finished it was so much heavier than you expect from average shooters. That said, the score that finds itself interwoven with this game is its true masterpiece. There are harsh drum beats during heavy action, somber piano strokes in the places of loss, and dreadful strings when all seems lost. Behind it all this theme binds the game together into one beautiful sense of desperation, of struggle, and a hope that refuses to give up.
Halo - Opening Suite
-Bioshock 2 - Pairbond. If there is one thing that the second game did better than the first, it was the soundtrack. Pairbond manages to capture a strange beauty with its other-worldly violin - both giving voice to the broken city beneath the waves, and serving as emphasis for the strange dynamics that it's inhabitants perpetuate.
Bioshock 2 - Pairbond (Main Theme)
-Assassin's Creed: Revelations - Main Theme. This is my favorite offering from the series. Despite its criticism, I feel that it did perfect justice to the end of the Ezio trilogy - important because of how perfectly they nailed his character. Ezio was both tragic victim and comedian, badass and gentleman, and this song accompanies his twilight tale to perfection. The blending tribute to Altair bleeds through the notes and the combination haunts me every time I choose to play it.
Assassin's Creed: Revelations - Main Theme
Notables that were close second: Anything from Genesis-era Sonic, Mass Effect, Dragon Age: Origins, The Song of Time, Tales of Symphonia, Windwaker.
-I have to also include Ain't No Rest for the Wicked by Cage the Elephant, found in the first Borderlands game. While it is only found in the start-up sequence, this song fits the awkward character of that game so perfectly that I will forever associate the two of them together.
Monday, August 26, 2013
Friday, September 30, 2011
Hiatus.
I must first apologize for my hiatus. I have been busy with the start of school (it's been crazy this year!) and settling back into the rhythm of college life. I will try and be better about it in the future.
I have also noticed a grievous wrong I have done by you all (the six or so people who actually bother to look at this from time to time), and that is with the music playlist I have claimed to be the best music ever. It should, in fact be around five songs longer and include no less than two songs by the band I have so raved about in the past, Fair to Midland. They're that good.
As nothing else interesting has happened lately, I'll leave it at that. Expect more detailed postings as a slew of games come out over the next few months, along with a trip to good ol' Detroit for what will be assuredly a great time for Youmacon.
Until next time~
The lazy guy who's words you read.
I have also noticed a grievous wrong I have done by you all (the six or so people who actually bother to look at this from time to time), and that is with the music playlist I have claimed to be the best music ever. It should, in fact be around five songs longer and include no less than two songs by the band I have so raved about in the past, Fair to Midland. They're that good.
As nothing else interesting has happened lately, I'll leave it at that. Expect more detailed postings as a slew of games come out over the next few months, along with a trip to good ol' Detroit for what will be assuredly a great time for Youmacon.
Until next time~
The lazy guy who's words you read.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Complete.
Shes back, and there is no other term for it.
Similar to a puzzle that is missing a single piece, or a quality dish missing a key ingredient, her absence had left me short of myself, lacking in substance. That piece has fallen back into place with her return. The puzzle is complete, the dish is worthy of a meal. I am whole again.
Similar to a puzzle that is missing a single piece, or a quality dish missing a key ingredient, her absence had left me short of myself, lacking in substance. That piece has fallen back into place with her return. The puzzle is complete, the dish is worthy of a meal. I am whole again.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Graven.
Though undoubtedly inspired by experiencing the movie-finale of the epic of a generation, a series that has redefined both literature and movie-making, impossibly written by a homeless woman in Britain, that makes my reflections none the less true.
There are certain things that will become engraved into you. These things latch on to your person, ever there, and evermore a part of you.
I first began to understand this while developing a habit. For years now, any time I read a series that pulls me in, that provides me a total escape, I am rendered helpless by it upon its completion. Provided a high quality of writing, and a story that deserves it, by a series' end I find that it has stealthily made its way beneath my skin, has taken hold of my attention and will not relinquish it even once finished. Personally, this is not always a pleasant thing, as I've frequently found. This often multi-day stupor of reflection leaves me distracted, avoidant, and subsequently (more) introverted. And I wouldn't trade them for anything. There's a solace to be found in the silent reflections of art often graven into our souls. As easily as it can disturb and upset, it calms and quiets.
