Not enough

It’s been days since I’ve wrote anything.

One night I tried to vent my feelings into my journal but ended up ripping out more pages than I wrote. I guess there goes my feeling huh. Well, at least I had them unlike some cold unfeeling people. I don’t want to become one of them.

Anyways, I figured I’d start here with something. I just need a spark of motivation, inspiration, creativity, something. Nothing has held my interest in days.

I browsed around a site called hitrecord last night, but didn’t know where to start, and my mouse wouldn’t work anyways, so I gave up. No projects of mine felt worth it for some reason. I tried to play some music but it just sounded like noise. I couldn’t brain storm anything because I felt more brain dead.

I’ve been playing The Sims just because I like to build and design their tiny imaginary homes. It’s an odd waist of time. Right now two of my Sims are in the park having a dinner party with a teddy bear, a princess, a human sized rabbit, and a wizard.

That old record I mentioned a while back called The Folk Sounds of Freedom, well, in a completely different thrift store, in a different town, I found two more of their records, I bought them thinking it had to be some kind of strange fate, that they were obviously put there in front of me for some good reason. I’ve tried to listen to them but every time I get interrupted, so maybe I was wrong about it all being some cosmic power sending me things I needed to hear. Who knows…

I just need to find a way to get excited about something again. Anything.

Wrongdoing

I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.

I get this feeling all the time that I am constantly doing the wrong thing. A big part is with my kids, I read books and blogs, studies, everything on parenting. It’s seems like the most common wrong doing that parents do is bragging, boosting their child’s ego,  the whole “everyone deserves a trophy” thing. But I don’t do that at all, so that’s absolutely not the problem. I actually wish I had more opportunities to do that.

We spend time together, we talk plenty, we do things, we keep a regular schedule, I avoid fast food like you wouldn’t believe, they have maybe one sugary snack a day, no caffeine ever. They sleep. I keep up on the house, they have chores, they get rewarded for good behavior, consequences for bad. I’ve read a lot. I’ve taken a lot of classes. I do try to say things the right way, and usually I do okay at it, but sometimes I screw it up, and I usually know right away, and attempt to correct it.

I talk about my feelings a lot, and I ask about theirs a lot, because I get the whole “parents are an example” thing. I try not to ever place blame when it comes to my feelings. I simply state them, and state how I want to feel, and maybe what I’m doing to get there.

I’ve got an imagination, I play pretend with my kids, we talk in funny voices, we give inanimate objects personalities and stories.

I still just can’t get it right.

Then when they’re at school, and Adams at work, I do things that my family needs me to do for them. I do laundry, I straighten up EvErYtHiNg I possibly can, I try to pay attention to bills and budgets, groceries, I try to do little things for everyone in order to make their lives easier, to relieve their stress. I desperately want them to be happy because it makes me happy. I can’t stand when some one is down, stressed, or anything along those lines. It brings me down there with them, even lower than them at times.

And that’s what I do for them, and I’m happy to do it for them, I just wish it worked out more often than it failed. I slip little things in there for me too, believe me, I slip it in, because to devote entire hours, or days to myself would make things fall completely apart, in turn making me fall completely apart, and I’m the hardest thing I have to keep together. I look for security blankets for myself. I escape in my own imagination. I chase after my own crazy ambitious dream, little by little, in-between the moments I’m devoting to my family.

But somehow, through it all, at the end of the day, I still feel like I’m somehow doing it all wrong. When no one smiles. When I feel left out, or incomplete, and all together wrong. I just don’t know what it is I’m missing. Where I’ve failed, but I know I have missed something, and failed someone, and done something all together wrong.

A strange surprise

So many times I sit down planning to write something and either I get stopped by forces beyond my control, something stops working, or everything that comes out is just stuff that I don’t have the nerve to push that ‘publish button’ and so it’s been a while.

Anyways, I was at Goodwill several days ago, maybe it was Monday, I just wanted desperately to let go of tension, and cheer up. I have no business, and very little interest in spending money. (We’re broke at the moment) I just wanted to be out doing something.

I didn’t think I’d find anything, but I flipped through the old vinyl records hoping for some classic rock I could play on my record player. What I found was two Peter Paul and Mary records which I deemed  close enough to classic rock, and one I picked just because the cover reminded me of what I imagine tree hugging hippies from the 60’s or 70’s listening to. It’s called The Folk sounds of Freedom.

I imagined I’d settle down with my ‘new’ old records, and maybe just soak up the folk music, and my own pathetic sadness.  In some odd way telling myself it’s okay to be weird, lonely, and sad for a while makes me feel better than trying to fight it.

What I discovered was that The Folk Sounds of Freedom was actually Christian music, Christian folk music… but they weren’t bad at all. There is one song that I keep listening to over and over. I wish I had they lyrics, it’s a girl singing, asking why God feels so far away, why he doesn’t hear her cries, why her dad committed suicide, why her brother had to die so young, why her sister cries. It’s just one of those times when you can hear the pain in the persons voice. I read the back of the cover, turns out they set out to write songs about their own personal experience with God.

