Three Words Back...

Are You Homesick Yet?

Jay asked me this question a few days ago. A simple question, so naturally I took about 7 paragraphs to prove that I don't have an equally simple answer.

Homesick for what, exactly? Homesick for my last apartment? No. Homesick for where my career was going back in NRH before taking this job? No. Homesick for driving out to Granbury at a moment's notice? Most definitely. Somewhere in the ten minute answer I gave Jay was something about how, for me, my friends no longer live in houses that I can easily drive or fly to. They now live inside my cell phone, or my ipod, or through our respective blogs. In person they're all larger than life in their own unique ways. But now they're somehow smaller. They are voices and photos; sound waves and just so many 1s and 0s transmitted from Texas or California to wherever I happen to be in middle America. They are there and I am here.

Here. Today that means Toledo. Next week it could be Cleveland or Streetsboro or Bellefontaine, depending on the bank's most pressing need. It doesn't matter, really, all the towns start to look the same. So whichever town it is that I'm in, 90% of my day revolves around the branch. Where are we at on the timeline? Which ten pending issues will share my undivided attention in the next five minutes? Sometimes I'm like the sun, with all our new employees (and their questions and needs and newness) revolving around me in different orbits, and it's all I can do to keep them from crashing into each other. And the thing is...I feed off the energy that my job demands of me. It's almost like a high, to see how many tasks I can juggle. I took this job because I knew I could do it and be good at it. You get used to the whirlwind and you get better at pinning down the calm spot in the middle.

That's the tip of the iceburg on what 90% of my day feels like. The last 10% starts as I cross the parking lot to my car. It's a miracle if the moon isn't all the way up by this point. The madness finally starts to ebb. I can stop being David - the co-worker/trainer/expert on all matters bank-related and start being David - the person. The David that loves music and books and traveling and hazelnut coffee and bad puns. The David that for better or worse, wears his heart on the sleeve of this blog. (The David that just spent ten minutes on an internal debate re: switching to third person narrative in the middle of a paragraph. *sigh* The things I choose to fixate on...)

To make a long story short blog longer, little things are the glue that keep me together...the weight that keeps me grounded...the fuel that the 10% of me needs to keep the other 90% going. I say "little things" because they might appear that way to people for whom all the comforts of home and community are tangible things available to them on a daily basis. Phone calls, emails, blog comments, and yes, even text messages work together to keep an empty hotel room from being a lonely hotel room. They make snowy days a little warmer. They make Ohio and Indiana easier places to be.

If you've gotten this far, you should also know that I'm in a pretty good mood today. I'm about to put on a sweater and dodge the snow flurries on my way to find the Toledo Museum of Art. There's a van Gogh right here in Toledo! How awesome is that? While writing all this I also worked out the track listing and played through my end of the year two-disc mix. 31 songs worth of awesomeness. More on that later though...it deserves its own post.

Mishawaka Nostalgia

When it's not thinking of the never-ending to-do list at work, my head has been in a cloud of nostalgia lately.

Ten years ago I was a month into my sophomore year at Howard Payne. Looking back on it, fall 1997 was probably my favorite semester in college...and for me, that's really saying something. I was blessed with four phenomenal years of school that I would hardly change a detail of, if such a thing were even possible. No longer freshmen, my friends and I were the wise soul sophomores (and wise asses, too, come to think of it). It felt like we owned the campus, probably because we were the oldest kids not yet old enough to live off-campus. Our entire community was either down the hall or across the street in the girls' dorm. The other side of town was a five minute drive. And Brownwood was light years from anything "fun" to do, so we had barn dances and broke into old, dilapitated buildings and played lots and lots of Playstation. Most of my friends met or started dating the girls they would go on to marry that semester. I managed to fall for a really great girl, too, and we would spend the next two years together. There is a time for every season, and that was a time for a nearly-perfect season.

Five years ago I was a week into my two month sabbatical in Europe. Twelve countries in 58 days. England, France, Spain, Italy, Siciliy, Austria, Germany, Poland, The Czech Republic, Switzerland, Belgium, and The Netherlands. I saw so much...I was like a kid discovering a whole new world. It felt like I conquered far away lands all on my own, when really it was me who was forever changed.

I don't know that I would necessarily want to be back in school to relive it again. It was a great time, but I'm glad that's not a real option. I like being the current me, and I'm definitely better at that now than I was back then. And yeah, it would be fun to be back in Rome or Paris or Florence or London for a week or two...but my nostalgic daydreams have really been more about appreciating the opportunities, friendships, and experiences I've been blessed with. And maybe even more than that, to appreciate how time is slowly, rapidly playing out the story of my days.

Memories help me appreciate the here and now in Mishawaka, Indiana. Someday I'll be writing about this place, too.