As it has inspired this odd mood, it is only fair to acknowledge the epic that is Harry Potter, as referenced above. Having read through the series more than twice, and single books within it far more than that, the same stupor invades me every time I complete the series. The characters, their developement, and the scope, even knowing the plot, all its major twists and turns, they wrestle your attention, they wrap their tendrils around your mind and demand the same intimate relationship read after read. Not bad for woman who started with silly names on a napkin.
Alternately, experiences can have a similar effect. Perhaps even more lasting.
A year ago now, after flying to Wyoming for a week visit with my mom, me and my girlfriend undertook the longest travel of my life. Driving alone on the highway, or late into the night, I still sense her ghost in the passenger seat next to me. I can still see the lightning stretching for miles in every direction as the rain thunders against the roof. I can see the silhouettes of the fields of wind-turbines glowing red in their rows as far as the eye can see.
That trip, similar to books such as the Harry Potter series, has left in me an unmistakable wound. A beautiful scar that I will likely remember for the rest of my years. I miss those hours on the road, much as finishing a good series is like leaving a friend behind. Books may be re-read, and the memories are always there to look back upon. But in the retrospect of the moment, there is alway a sad nostalgia that accompanies them. Their moment has passed, and the world moves on, only leaving behind their marks in their influence over us.
There are certain things that will become engraved into you. These things latch on to your person, ever there, and evermore a part of you.
I first began to understand this while developing a habit. For years now, any time I read a series that pulls me in, that provides me a total escape, I am rendered helpless by it upon its completion. Provided a high quality of writing, and a story that deserves it, by a series' end I find that it has stealthily made its way beneath my skin, has taken hold of my attention and will not relinquish it even once finished. Personally, this is not always a pleasant thing, as I've frequently found. This often multi-day stupor of reflection leaves me distracted, avoidant, and subsequently (more) introverted. And I wouldn't trade them for anything. There's a solace to be found in the silent reflections of art often graven into our souls. As easily as it can disturb and upset, it calms and quiets.
As it has inspired this odd mood, it is only fair to acknowledge the epic that is Harry Potter, as referenced above. Having read through the series more than twice, and single books within it far more than that, the same stupor invades me every time I complete the series. The characters, their developement, and the scope, even knowing the plot, all its major twists and turns, they wrestle your attention, they wrap their tendrils around your mind and demand the same intimate relationship read after read. Not bad for woman who started with silly names on a napkin.
Alternately, experiences can have a similar effect. Perhaps even more lasting.
A year ago now, after flying to Wyoming for a week visit with my mom, me and my girlfriend undertook the longest travel of my life. Driving alone on the highway, or late into the night, I still sense her ghost in the passenger seat next to me. I can still see the lightning stretching for miles in every direction as the rain thunders against the roof. I can see the silhouettes of the fields of wind-turbines glowing red in their rows as far as the eye can see.
That trip, similar to books such as the Harry Potter series, has left in me an unmistakable wound. A beautiful scar that I will likely remember for the rest of my years. I miss those hours on the road, much as finishing a good series is like leaving a friend behind. Books may be re-read, and the memories are always there to look back upon. But in the retrospect of the moment, there is alway a sad nostalgia that accompanies them. Their moment has passed, and the world moves on, only leaving behind their marks in their influence over us.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Written.
It has been far too long since my last post, but as I have been busy with a new job working in hell, and it takes me long into the night only to collapse onto my bed and sleep till noon the next day, waking only to spend an hour or two before going back into the fiery furnace, I have had little energy for a blog. During this brief and much too short span of my day, I eat, shower, and mill around on my computer.
And I read.
