You Can Do Better Than Me

I almost had it.  

Less talk, more rock.

The Breakthroughs and the Breakdowns (Word Up!)

In the past week, something has come to my attention:  I don't do very well saying what I mean.

I know that writing is a nice outlet that allows me to slowly, carefully, and thoughtfully type each word (and delete entire paragraphs, for that matter), but I don't convey the same intentional thought when I'm speaking.  If any of you know me, you'll know that when I talk, I take long pauses, don't stare into your eyes, and when you tell me something in response to what I just said, I look at you, and keep talking, as if you never said anything.  And, about five minutes after I start talking, I take a longer pause, look to my upper right, and completely forget what I was trying to say.  Then, three seconds later, I remember and start up again.  Rinse.  Repeat.

I don't know what it is about me that makes me feel like I have to say every single word that is floating in my head, but the thought of not saying just one idea feels like being held underwater.  Remember that kid in school who raised his/her hand after every question the teacher asked, eagerly waiting to tell the whole class the answer?  That wasn't me.  I didn't hear the question, because I was too busy talking to my neighbor (or God or myself or whomever).  Or if I wasn't talking, I was writing down sentences.  Random sentences.  Which leads me to my point.  Wait, what was I saying?  Oh, right...

I want to be thoughtful in what I say.  

The past few meetings I had with my mentor, there were moments of what I call the "breakdown."  It occurred when I, trying to be somewhat brave, attempted to open up and say something profound or secret.  What actually happened was I ended up going in a million circles (around myself, of course) and I made myself dizzy.   I hate when that occurs, because it's not what I intended to happen.  I don't know if it's fear or maybe even the unwillingness to tell the whole truth, but I end up spewing out a bunch of words that don't mean much.  The truth is, I leave our meetings feeling very encouraged. But, sometimes, more often than not, I sometimes leave thinking Was I, just now, really boring to him?  Post-meeting, I think of the breakthroughs, and lately, more often, of the breakdowns.  The awkward bits of nothing.

If anything, it is the good Lord leading me into a place of being quick to listen and slow to speak.  I know that I learn through speaking.  Some learn through listening.  That's not to say that I listen to myself because I am the source of infinite knowledge.  It's just to say that I have the ability to take in so much, and usually speaking out my thoughts is how I learn from what I've taken in.  And, I think we're all like that to some degree.

I always like reading the bits of the bible about the words we speak.  I think language, in general, is an amazing thing to think about.  I think that words are highly underrated.  People always talk about actions speaking louder than words, but I think that's just because people say a lot of nothing important.  There is an amazing power that lies within the spoken word.  Think of I love you or I hate you or I'm sorry or I want to confess something...  The weight of words that are backed by truth and intention are unmatched by any other action.  

It is true that without actions, our faith is dead.  But, faith comes by hearing (and hearing by the word of Christ), which means something is being said, which means the beginning of new beginnings comes from something being heard, and us responding.  If you confess with your mouth...  

As I reflect back to these past few years, as the pain has made its way out of my sub-conscience and into what seems like every fabric of my existence, I think a lot about the past.  The childhood.  A lot of pain from others' past is by the words that someone spoke to them.  I think mine comes from words that weren't spoken.  And, perhaps that is why I need to speak so much.  Somehow, the millions of words will compensate what wasn't said, and one day, I will run out of things to say and I will be without pain.    

I'm not really sure how Heaven works, but I know I want to go.  Eternity is a scary thing, and when more than 20 seconds is given to think about it, I usually end up doubting it.  But, the thought of singing and praising God forever feels like home.  The eternal words full of eternal truth are words that should be said, and trusted, more often,

Holy, holy, holy is the Lord, God almighty 

Who was, Who is, and Who's coming.    

 

Life After God

I live on the fifth floor of my condo building.  There are some days I feel like I could open my window, step out into the open air, and walk across the sky.  The invitation to life seems good and true, and it tugs me into a state of euphoria.  Then, there are other days I feel like opening the window, stepping out, and... dropping.  The invitation is too good to be true (read: false), there is no persistent joy, and there will never be a permanent light-heartedness that I want to have.

When I was 16 or 17, I imagined myself at 25 living this amazing life, suffering in a cool way for Jesus.  I thought I'd have it together, have a hot girlfriend/wife, and we would both do these amazing things together.  I never even thought I would really be 25.  And, now that I am 25, I can't help but to feel a little... let down.  