Cloak and Dagger Stuff

Say it with me now, "It's been a busy few weeks."  I know, I know, I say that all the time.  But really, on top of the usual day-to-day busy-ness, there has also been other stuff going on.  Big stuff.  And some of it I can't really go into details about here (short of making you all sign confidentiality agreements with multiple non-disclosure clauses, and I think we all know I'm not going to get around to keeping track of who turned their forms in, so that idea's shot all to hades), but just know that there's been a lot going on that required energy I normally spend blogging on music recommendations and my latest computer incompetencies (see below in paragraph five).

What else is going on, you ask?  Stuff I can actually talk about?  Okay...let's see.  Oh, there's this:  I was asked to submit an article (or two) for the next issue of The Hook, which is my new favorite e-zine.  It's the brainchild of one of my best friends, and covers general entertainment areas like music, movies, television shows and other assorted pop culture topics.  It's a side project of his...for now, at least.  Me?  I just like collaborating with my friends.

Speaking of movies, add me to the list of people who were disappointed in Spider-Man 3.  2007 is The Summer of Sequels in Hollywood, and this is one of the few I was even remotely looking forward to seeing.  Count me out for the upcoming additions to the Shrek, Pirates of the Caribbean, and Fantastic Four franchises.  So no pressure, Matt Damon, but it's up to you to renew my faith in sequels.

Mother's Day was last Sunday.  Negotiations were underway for an exclusive interview with my own mother to be featured on this site, but they eventually broke down for a variety of reasons (the most absurd of which was her demand for final editorial approval).  Then she stopped returning my phone calls altogether.  Weird.  Maybe next year.

My computer has been mute for about five days now, and I finally got around to getting it fixed (thanks, Larry!).  In an effort to free some space and delete some pesky pre-installed software programs I never use, I managed to delete the soundcard from my computer.  Ergo, no sound.  No music.  At all.  Genius move on my part.  So I was reduced to playing music at home the old-fashioned way (on a cd!  Placed in a stereo sytem!  So very quaint in its late 20th century appeal).  So it's been nice to have my itunes library just one click away, so nice, in fact, that I'm tempted to listen to every song I own...but according to itunes that would take 9.7 days and I'm due back at work tomorrow morning.

Ok, time to go do some stuff I can't talk about...yet.  Someday soon, though.  I promise.

Fifteen Good Minutes

I was a writer today.  A real writer.  For at least fifteen minutes, anyway.

Ok, let me back up a little.  Every so often, for the last year or so, I'll be doing something monotonous like walking out to my car in the mornings or folding laundry or whatever and the vaguest idea for a story will float in from the ether.  And I do mean vague.  Like, a line or two of dialogue.  Or just an idea for a particular scene.  But they're disjointed, with no connection to a plot, or a character arc, or anything that really makes a story a story.  It's actually a lot like telling someone about the dream you had the night before last.  Short.  Hazy.  Then it's just vapor.

So anyway, I was at Starbucks earlier, just for the sake of getting out of my apartment.  I took a book and the journal I've hardly touched in two years.  Somewhere in the ordering and the interaction with the baristas and the waiting on my frapuccino, the beginning came to me.  So I sat and I wrote.  And after a few pages I kicked myself for not owning a laptop.  And I wrote a little more.  The world music and the in and out side door traffic and the kids gossiping and studying for their Algebra II test were the perfect amount of white noise in the background.

I had the beginning.  The story was underway.  I had a couple of characters, some even had names.  But more importantly, they had personalities.  They interacted and spoke and had things they wanted and basicly had the beginnings of (a literary, if not literal) existence.  And none of this is fully formed, but it's a step forward from anything I've had before...which sounds like progress to me.

I Wanted To Blog Today, But...

...I haven't spent any more money at the iTunes store lately.
...there's already been a hundred lifetime's worth of blogs written about certain female celebrities this week.
...there were dvds to watch instead.
...mentally, I'm wiped out.  Been a good, but long, week of work.
...I'm out of bread.  (Wait, that one's for the I Wanted To Eat A Sandwich Today, But... list.  Oops.)
...both my horoscope and my fortune cookie advised against it.  After that I was too scared to call the lady with the tea leaves.
...none of my friends have done anything I can make fun of them for.
...Gil had me preoccupied with his two latest tricks, which I have dubbed Swimming Around In A Circle and Floating In One Spot Long Enough To Make David Get Up And Tap The Glass (sometimes referred to as Sleeping).
...I changed ringtones today, and that zapped all my reserves of creativity.  Every last one of them.
...the words just weren't there.  In my head, or my heart, or my fingers, or wherever it is they percolate and spill out from.

Come back soon, words.  Gil and I miss you. 