Have I been given a satchel of books to be read by summer's end by my girlfriend? Well, yes. Does this mean I would not be reading otherwise? Of course not. It's merely a matter of what I am reading that has been determined by her curiosity of how I would enjoy her most favorite of literature.
I have long been one of the most avid readers known to myself. Meeting a couple similar book-goers in college was a nice change of pace. Sometimes I question my career choice of delving into the medical field and wish that I would have instead become an author, or an editor, or some such thing. I reason with myself that once it had become a job, however, any fun I had at one time gained through it would be lost. I have too few escapes to risk losing them.
As hinted by the comment of pipe-dreaming as an author, I also write.
I have a series (since everyone knows that a series is superior to a single novel when it comes to sci-fi/fantasy, my genre of choice) that I have somewhat laid out, and will in theory one day complete. I've restarted it more times than I care to count as my ideas shift ever so slightly from one thing to the next, and as a result it has not seen much distance. But nevertheless it is a work in progress.
My junior year of highschool I took a short story and poetry class. Surprisingly, the poetry section did much more for me than the short story aspect. I don't believe in short stories. If it's worth telling, make it longer. Poetry can be beautiful. Now I don't consider myself a poet, far from it. But what I have picked up is a habit of writing songs. Are they worthy of blaring over the radio to thousands of listeners nationwide? Not likely, but who am I to judge my own work? I'm hardly a professional at such things. Besides, I don't write them for aspirations of being the next Lisa Mikovsky and writing songs for the big names of the industry (That's where her career started, for those who don't know, now she sings her own music, and I quite like it). Rather, much like reading or playing video games or watching re-runs of Top Gear on the BBC America, I write because I enjoy it. It has helped me through what I consider to be one of my blackest of nights.
Does everything I write dive into darkness and despair as that piece did? Of course not. I generally enjoy the occasional mushy-stupid song about a little-defined woman. I enjoy cliches. More often though, my words are less happy. With the creative variation of a chipmunk, most of them focus instead on a similarly-defined woman that has left the singer behind to drown in his sorrow. See? More cliches. The walls are covered with them, and I couldn't think of a better way to decorate.
Maybe someday I will post an exercept from my story onto this blog, or some newly inspired song. Until that day, however, I shall have to make due by keeping you all gripped by my intriguing and riveting narratives. Who knows what the future may hold.
And I read.
Have I been given a satchel of books to be read by summer's end by my girlfriend? Well, yes. Does this mean I would not be reading otherwise? Of course not. It's merely a matter of what I am reading that has been determined by her curiosity of how I would enjoy her most favorite of literature.
I have long been one of the most avid readers known to myself. Meeting a couple similar book-goers in college was a nice change of pace. Sometimes I question my career choice of delving into the medical field and wish that I would have instead become an author, or an editor, or some such thing. I reason with myself that once it had become a job, however, any fun I had at one time gained through it would be lost. I have too few escapes to risk losing them.
As hinted by the comment of pipe-dreaming as an author, I also write.
I have a series (since everyone knows that a series is superior to a single novel when it comes to sci-fi/fantasy, my genre of choice) that I have somewhat laid out, and will in theory one day complete. I've restarted it more times than I care to count as my ideas shift ever so slightly from one thing to the next, and as a result it has not seen much distance. But nevertheless it is a work in progress.
My junior year of highschool I took a short story and poetry class. Surprisingly, the poetry section did much more for me than the short story aspect. I don't believe in short stories. If it's worth telling, make it longer. Poetry can be beautiful. Now I don't consider myself a poet, far from it. But what I have picked up is a habit of writing songs. Are they worthy of blaring over the radio to thousands of listeners nationwide? Not likely, but who am I to judge my own work? I'm hardly a professional at such things. Besides, I don't write them for aspirations of being the next Lisa Mikovsky and writing songs for the big names of the industry (That's where her career started, for those who don't know, now she sings her own music, and I quite like it). Rather, much like reading or playing video games or watching re-runs of Top Gear on the BBC America, I write because I enjoy it. It has helped me through what I consider to be one of my blackest of nights.