The suffering, for me, is more in the failed relationships.  It's the weight of not having enough.  It's the worry of never finding someone to spend my life with.  I wanted to be suffering for something worth suffering for, not because the band I play in doesn't have a booking agent.  Not because I had an awkward conversation with my dad.  Not because I hate scanning peoples' groceries.  

The reality is, if I continue to relate being depressed and unmotivated to suffering, then I will never find the joy in suffering.  If I make my mindset the suffering, I am giving myself a false-sense of what it really means to suffer.

The suffering for a believer is from God, not from our situations.  It could never exist from the problems of the world, because there is no hope offered in the things in this world.  If the joy is in the suffering, then the suffering must be from God.  If it is not from God (or, my outlook says it is not), then the joy I could've found in the suffering turns into an endless list of problems and pains and can never, ever go away and I will be miserable forever.  Or, I will fool myself into believing that there are only a few problems that arise every now and again, and that is just the way life works.

The wake-up call for me came about 24 hours ago.  It was found in the existence of stumbling sentences, short pauses, pointless questions, and interrupted answers.  It came in a letdown.  It came from understanding that this road marked with suffering cannot, and will not, come with expected problems and predictable outcomes.  It came with a sinking feeling, but it came as truth.

One of my favorite books is by a guy named Douglas Coupland and it's called Life After God.  I don't want to give away the end, but I need to in order to illustrate my point.  One of the characters in the book goes through a whirlwind of events, and finally at the end of the craziness, says, "My secret is that I need God."  Out of nowhere, he just comes out and says that.  

In context to the uncertainty and pain that occurs in my own life every day, sometimes it feels good to just say "I need God."  

Immovable

The Lord is watching patiently

His eyes are on the fold

But my eyes are closed in self-defeat 

I remain immovable 

Titans and Marlins

Yes, I'm glad the Titans are now 7-0.  But, it just isn't the same not being able to see my roommate play.  Now I have to cheer for the Marlins?  Sigh.

I miss him.

Forget It.

Seriously.  Forget it.

How My Heart Behaves

There was a time, about two years ago, that my mom told me about these tapes my dad had of my brother and me when we were young.  She said that I had to watch them because they were so cute.  I didn't really think much of it.

Thanksgiving, 2006.  We were all gathered at my dad's and step-mom's, and someone randomly slips in the tape on an old VCR and plays it on the big screen.  Here I am, this little boy with big brown eyes looking into the camera, telling my dad that I miss him (my brother and I made this tape for my dad because he moved to Florida for work).  We were telling him about what was going on with us, what new dogs we had, what new karate moves we could do...  The list goes on.  So, anyway.  Everyone watching this is laughing at the cute stuff we're saying and doing (and stuff my brother is doing behind me when I get close and talk into the camera).  

2006's Thanksgiving was the period of time I like to call The Surfacing.  Everything was in question, no one could be trusted, and nothing was safe.  Seeing myself at the young age of 7 made me want to jump into the TV and pick myself up and run me away from my life.  It made me want to be my own dad.  I wish I could've hugged the little boy who was carrying so much weight on his shoulders.  I was sitting on my dad's couch that Thanksgiving day, no longer thinking of a blurred, failed childhood, but I was actually seeing the little boy who was going through it.

That Thanksgiving day was the first time in my life that I met my pain head-on, and it was by looking into my own eyes.

I don't really know why things feel so fucked up right now.  You can call me dramatic and you can say that I'm over-analyzing things, but I can say confidently that I had my childhood robbed from me.  I was asked to carry responsibility that no child should be asked to handle.  I saw things that turned me wayward.  I saw money take the place of love, and I saw lies take the place of reality. I saw two very lost and confused adults use their careers and alcohol to escape the hurt their parents' placed on them when they were kids.  On three occasions, I saw a man hit a woman.  I put headphones on and pillows over my head to block the yelling and arguing that came from a downstairs living room.  I prayed to God, trembling, that He would make the screaming stop, but He never did.

I talk about healing a lot, because I want it so badly.  I want to know what it feels like to use things as stepping stones and not stumbling blocks.  Perhaps I am a house that burned down.  Maybe I was made long, long ago and in a day, I turned to ashes because of someone else's fire.  