Getting My John Grisham On

So after two weeks of brainstorming story ideas (battling aliens with the earth's fate hanging in the balance?  undercover CIA operative in WWII Germany?  smart Southern lawyer turning the legal system on its ear?), characters (Marty McFly meets Chandler Bing meets Angela Chase), story structure (first person narrative vs. third person omniscient), and other such vagaries I finally settled down today to start my novel.  And I have no real expectations of this.  Any future references I make to this being "the next great American novel" are made with my tongue planted firmly in my cheek.  It's a fool's errand, made for no other reason than to make it through the process and see what the view looks like from there.

So far I've written 610 words.  And you're probably reading this and saying, "Oh, that's nice" in a ho-hum kind of way.  Let me tell you: those six hundred words have been the mental equivalent of running lines or wind sprints at the end of the first day of basketball practice.  I'm exhausted from sitting in this chair; painstakingly considering the voices of a handful of teenagers that DO NOT EVEN EXIST. 

And I'm loving every second of it.  This is like exercise for my brain...I'm no expert, but there might be some endorphins involved here as well.  I'll write a little bit, and I'm wanting it to be good and point it in the right direction, and then I like to back away from it and just revel in knowing that this part of me even exists.

It's nice to know that I can still surprise myself at 28 and 5/6 years old.

(P.S.  Because I know I'll get this question from one smart ass or another, let me clarify: there will be no aliens in this story.  Though if it did, I know a ten year old who would think I was the coolest cousin ever.  Maybe next time, kiddo.)

A Novel, A Quote, Some Shows, and the National Pastime

Time to empty out my head again...

1.  November is National Novel Writing Month.  This appeals greatly to my affinity for biting off three times more than I could ever hope to chew, so of course I signed up to pen my first novel at the official site.  The spirit of this venture is best summed up by this q&a from the NaNoWriMo Rules:

Can anyone participate in NaNoWriMo?
No.  People who take their writing (and themselves) very seriously should probably go elsewhere.  Everyone else, though, is warmly welcomed.

It's a collective encouragement and challenge to any and all procrastinating amateurs who have ever dreamed (even if only in vague terms to themselves) of "someday" writing that novel.  And there is no competition because there are no awards.  One goal, and one goal only - a minimum of 50,000 words to be produced, assembled, and put in order between November 1st and November 30th.  One month to celebrate quantity over quality...to set off on a mad dash and sprint from here to there just to say that you did.  And of course, to later brag about it at parties and spin tall tales about the process to impress the (pretty) girls and make your (less-accomplished) friends a little jealous in the process.  I'm all in.  Now all I need are some characters, a plot, and a more judicious approach to the usage of commas.

2.  A few weeks ago at my mom's garage sale I was thumbing through a well-worn copy of Bartlett's Familiar Quotations.  It's older than I am, and she was trying to sell it off for twenty-five cents.  During the lulls in scavenger traffic I would flip through the pages, and I came across this Agatha Christie entry pulled from The Murder of Roger Ackroyd:

It is completely unimportant.  That is why it is so interesting.

I found other great quotes, most of which were from people I had never heard of.  Needless to say, I stole the book from my mom and brought it home with me.  Your quarter is in the mail, mom.  And in Roger Ackroyd I now have a new #1 on my books-to-buy list.

3.  Lots of opportunities to hear some of my favorite new (or at least new to me) artists live and in person over the coming weeks.  The Gypsy Tea Room in Dallas is playing host to the likes of Matt Nathanson / Brett Dennen (11/7), Rachel Yamagata / Cary Brothers / Tristan Prettyman / Joshua Radin (11/10), Straylight Run / Kevin Devine (11/25), and Amos Lee (12/19).  If you're local (or want to fly in for some shows) drop me a line and we'll hang out.  I promise that there's a bare minimum 80% chance that I won't flake out at the last minute.

4.  Another World Series is in the books.  Cardinal fans are celebrating while Tiger fans  are scratching their heads and wondering what happened.  For such an easy game, baseball doesn't make any sense sometimes.  It's maddening and addicting all at once - this business of you trying to throw the ball past me, me trying to hit it over your head, and the other guys trying to catch it.

Thankfully there's only about five months until pitchers and catchers report to early training camp.  Then we'll do it all over again.

Crawling Out Of The Dumpster

Feeling very proud of myself for starting my journey to work twenty minutes early, I walked out the door with my hands full.  Keys, a book, my ipod, the cell phone, and two bags of trash...it's a wonder I didn't fall down the stairs.  My car, as always, was conveniently parked in the spaces closest to the dumpster.  While considering a Starbucks stop on the way to work, I noticed that I would be the first of my neighbors to start refilling our dumpster after what must have been a very recent pick up from the Waste Management truck.  So I slide open the hatch, and consciously look from one hand to the other.  Left hand: two bags of trash.  Right hand: cell phone, book, etc.  I stick my left arm in the hatch while my mind turns itself to deciding on either a grande triple shot toffee nut mocha or a frappuccino.  The second I turned towards my car, I heard a very familiar sound.  "Odd," I think to myself, "that sounded like a set of keys clanging softly against metal."  I look again at my hands.  Left hand: empty.  Right hand: cell phone and book.  I check the pockets - ipod only.  No keys.  Damn.