Does everything I write dive into darkness and despair as that piece did? Of course not. I generally enjoy the occasional mushy-stupid song about a little-defined woman. I enjoy cliches. More often though, my words are less happy. With the creative variation of a chipmunk, most of them focus instead on a similarly-defined woman that has left the singer behind to drown in his sorrow. See? More cliches. The walls are covered with them, and I couldn't think of a better way to decorate.
Maybe someday I will post an exercept from my story onto this blog, or some newly inspired song. Until that day, however, I shall have to make due by keeping you all gripped by my intriguing and riveting narratives. Who knows what the future may hold.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Observations.
This truely has been a year of the strange.
From the rampant earthquakes and near-disasterous nuclear leaks in Japan to the frequent and deadly storms still rolling across the American Midwest, from the political unrest in Libya (I suppose not all that surprising) to the sickening celebrations of a nation over a man's death (yes, I mean Bin Laden...I could have written an entire post about America's barbaric reactions to his demise, but alas, the time has passed). And then there was the rapture of the world....or lack of it.
(The rest of this will be about sports so feel free to avoid it)
I say this not only from the broader view of the world, however, but from other, smaller aspects as well. Exhibit "A": Sports. Green Bay won the super bowl after their playoff run being decided in the final season game. A team with 9 wins made it in while other teams with 10 wins on the season found themselves out. Long-time staples of the NBA were ousted early in the playoffs of that sport as well, with the Lakers being swept, and severely outplayed, by the Mavericks in round two shortly after the West's top team lost to the bottom seed from that side when the Spurs were ousted round one. Hockey has seen nearly two more down 3-0 comebacks since its post-season has begun.
As an unashamedly passionate fan of anything auto-racing, it's more in my interests when I say that that world has been no different. Just earlier today an Indy Series rookie was poised to take it all in the hallowed grounds of Indianapolis when he saw his race fall apart after smacking the wall in the final corner, coasting to a second place finish on three wheels. Similarly, Kevin Harvick led only two laps on route to his Coca Cola 600 win, essentially handed down to him after nearly half of the top 10 ran short of fuel just after the final restart. Earlier races in the season have seen a rookie win the Daytona 500, the series' biggest race, won by a driver in his first start at the track, and second start in the series. They've seen a first time winner in Regan Smith at one of the series' hardest tracks at Darlington. It seems every week holds a new twist or surprise that no one had seen coming. One pleasant surprise (for me at least) was the introduction of previous F1 champion Kimi Raikkonen into the NASCAR ranks, starting a Camping World Truck, then Nationwide race in sequential weeks. Across the ocean, the F1 circuit has seen two winners in 6 races, after Vettel won his fifth of the season earlier today at Monaco. This is slightly less surprising, as he did win the driver's championship last season, but I sincerely doubt anyone had expected him to run so dominantly so far this year.
I neither pretend to subscribe to doomsday predictions or anything of the sort, nor do I believe it is anything ochestrated or planned. It is simply a string of very strange coincidences that lead to an overly odd year. Enjoy.
From the rampant earthquakes and near-disasterous nuclear leaks in Japan to the frequent and deadly storms still rolling across the American Midwest, from the political unrest in Libya (I suppose not all that surprising) to the sickening celebrations of a nation over a man's death (yes, I mean Bin Laden...I could have written an entire post about America's barbaric reactions to his demise, but alas, the time has passed). And then there was the rapture of the world....or lack of it.
(The rest of this will be about sports so feel free to avoid it)
I say this not only from the broader view of the world, however, but from other, smaller aspects as well. Exhibit "A": Sports. Green Bay won the super bowl after their playoff run being decided in the final season game. A team with 9 wins made it in while other teams with 10 wins on the season found themselves out. Long-time staples of the NBA were ousted early in the playoffs of that sport as well, with the Lakers being swept, and severely outplayed, by the Mavericks in round two shortly after the West's top team lost to the bottom seed from that side when the Spurs were ousted round one. Hockey has seen nearly two more down 3-0 comebacks since its post-season has begun.