It may take a while to build me again, but I will be made new.   

New Record and a Party or I Am Different.

So, I've been playing in this band for a few years and we're finally (finally) releasing our record.  It comes out today.  October 14th.  It's easiest to find on iTunes, but you can probably find it at your local independent record store.  The record is called The Sleeping House.  We're having a party in East Nashville to celebrate it.  Dinner at 6:00, we play at 8:00.

October 14th stirs up a few emotions for me.  It is exactly two years ago that I met someone I thought I'd spend a lot of my years with.  It was exactly a year ago that I ran into that person after not speaking for about nine months.  Fast starts and fast endings.  I think we all know about those.

After "we" ended whatever we had, I went to Atlanta to record The Sleeping House.  It was a really, crazy dark time for me.  Secrets.  Fear.  Lies.  Mostly fear, though.  But, the head-space I was in created an amazing opportunity to channel all that into a record that I'm very proud of.  I think you'll hear the pain in the notes.  But, you'll also hear the undeniable hope in the lyrics.

Life is sometimes bleak.  I don't know how theologically correct that is, but it's a blog so I think I can be a little more honest than correct.  I imagine the River being muddy; the Green Pasture withered and brown; the Well having no bucket to reach its water.  But, my imagination runs wild, you know?

Life is, in fact, good.  Life is great.  My life (my masks, pretense, my struggles to appear to have it together) is not great.  It will never be great.  The bucket will never draw anything of worth from my heart.  But, it is this conclusion that makes me sleep easier in the hands of God.  It makes me want to walk dusty roads on a summer night, hand-in-hand, and alone with my most intimate Stranger.  It is in these moments that I learn that there is a God to be touched and drank and shared. 

Today, I celebrate the release of a new record, but I also celebrate two years, alive and beyond the lowest hell of my life (though, not low enough for the love of God to reach).  I still feel empty.  I still get sick to my stomach.  I still wonder what if?  I still grieve.  But, I couldn't imagine a life without grief.  Because, as someone once told me, the grief is a celebration.

The Rapture or The Lonely Man

I've literally called 10 people and not one of them has called me or texted me back.  The only logical conclusion is that the rapture happened and I was not taken up in glory.  Fine.

It's funny.  I usually work on the weekends and get invited to do a few things, but when I am finally off, I not only get no invitations, but I don't even get call-backs.  Fine.

The good news, however, is Copeland's new record is streaming on their MySpace and I've been listening to it all morning.  The other good news is that I'm making a chicken salad and and I'm going to top it with a new ginger soy dressing I got last night.  Divine.

So, to all of you who have not been raptured and are not calling me back, I'm afraid our friendship contract is forfeited, effective immediately. 

As sure as the floor meets my toes

And somehow not surprised

That I was superimposed

Somehow in this life

And if my friends and my foes

Would just drop me a line

It'd be nice

You see love is a drink

That goes straight to my head

And time is a lover

And I'm caught in her stead

And the sentiment there

Follows me straight to my bed

Through the night

I've got my life in a suitcase

I'm ready to run away

I've gone no time

Because I'm always trying to run away

Cause every day in here

Feels like it's only a game

I got my life in a suitcase

What could be an anchor here

With a storm on the rise

You never mean to see so clear

When smoke gets in your eyes

Goodbye 24, hello 25.

Birthdays are a funny thing.

It seems the older I get, the more lame my birthdays are.  I slept in until about 10:00, wrote some music, and went to work around 11:30.  I worked until a little bit after 8:00, went to the pool to swim for about an hour, came home, fell asleep on the couch, and now at 1:00 in the morning, I am awake.

That was my October 7th.

People asked me all day at work, "What are you going to do tonight?"  When I responded, "Go swimming after work," I just got a strange look and then, "Why aren't you going on to celebrate?"

Well.  I don't know.  

I mean, honestly, I was quite looking forward to swimming, as I haven't been able to do anything regarding exercise since Friday.  So, when people asked about my plans, I kind of felt silly for not having any kind of party planned.  But, I mean, am I supposed to plan the party?  I just feel a little out of place doing something like that.

Every now and again, I would get the somewhat-militant-party-people shocked that I wasn't going out partying.  Some people would look at me like I was crazy, and keep and keep and keep and keep asking me questions about why I wasn't going to do anything.  I just wanted to say, "Because no one is throwing me a fucking party, okay?"  I didn't, of course.

