Missing London...

Maybe it's the booze talking (it's probably the booze talking), but lately I've been missing my home away from home - London, England. I think there are a few reasons for this revelation, not the least of which my old roommate in shitty ol' London is getting married in exactly a month. The other reasons in no particular order: I watched a movie tonight that had a few scenes in front of Buckingham palace, a friend of mine is taking a holiday to London in a few days (and I'm jealous), we had some English visitors in the office this week, and I think about and miss it every fucking single day.

Now, don't get me wrong – I'm fully aware this is ex-girlfriend syndrome. There were some really shitty times I had when I was over there I would not wish to repeat. I would say I wouldn't wish them on my worst enemy, but I would be lying. Eat shit and die, worst enemies! I think a lot of you know what I'm talking about here – weeks, months, years after you're broken up with a horrible excuse for a human being you've wasted entirely too much time on, you come to think of only the good times and tend to forget the bad. Right now, I'm extremely guilty of this. Just off the top of my head, here are my main “shitty” things to remember: having to reset the hot water every single morning in the other bedroom (waking the other two roommates in the process) to have a luke warm shower experience, getting paid much less than any minimum wage working much more than full time hours, “high speed” internet that worked maybe one time out of ten, and sharing a tiny two bedroom apartment with three other people.

I know – it sounds rough...you don't have to tell me, I was there. Despite my troubles, I had the time of my life and wouldn't trade it for the world. In fact, I've made it my life's goal to get back to London to live and work and be able to afford it. Recently, that goal has been made to appear relatively attainable due to a potential opportunity at my work. It's by no means a guarantee, but the position I'm looking at has the history and possibility to send me to places I want to go and leave Jacksonville far away. Granted, this won't be for a few years and I'm looking far, far ahead – but dreaming is what keeps us alive, so I'll allow it.

This is not to say I don't appreciate and enjoy my life in Jax, either. I'm employed and enjoying a salary that allows me to travel back to Ohio for holidays, have nice things, travel to exotic places, and not want for much. I'm struggling to word this in a way that doesn't make me sound like the biggest whiny baby on Earth, but, here goes. The problem is this: I want more; I want to be able to go back to the UK and experience everything I wasn't able due to lack of available funds. The funny thing (to me) is prior to my UK year, I gave zero fucks about traveling anywhere. I was happy to stay in my little house in my little town and not worry about anything except the next weekend. Now, I want to experience as much as possible and I have too many empty pages in my passport to fill.

I suppose the biggest issue I have is living in the future and not enjoying the present. I see people doing things, I'm absorbing media, and thinking of my own past and can't wait to see what the future holds. I need to slow down and enjoy the moment rather than think about what may happen next week, next month, or next year. It's difficult to do that when you're performing a job you don't particularly enjoy, but that will be my goal for the next few weeks: enjoy the moment. I heard a saying a few months back I made a point to remember and have tried to incorporate as much as possible in my life. It's embarrassingly basic and has been said too many times to count, but I guess it took that many times to sink in. One of the managers I work with said to“not sweat the small stuff. Life has a way of figuring itself out, so only worry about the things you can control at the moment. Let life live.” Words to live by, if you ask me.

So, for now I'm working to get the new job which will lead me to the job that takes me to my dream. I know I'm at least three years away, but knowing it's within my grasp is enough to keep me going. I'll continue missing my London home, but I know someday I'll get there...and even though it won't be the same as I knew with all the friends I had there, it will still be home.

Clearly, I Lied

Clearly, I lied.

The last time I left you, I was promising the world and failed to deliver like a deadbeat dad (small d) promising to lay off the booze and finally pay for Junior's school books. Unlike the deadbeat, I had good intentions and did actually write the first story (or chapter), but it was absolutely fucking terrible so I threw it in the garbage where it deserved to die.

As a result, I've come to a realization – I'm either really bad at writing about me (likely) or really bad at writing first person in general (even more likely). The first chapter of my horrible proposed book had to do with a story that happened the summer before I left for my year in London. Although I had the best intentions of being objective (you know...like FOX news), it ended up being a sob story of “why doesn't anyone like me???” and I just don't think anyone gives a shit, so I canned it. Trust me, we're all better off.

Therefore, the “book” has been put on hold indefinitely until I can figure out a way to write about my own life experiences and pawning it off as a fictional story with actual (made up) dialogue as opposed to a “this one time...at band camp” style story. Either that or find a way to write more effectively – which...let's be honest, isn't really in my wheelhouse. Being perfectly honesty, I feel like I've failed because it has been roughly two months into this experiment and I've failed to update a single time. Really, in a way, this is kind of your fault since you promised to badger me for said updates and I haven't heard a peep out of anyone. Not even a “hey, fucker – you promised!!” so you only have yourself to blame.

Anyway – in lieu of a story, chapter, etc., I'll instead bore you with my latest pain in the ass: physical therapy. About three weeks ago, I was diagnosed with what doctors call a “SLAP Lesion” which sounds like a fancy venereal disease, but is actually medical speak for a fucked up shoulder. Short story long, whenever I twist my shoulders the wrong way (when driving, sitting, jerking off, etc.), it feels like somebody stuck a shiv in my shoulder and twisted in revenge for me booting their dog off a bridge. As you can imagine, it's not a pleasant feeling.

In an effort to alleviate this ailment and prevent temporarily life-halting surgery, I've been undergoing torture (physical therapy) to strengthen the rotator cuff muscles. It turns out, after my initial screening and subsequent sessions, those muscles offer the same strength and resistance quality as a newborn baby's. As someone who has made a point of being physically active in life, I can personally attest to the embarrassment associated with having a physical therapist laugh at how weak your shoulder muscles have become due to poor form/lack of use. It's kind of like paying someone to kick you in the testes/ovaries and then laugh in your face because your arms aren't strong enough to retaliate effectively.

So, after a few weeks of PT, I have noticed a marked increase of strength and decrease in pain, so I suppose it's working. At this point, I'm optimistic surgery won't be needed, which is always a positive since I don't enjoy spending thousands of dollars on anything that would actually benefit me. As with any debilitating injury, prior to knowing my shoulders were as week as a T-Rex, I never realized how much I was compensating for their lack of strength with lifting even the smallest things like dishes or cooking pans. The bottom line is this: I'm a huge pansy and nobody should ever take any kind of advice about working out from me because they'll be laughed out of the gym and might eventually need surgery to fix my blunder. I should get casualty insurance – it's that bad.

In other not so depressing news, I have an ungodly amount of flights to purchase this year due to weddings, holidays and family events. March and August stand out as exceptionally expensive months which require multiple flights – so...that's fun. Boo hoo...I'm so popular people want to hang out with me...yeah, I know...

Anyway, that's your quarterly update from me: my shoulders are fucked and I'm going to spend an assload on flying all over the country for events where people want me to attend. I'm working on figuring out a way to write my stories without sounding like a whiny bitch, but I wouldn’t hold your breath on that one – you know how good of a writer I am. Would you expect anything less?

One last point: since it's Super Bowl weekend, I'll do the cliché thing and pick a winner. San Fran is getting 3.5 points last I checked, and I have SF winning 31-24 even though Kaepernick is a fucking douche for trying to trademark the bicep kiss. So – SF I guess. Don't use this endorsement to bet the game – I'm horrible at picking any kind of sporting event...