As an unashamedly passionate fan of anything auto-racing, it's more in my interests when I say that that world has been no different. Just earlier today an Indy Series rookie was poised to take it all in the hallowed grounds of Indianapolis when he saw his race fall apart after smacking the wall in the final corner, coasting to a second place finish on three wheels. Similarly, Kevin Harvick led only two laps on route to his Coca Cola 600 win, essentially handed down to him after nearly half of the top 10 ran short of fuel just after the final restart. Earlier races in the season have seen a rookie win the Daytona 500, the series' biggest race, won by a driver in his first start at the track, and second start in the series. They've seen a first time winner in Regan Smith at one of the series' hardest tracks at Darlington. It seems every week holds a new twist or surprise that no one had seen coming. One pleasant surprise (for me at least) was the introduction of previous F1 champion Kimi Raikkonen into the NASCAR ranks, starting a Camping World Truck, then Nationwide race in sequential weeks. Across the ocean, the F1 circuit has seen two winners in 6 races, after Vettel won his fifth of the season earlier today at Monaco. This is slightly less surprising, as he did win the driver's championship last season, but I sincerely doubt anyone had expected him to run so dominantly so far this year.
I neither pretend to subscribe to doomsday predictions or anything of the sort, nor do I believe it is anything ochestrated or planned. It is simply a string of very strange coincidences that lead to an overly odd year. Enjoy.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
[ ].
Perhaps it is the lack of sleep, or perhaps it is the result of being much too alone over the course of what seemed like an extremely long weekend. Perhaps it is the (already) increasingly difficult struggle of having the person that means the most to me overseas for the summer. Perhaps it is because of the beautifully crafted, yet psychologically twisted manga I am currently reading (Yubisaki Milk Tea), or perhaps it is simply because my last few posts have been personal opinions or reviews on random media-related topics. Whatever the cause, I feel strangely compelled to be brutally honest about myself, and what I have been dealing with lately.
To start, because I know she will read this at some point, I am doing fine girl. I miss you and cannot wait for you to get home, but I will. I guess I just have alot on my mind today. As you know, I have my moody days, and I love you all the more for putting up with them.
I feel like I have out-grown my hometown.
To someone who has grown up in a large bustling city, this may not make alot of sense, but I assure you it is entirely truthful. Cedar Springs has grown beyond recognition since my days as a childhood. I would give a fuller layout of this town if I felt it were necessary, but as the town itself is not the point, I shall refrain. Where there used to be a couple fast food joints and a gas station now stand, among other things, no less than 6 fast food restaraunts of nearly any choice, and three gas stations right off of the highway. A Meijer has been added, and most recently, a Goodwill. Now these additions are all well and good, but there's more to it than that. My hometown, the only one I can remember, seems alien.
I lay most of the blame on being gone to East Lansing most of the year where I attend MSU during the school season, but it feels alien all the same. Being here for the summer, and more still, since the summer is just beginning, it's almost as if I were starting all over again. I have friends here, sure. I hang out with them when I'm home on weekends to do laundry and see the family. I have fun, don't get me wrong, but there is a distance between us. Now I would not be at all surprised if 99% of this was in my head, I have never been a socialite, and am actually quite adept at being socially awkward. But as it is, I feel stranded. It's as if I were Tom Hanks and I've been denied my Wilson. My best friend has stayed in town since high school working for his mom's diner, and the more power to him for it, but the distance is between us as well. We don't talk nearly as much as we used to, and he has (reasonably, I might add) increased his portfolio of frequent friends, often resulting in little time to hang out.
It's really quite the confusing mental struggle when it comes to him, actually. Sometimes I feel as if he is years behind me, putting off college to work for a couple years. Other times, however, I feel horribly inadequate. He has a stable job, pays his own insurance (something my mother still covers for me), and has an idea of how he plans to move ahead in life. When I think about it in these respects, I find myself lightyears behind.