But, in comparison to last year's birthday, this year's birthday was a blast.  Sure, there wasn't a cake, presents, or a party... but there were also no tears, a broken transmission in my car, and an almost negative balance in my bank account.  And, I can say with certainty that last year's birthday was an accurate introduction to my entire year, so if today is any indication of what I might expect as a 25-year-old, then bring it (minus the rain, dry contacts, and the hordes of dumb people).  

24, I was a bore.  25 is when I come alive.

(You like that, don't you?)

Teacher, which of us will be the greatest?

There was a time, a little over two years ago, that I found myself driving up to Nashville in a van that didn't belong to me.  I didn't have any CDs with me, and my iPod's battery was dead.  I looked in between the seats and see a CD.  I put it in, and for the next three-and-a-half hours later, I listened to it on repeat all the way from Atlanta to Nashville.

That CD was by a band called As Cities Burn, and every song had me thinking about things.  The first song, in particular, talks about humility.  About what it means to give God our heart and try to steal it back and lay it at the feet of men.  It talks about reputation, surrender, and pain.

Every time I listen to that CD, I always think back to driving up 24-W and feeling the wind blow my face.  I think about the warmth of the air and the anticipation I had in my nerves.  I think about a simpler time where I knew what I wanted out of life.  I couldn't think past playing music. Everything was music.  

I feel like I've grown up so much since then.

Dreams are dead.  Emotion is only a balance between laughing sometimes and feeling empty most of the time.  Money is hard to come by.  Honesty is a memory.  Smiles are for hiding the pain instead of revealing a genuine feeling.

But, you know?  I've been thinking.  All this "growing up" has done me good.  I've realized that life isn't about solitary moments, during warm summer nights, driving from Atlanta through the mountains.  Life isn't about old dreams.  Life is about living.  And, by God, I'm alive!   

No matter how much I convince myself that things used to be better or that things will be better, there's no greater reality than to know that God loves me right now.  He loves me just as much as He did when I thought everything was perfect.  He loves me at my darkest.  

It is a joy to get a glimpse of the love of God.  It's the joy that makes me want to smile (and dance and love and sing and cry and serve...).  I love that God is not done working in me.  I don't care how much money I'll ever have or how hot my spouse will be... it truly is the love of God that pulls me into the direction of living.

A year after discovering As Cities Burn, the band I play with was able to tour with them for an entire month.  We would open for them, pack up, and I would sit and watch their set every night. 

Thank you, Lord.  You are good to me.

Hey, man! Can I bum a ride? or Smooth Criminal

This month at Blockbuster, they are having free movie rentals for the "middle section" of the store (i.e. not new releases).  Last night, around 11:00, I decided to go for one more movie before the month ended.

So, I'm heading down 25th, and right before I hit the Borders on West End, I see blue flashing lights in my rearview.  I pull into the empty Borders parking lot and I am greeted by a very nice Vanderbilt police officer.  He asks me for my license, registration, and proof of insurance (I mean, really?  Proof of insurance?  Take me back to Georgia, please.).  I scramble to find my registration, but after about 30 seconds, I find it.  But, I'm not able to find my insurance card.  Whatever. 

He asks if I knew why he stopped me, I say no and he says it's because I didn't come to a complete stop at a stop sign a few blocks back.  He says I just kind of slowed down.  Whatever.

So, another cop comes to my passenger-side window and shines her light through my window into my glovebox as I'm looking for my proof of insurance.  I roll down the window and say, "Thanks, it's hard to see in here," and she just smiles.  

Three minutes later, I still can't find my insurance card.  She kind of shines the light in my face and says, "Have you gotten a speeding ticket in Nashville before?"

"Uh, yeah, a few months ago."  I reply.

"Did you pay for it?"  she asks.

"Uh, yeah.  I think my mom took care of it as an early birthday present," I reply, as I feel my heart slowly creep into my throat, thinking, "OH shit, did she pay it?"

The lady cop half-smiles and says, "I'm afraid not, sir."

So, I talk with her for a few minutes, she says she'll be right back.  Another cop car drives up next to the other car (because, two cops aren't enough for this really crazy, not-coming-to-a-full-stop-at-stop-sign situation).  The lady comes back to me about 10 minutes later and says that my last speeding ticket in March was not paid for and I was driving on a suspended license.  I ask if I'm going to go to jail.  She said, "We're not sure yet, we're still checking your background."  