All Artist are driven to create it, and it seems they all harbor pain about something, and that inevitably goes into their work. I hate it, and I love it at the same time.

 

Propaganda

Propaganda…

Before you read anymore just meditate one that one word for at least 10-20 seconds.

Propaganda….

What does it make you think of? What do you know about it? Nothing good right? Nothing good results of this, that’s for sure! So don’t you dare fall for it.

Stop falling for it PLEASE! 

Know that at least 75%-95% of what you watch on the news falls under this category.  The rest was the truth that people cleverly stuck in there under the radar (and the weather and sports) otherwise it’d be 100% propaganda.

They mean to divide people, they want to cause controversy, they want to turn neighbor against neighbor. They want a war. They want to destroy peace. Don’t give it them.

Take the high road

Do what is right

Projects

 

I promised some pictures a while ago, so here it goes…

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This is the record play/radio that Adam got me for Christmas. I still haven’t gotten a chance to go out searching for records, but I do own a few, that old box down on the right is full of 1920’s records. The old dresses was a yard sale find years ago, it’s been through a lot, and I wanted to make it nice again, so I bought some cheap legs from Lows to get it off the floor, and a little sample container of paint and……

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Voila! It wasn’t much work at all. I only did one thin coat of paint because I wanted to get this project done while the kids where in school. I know NoNe of the knobs match, but I’ve just been collecting them up here and there, so one day they will. While I was at I did another piece of furniture.

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Adams mom was taking this beauty to Goodwill, so I nabbed it up. The finish was already a little messed up, but the quality of wood was good. It’s not veneer, I hate veneer. Adam said it was ugly and old lady looking right away. Oh well…

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So I painted this little old lady table, and made it my nightstand. I put two coats on, not because I absolutely had to, but I know it’ll get more use. For the ppl out there that cringe at me painting wood, the finish needed to be redone, really, and it’s no biggie because I’m a pro at removing paint. So no worries.

These two pieces are in my bedroom, which is all grey, this paint is very light blue, almost white. Check out the wood wall in the back ground too, it’s been a slow moving project, but it is moving right along. Please throw out any ideas you have in my comments because I’m never so sure about my own.

Anyways, I do have one more pic to share.

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My new truck as seen through my bedroom window. We’re truck people now. Yeah, the weathers not been so great here, but that Winter for ya!

 

I’m going to get off of here now, but I’ll back.

Later

Aaron

Well… now I’m older

When I was little, probably not that different than most curious little boys, I was always asking my dad questions that he always answered with “I’ll tell you when your older.”

I  wondered how old I’d have to be to get some answers. So I’d wait a while, and ask again, until eventually I gave up. I honestly believed for a long time that I would never know, but probably the last 5/6 years I have been given answers little bits at a time. Some from my mom, and some from my dad.

I guess you’r ‘older’ when you reach your 30’s?

First I have to tell you this; my dad doesn’t believe in much of anything, no conspiracy theories, no secret cover-ups, no strange mysteries,  nothin’ fun like that. So when he tells you something you know it’s cold hard facts with evidence.

So, when my dad was in the military he was stationed in Texas for a while, not long. Two soldiers stood guard outside of a hospital room, the man who occupied the room was a vegetable, hooked up to machines to keep him alive. Two soldiers were always standing guard, 24/7, no matter what.

There was no explanation for this, no one said for sure who this man was, but my dad swore that it looked just like J.F.K.

Now re think everything you know about his death, how it all played out, only imaging that this is him, laying in a bed, and somehow the story increases in sadness. Look at Jackie’s face in all the pictures that where taken after he was shot, her at the grave, the funeral, etc. I swear you will see something more in her face, more confusion, almost more pain than if he were being laid to rest.

 

The cause of it all

The kids have their Dr. appointments today, they have ADHD pretty bad. (I didn’t use to think it was a real thing, but trust me, it is.)

I do wonder how much gets blamed on that one problem that may be otherwise explained. How many times do we miss the real problem, or at least misunderstand it, when only focusing on the treatment of one or two symptoms?

I’ve actually given everything a lot of thought lately, about the whole “mental illness” catagory, and combined with some research, I’ve come to a realization;

We treat a lot of symptoms thinking they are the problem, which does doesn’t really fix the problem.

But I think the vast majority can’t be fixed or cured anyway. You just find ways to feel better reguardless. There’s probably a diagnosis for just about anything.

My worst symptom would be depression- and other bad moods that go along with it, anxiety, anger, etc.

I honestly have myself figured out pretty well, and I need something for depression, but my real problem is trauma, that’s the thing at the root of it all. That can helped, symptoms can be medicated, but really, it can’t just be changed, corrected, or fixed.

Im not sure about my lil ones yet, but just something to think about next time you go seek help for something, if you get lost in the layers of different symptoms, you can probably retrace your steps, and find out what’s at the core of it all, and that might give a direction to work towards.