As for visiting home, my family has never been the ideal 50's family. I can honestly say that I am not nearly attached to virtually anyone in it as I feel I should be. My mother moved out my junior year of high school, and I have never blamed her for it. Additionally, I do not ever go home to see the rest of them, I go home to save money on laundry. Similar to my best friend, I find myself greatly distanced from my brother who is rarely at home. He was my other best friend through all of elementary school, and while I get to hang out with him more than others merely because he lives at the same house, our similar interests and priorities have waivered somewhat. Sometimes my apathy towards relatives truely scares me. But that is largely what I am towards them. Apathetic. And I'm not really confident that will change.
I am told that I am smart.
I have been my whole life. It was never my goal, my desire. It simply was. All through elementary school my laziness was honed with years of practice in doing homework last second and taking very near literally every test without an ounce of study. It was expected of me to do well, and so I did. Nothing in my childhood strikes me as particularly important. There is nothing there that I am overly proud of. Now that I am in college, the field has changed somewhat, but my habits have not, and my grades show it. The worst part? I'm not bothered by it. At all. Sure, I do not enjoy scraping by when I in theory have the potential to be somewhere near the top. I just do not care enough to work at it. There is not, and has never been, any type of ambition in me to excel. I have no reasonable goal or passion in life that gets me motivated towards an end. Instead, I take a page out of Nike's slogan history and "just do it." I float through life doing what I need to to get by. Sometimes I hate myself for it, but I do nothing to change it either. I just keep hoping that one day I will find that "thing," that proverbial "thing" that every person is supposed to find in their life. The thing that they excel at, that they decide they could do their entire life, and always enjoy it. A university counselor once asked me what job, out of any in the world, I would choose if given the choice. I honestly answered "none." I have yet to find something I would truely enjoy doing. But I've settled for things my entire life, why stop now?
This brings up another character flaw I have found in myself. I am selfish. I have just complained about being distanced from my friends, but I will readily admit that I am rarely inspired to go out of my way to see them. I assume it all goes along with the socially awkwardness, but I'm also sure that the apathy plays a role here as well.
As you may have noticed, I have neglected to title this post, as I feel that there is not really a word to describe its contents. I considered things such as "Stripped." or "Me, Raw." but they don't quite fit the bill. My fears (and that is largely what these are) are more complex than a title, but the empty space, shackled by brackets, seems to be a fitting bit of imagery. The future is unknown, and has no words, while at the same time I am bound by my past, as empty as it may seem. It has shaped me to be what I am today. Similarily, I always follow my titles with a period. I like to think the period signifies the finality of my posts. It's my way of saying "this is me. this is my opinion, and im not holding anything back."
Even if it is about my fears.
I realize I may seem disjointed at times, and that I do not always paint the prettiest pictures (though I like to think that I am quite good at it when I try). I will not try and defend either of these, as that is me, and as I warned at the start of this blog, I am what you are going to get.
Let's just say that I'm a work in progress.
To start, because I know she will read this at some point, I am doing fine girl. I miss you and cannot wait for you to get home, but I will. I guess I just have alot on my mind today. As you know, I have my moody days, and I love you all the more for putting up with them.
I feel like I have out-grown my hometown.
To someone who has grown up in a large bustling city, this may not make alot of sense, but I assure you it is entirely truthful. Cedar Springs has grown beyond recognition since my days as a childhood. I would give a fuller layout of this town if I felt it were necessary, but as the town itself is not the point, I shall refrain. Where there used to be a couple fast food joints and a gas station now stand, among other things, no less than 6 fast food restaraunts of nearly any choice, and three gas stations right off of the highway. A Meijer has been added, and most recently, a Goodwill. Now these additions are all well and good, but there's more to it than that. My hometown, the only one I can remember, seems alien.