I'm not going to lie.  My chin started to quiver and I got scared I was going to be handcuffed, put into the Vandy police car and taken downtown.  The girl cop told me it was going to be okay and not to panic.  Whatever.

Finally, after what seems like another 10 minutes, the guy cop comes up to me and tells me they're not taking me to jail, but that I need to step out of the car, get fingerprints and answer a few more questions.

I give him a fingerprint of my right index finger, answer a few questions, and then give my friend Gary a call to come and pick me up.  Gary arrives about 10 minutes later, takes me home, and I don't sleep the entire night.

I wake up this morning, praying my car hasn't been towed and is still at Borders.  Gary picks me up at 8:45, we drive to Borders, and there she is, my car with a neon-green sticker on the driver's side window saying that if I don't move my car within X-amount of hours, it will be towed.  Phew.

Technically, I'm not supposed to drive because my license is suspended, but I didn't want to leave my car there.  Plus, I'm a criminal now and I'm feeling a little bit tough.  And, I didn't want my car to get towed.

So, this is what I have to do:

1) Pay the $129.50 ticket from back in March my parents never paid for (check!);

2) Get receipt tomorrow morning from the City saying I paid the ticket;

3) Write a letter and sign it saying my mother can reinstate my license in my absence;

4) Next-day my letter and proof of payment to Georgia ($16.50);

5) Mom goes to the DMV to get my license reinstated ($45 + something else);

6) Pay the ticket I got last night from running the 4-way sop ($92.50)

7) Appear in court October 13th and plead guilty (hopefully with reinstated license and both tickets paid);

8) Judge then tells me my sentence and how much I have to pay for my misdemeanor (driving with a suspended license).

That's so much stuff!  And so much money!  Luckily, I'm really, really wealthy so this will all be a breeze to take care of.  Sike.

Hopefully my license will be reinstated by Thursday. If not, then... uh... bummer for me.

I remember, at exactly this time last year, my world fell apart.  This has been, by far, the hardest year of my entire life.  I hope, after the court date on the 13th, things will finally start to get better.  

Plus, I mean, stress causes pimples.  I already have BIG ones on my forehead just from last night.  Isn't that insane that, overnight, I can get a bunch of pimples?  The body is weird, man.  

Progress

Last year, while on tour and passing through Tampa, my friend Phil and I felt like we should pray.  We didn't know why or what we should pray about, but we left the crowd and went to a somewhat-vacant room to pray.  

It was one of those nights we knew we were being listened to.  Not just the mental, kind-of-sure assurance that God was listening, but the 100%, know-for-sure attitude that our prayers were going to do something.  We prayed that God would wreck our lives and bring us to a place where we had to 100% depend on Him.

3 months later... Fired unreliable manager who got us (the band) into thousands of dollars of debt, scrambled to find jobs just to barely make ends meet, transmission went out in my car, car got broken into, starter went bad in my car...  The list goes on.  All in a few weeks.

I forget that God is sovereign; That He is the one who is leading me through the fire (yet, not letting me be burned), and it is He who is putting me up to the bottom of my nose in the water (yet, not letting me drown).  It's easy for me to list my problems, and it's easier for me to blame all my problems on other problems.  There's a perpetual blame-game that I get caught up in, and in doing so, I forgot that all the stuff going on in my life is because God is allowing it.  I buy into the lie that I could potentially make things better if I could just do A and B, forgetting completely that it is God who is using the mountains in my life to show me that I am a complete being, not lacking anything, who is meant to live in the light.

I had a dream the other night that I was standing in the middle of a huge, frozen river in between miles and miles of mountains.  I would start to settle in one place, and then, just as I let all my weight rest on the frozen surface, I began to hear and feel the ice cracking underneath me.  For fear of falling through, I would run away.  Just as I settled in a new place, the cracking began, and again, I would run to a new place.  

I'm beginning to wonder that, instead of running, I should just relax, let the ice break, and let the river underneath sweep my body away.  And, though the torrent will smash me against rocks, freeze my body, and steal the air from my lungs (almost to the point of death), it will eventually lead me to still waters surrounded by a landscape of ceaseless new life blooming at every direction.