I lay most of the blame on being gone to East Lansing most of the year where I attend MSU during the school season, but it feels alien all the same. Being here for the summer, and more still, since the summer is just beginning, it's almost as if I were starting all over again. I have friends here, sure. I hang out with them when I'm home on weekends to do laundry and see the family. I have fun, don't get me wrong, but there is a distance between us. Now I would not be at all surprised if 99% of this was in my head, I have never been a socialite, and am actually quite adept at being socially awkward. But as it is, I feel stranded. It's as if I were Tom Hanks and I've been denied my Wilson. My best friend has stayed in town since high school working for his mom's diner, and the more power to him for it, but the distance is between us as well. We don't talk nearly as much as we used to, and he has (reasonably, I might add) increased his portfolio of frequent friends, often resulting in little time to hang out.
It's really quite the confusing mental struggle when it comes to him, actually. Sometimes I feel as if he is years behind me, putting off college to work for a couple years. Other times, however, I feel horribly inadequate. He has a stable job, pays his own insurance (something my mother still covers for me), and has an idea of how he plans to move ahead in life. When I think about it in these respects, I find myself lightyears behind.
As for visiting home, my family has never been the ideal 50's family. I can honestly say that I am not nearly attached to virtually anyone in it as I feel I should be. My mother moved out my junior year of high school, and I have never blamed her for it. Additionally, I do not ever go home to see the rest of them, I go home to save money on laundry. Similar to my best friend, I find myself greatly distanced from my brother who is rarely at home. He was my other best friend through all of elementary school, and while I get to hang out with him more than others merely because he lives at the same house, our similar interests and priorities have waivered somewhat. Sometimes my apathy towards relatives truely scares me. But that is largely what I am towards them. Apathetic. And I'm not really confident that will change.
I am told that I am smart.
I have been my whole life. It was never my goal, my desire. It simply was. All through elementary school my laziness was honed with years of practice in doing homework last second and taking very near literally every test without an ounce of study. It was expected of me to do well, and so I did. Nothing in my childhood strikes me as particularly important. There is nothing there that I am overly proud of. Now that I am in college, the field has changed somewhat, but my habits have not, and my grades show it. The worst part? I'm not bothered by it. At all. Sure, I do not enjoy scraping by when I in theory have the potential to be somewhere near the top. I just do not care enough to work at it. There is not, and has never been, any type of ambition in me to excel. I have no reasonable goal or passion in life that gets me motivated towards an end. Instead, I take a page out of Nike's slogan history and "just do it." I float through life doing what I need to to get by. Sometimes I hate myself for it, but I do nothing to change it either. I just keep hoping that one day I will find that "thing," that proverbial "thing" that every person is supposed to find in their life. The thing that they excel at, that they decide they could do their entire life, and always enjoy it. A university counselor once asked me what job, out of any in the world, I would choose if given the choice. I honestly answered "none." I have yet to find something I would truely enjoy doing. But I've settled for things my entire life, why stop now?
This brings up another character flaw I have found in myself. I am selfish. I have just complained about being distanced from my friends, but I will readily admit that I am rarely inspired to go out of my way to see them. I assume it all goes along with the socially awkwardness, but I'm also sure that the apathy plays a role here as well.
As you may have noticed, I have neglected to title this post, as I feel that there is not really a word to describe its contents. I considered things such as "Stripped." or "Me, Raw." but they don't quite fit the bill. My fears (and that is largely what these are) are more complex than a title, but the empty space, shackled by brackets, seems to be a fitting bit of imagery. The future is unknown, and has no words, while at the same time I am bound by my past, as empty as it may seem. It has shaped me to be what I am today. Similarily, I always follow my titles with a period. I like to think the period signifies the finality of my posts. It's my way of saying "this is me. this is my opinion, and im not holding anything back."
Even if it is about my fears.
I realize I may seem disjointed at times, and that I do not always paint the prettiest pictures (though I like to think that I am quite good at it when I try). I will not try and defend either of these, as that is me, and as I warned at the start of this blog, I am what you are going to get.
Let's just say that I'm a work in progress.
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