I'm scared of standing still, you know?  I'm afraid of the possibilities that being still can provide.  I have to remind myself that I was created for the stuff beyond the surface; that, if I stand still long enough, I will see that I was made for the cooler, rougher waters... that lead me to stillness.

A Bye, Start Here

Sing me to sleep, underneath

A blanket of stars tonight

Where all my hopes and fears

Look childish in the light

Lose yourself

You're young and you've got time

Stand true, move forward

You'll figure it all out eventually

Or not

Either way, you'll have company

Hold My Hand (I Can't Stand Alone)

So, I've got a mentor I've been meeting up with (www.georgelandolt.com), and he wants me to read this book called Men and Marriage by George Gilder.  After reading a lot of reviews on the book, I'm starting to wonder if I'll even like it.  A lot of people who like it are comparing it to John Eldredge (though, Gilder wrote a bit before Eldredge).  

I'm pretty certain that the way I grew up (single-parent household, mom always working, often alone and, when not alone, not the most wholesome family experiences) has really shaped the way I view relationships.  So, when someone tells me that I have to be the hero (read: western world masculinity) to someone, I just feel kind of unmotivated.  Writing letters and listening to music and debating and making out... that sounds more motivating.  

The hero mentality doesn't seem appealing to me, because my whole life, the only example of a woman I saw was hurt, broken, hopeless... left waiting to be rescued.  And, the men who were supposed to be the heroes were abusive, manipulative, and more holding prisoner than rescuing.  How does someone who grew up with these bad examples get beyond the hurt and into the desire for a healthy relationship?  Furthermore, how does someone... or, how do I, get the motivation to be that man to someone?

A lot of the meetings I've had with George leave me wondering what went wrong with me.  We use the word collide a lot, because right now, it seems most fitting.  How the cross collides with this grave that I'm sitting in; how the words of Jesus collide with my day-to-day; how the words (or lack thereof) of my past collide with my present-day, lifeless ambitions.  It's all kind of coming together at this 4-way intersection, but instead of everything stopping, everything just keeps moving and all these collisions are happening.  The damage is so big and fixing it seems so impossible.  The idea of fixing it is good, but the actual fixing, some days, seems completely pointless.  

I'm learning that you don't walk toward healing, but that the healing is the walking towards being healed.  I'm learning that those steps are small, which implies that it might take a while to get there.  But, the idea of a place called Healed is plenty enough motivation for me to keep walking.

Communicate

You know... I've said it once, and I'll say it again: To get clean, you've got to get dirty.  I know that's not exactly, 100% theologically correct, but...

It's been a hell of a day.  Hard to understand, painful to talk about, mentors, life-changing statements.  Conclusions.  Loose ends.  I'm a broken man.  

Panic! No gas in Nashville! End of the world!

Basically, if none of you know, Nashville is out of gas.  How did this all start?  From a rumor that Nashville will run out of gas.  People were saying it was because of Ike, because of oil companies slowing oil production...  The list goes on.  So, you have these people who have 3/4 tank going to gas stations on Friday morning, with two or three more 5-gallon cans, and filling up as much as possible.  And, if you weren't working, EVERYONE was doing it.  People freaked.  And, because people freaked, they used up the weekend shipment and you can't get gas.  The sad thing is, people who actually need it, can't get it.  So, everyone who has a 1/4 tank and can't get gas anywhere, thank the people who are hoarding it.  

To give you a picture of what the town looks like, EVERY gas station has yellow tape around the gas pumps or plastic bags around the nozzles, and almost no gas station has any prices on their signs.  And, for the 3% of gas stations who do have gas, you can expect a 200-car-deep line that backs up for miles.  All because of a rumor.

As for me?  I didn't find out about all of this until yesterday afternoon at work.  I wasn't able to get off until around 11:00 last night, and I knew that I would be better off looking for gas in the later hours.  So, I went home, hung out for a few hours, and then I get a call from my co-worker who lives about five miles from me and says she found gas.  She was in line, so I told her to call me back if she got anything.  I honestly did not even think of going to where she was, because a) I only had a 1/4 tank and I didn't want to waste it waiting in line for over an hour and b) I was afraid that by the time I got there, they'd be out.  An hour later, she called me saying she got gas.  She told me the line wasn't too long and if I came now, there would be some left.  I hesitated, but after some thought, I put on my flip-flops and headed to an unfamiliar part of town.

I'm talking to my co-worker the whole way to the station, because I have no idea where I am going.  All I keep thinking is, There's going to be a huge line. This is one of the only stations in Nashville that has gas.  It's going to be out.  I'm wasting gas by finding gas.  This sucks.  

I almost miss the gas station my co-worker was talking about because none of the lights were on.  It looked like a scene from an apocalyptic movie.  People were huddled around gas stations with cans at their feet, getting as much gas as possible.  The surprising thing?  No line.  My only conclusion was that they ran out of gas so no one was bothering to wait anymore.  But, I pulled in, and there's this dude who flags me over to a vacant pump.  I park, slide my card, insert nozzle, and there is glorious gas filling up my gas tank.  Now my thoughts move toward Are you kidding me?  

So, I now have a full tank of gas.  And there are thousands and thousands of people who don't.  Shipments will come in, and people with almost-full tanks will probably wait in line and mess it up, again, for everyone.  That's the thing about panic.  That's the thing about consumerism.  We tell ourselves that things aren't right and that we need it at this moment, and without it, things will be completely chaotic.  

I have about a week-and-a-half to see how this all ends up.  To all my Nashvillians, be patient.  Don't drive too much, and if you have enough gas, give somebody a ride.

Careful Now

By the time you find your way

You gotta run right back to the start

Don't think you're lost

You gotta run right back to the start

And when you finally think it's gone

You gotta run right back to her arms

"I'm leaving for Austin permanently.  I just want you to know that if you ever need me, I'll be there for you.  Do you know how to get in touch with me?"

"Yeah, I think I still have your email address."

"Okay, good."

"Alright.  Be well."

Thoughts tonight: I haven't sat and had a decent conversation with this person in a year and a half.  Why is the leaving weighing so heavily on my heart?  Perhaps it's not the absence, but the distance that's going to kill me.  No more run-ins.  No more thoughts of where you are in Nashville.  You're leaving for good, leaving me lonely as hell.

I Wanna Dance With Somebody

So, tonight pretty much consisted of me going to Borders to get the new GQ, but for some reason, they didn't have it. I had a Kashi mediterranean pizza in the freezer, but due to my depression from not having a new GQ (I still haven't ordered my 2-year subscription for only $18), I went to Wendy's. I usually get a jr. bacon cheeseburger and 2 five-piece nuggets. To top it off, I get this buffalo ranch sauce that is absolutely delicious. To my dismay, Wendy's discontinued it (according to Leslie, my cashier in the drive-thru window). Bummer.

I came home, started eating my nuggets, sans delicious sauce, and turned on the TV.

The Bodyguard's opening credits come on Vh1. The move is just starting. I never catch a movie when it just starts.

Thoughts I had: Should I watch it? I really do love this movie. It reminds me of sitting with my older brother and two younger sisters when we were little. Okay, I'll watch it.

Over an hour later, I'm downloading a few songs from the Bodyguard soundtrack (I Have Nothing, Run to You, and Jesus Loves Me) and even a few more Whitney classics (I Wanna Dance With Somebody).

My thoughts now: What happened to Whitney? Can she make a comeback? Will she make a comeback? I hope so.

Basically, I miss real singers. I miss Brian McKnight and Mariah Carey and Whitney Houston and Babyface... I really, really hate this computer-sounding bullcrap that is coming from most of the younger "singers" these days. You know that effect I'm talking about? It makes it sound like that Cher song (When You Believe). Hate hate hate it. The only people to come into the scene in the past few years who can actually sing are Kelly Clarkson and Keyshia Cole. Everyone else just sounds really boring and gross.

So, cheers to Whitney Houston circa 1992. I will always love you.

In Your Atmosphere

"Everywhere I go, what ever I do; I wonder where I am in my relationship to you."

I can't help but think about the lyrics of John Mayer tonight.  I know this is a shallow first post, but it's all I got for now.  

Have you ever been in a place you have no idea how you got there?  I mean, sure we have the footsteps in our minds and the clues that lead us to our answers.  But, sometimes the place we are is so overwhelming that the questions ("How did I get here," "How could I fall like that?") don't really matter.  Perhaps the only important question is, "How do I get out of here?"