I look inside the dumpster.  Sure enough, I see my house key peeking out from under white garbage bag plastic.  Hmmm.  The opening sits too high for me to reach in and grab them.  I wonder if there's anything in my car or apartment that I could use to reach inside...wait...car and apartment are locked...damn.  I look down at my new khakis and my dress shoes, and think about what is really the only option left. 

I land inside the dumpster, on a floor that isn't wet but isn't exactly dry either.  I pick up the ring of my key chain in a fashion that would best be described as gingerly, and toss them out onto the freshly mowed grass.  Then I turn and consider my exit for the first time.  A little trickier than the entry, what with a dumpster's inner walls being understandably (much, much) grimier than their outside counterparts.  Hindsight also noticed that I could have made things easier by opening the dumpster lids beforehand as well, but that's hindsight for you...always the backseat driver, never the chauffeur.  At any rate, the spryness of my youth returned for the moment I needed it most.  Jumping / pulling myself up to the ledge of the sliding door and then hopping back out into daylight turned out looking exactly the way it did in my head, with the added benefit of not careening into said grimy dumpster walls.  I looked around for a potential audience, unsure if I wanted to be proud of my clean exit or ashamed of my predicament.  Not surprisingly, the parking lot was empty at 10:40 on a Wednesday morning.

So then it was back upstairs to thoroughly wash my hands - not to mention my keyring - like an anxious germophobe having a bad day.  After ruining the Borders Rewards mini-card on my keyring with approximately 46 ounces of hand soap, I was finally off to work.  And I knew I would end up writing about all of this, because the first thing I wanted to do in my car was call somebody, ANYBODY, to tell them all about my dumpster diving trip.  And not being completely void of common sense, I realized that the market for stories centered around me being inside a giant trash can would skew towards a pretty small demographic.  Luckily, my mom wasn't too busy at work to hear about my latest antics.  And it's been a while since I heard her tone of voice that I have internally dubbed the "I never would have thought that nine months and half of my DNA would turn into this" inflection.  Good times.

But like I said, I was sure I would write about this.  The more I thought about this one small anecdote I might tell at a party, the more the whole thing felt like this microcosm of the last few years.  In 2004 I was 26 years young and (as hokey as this sounds) somehow life was making sense to me.  As Angela Chase once put it, "What's amazing is when you can feel your life going somewhere.  Like, your life just figured out how to get good.  Like, that second."  I had a church I actively looked forward to attending - God was doing great things there.  My faith was growing; it felt like I was always learning something new.  I had great friends - encouraging, smart, fun people.  And I even started dating this girl.  The kind of girl that makes you want to trade in your cynical bones and melancholy thoughts every time she smiles...I was completely over the moon.  Work wasn't perfect or even ideal, but I was sure God had something just around the corner.  After so much time spent worrying if I would ever "succeed" at life...it felt like I stumbled into getting everything I'd ever wanted.  I thought I was one or two small steps into the track my life would take.

So here I am with everything coming up aces.  (I see you there, smiling all knowingly to yourself.  Not in a mean way, but in that "I know what's coming next" way.  Because everyone over the age of 14 has some version of this story.)  And then the aces stopped coming.  The girl needed a change in direction, and you can't get too mad when an honest girl follows her heart away from you.  As for my friends, who had been put farther back on the backburner than I'd realized, they had all shifted their energies accordingly over the previous months.  When I say that it felt like I was pushing myself back into a mostly closed circle, it is in no way an accusation; just an observation. 

I think back to how small, lonely, and stupid I felt in the living room of that Euless apartment in January of 2005.  And I think about how I would talk out loud to the God who had been a party too it all so far.  Wondering if my neighbor would hear me and decide I was crazy was easily outweighed by having the sound of my voice keep the walls from closing in.  With nothing close to a spotless record, I have been a Christian for over ten years.  Like every other (lesser) broken heart I've had before, it felt like Jesus held all my pieces together.  But at the same time..."doing church" got a lot harder.  God felt close and it's not like I was giving up on him...but I was having a hard time talking about him to other people.  Not to mention that when you feel like you've been completely wrong about the people that have been the closest to you...you feel like you've lost all credibility to talk (much less teach!) about an invisible God. 

Even in the midst of being on leadership in our singles ministry, I had felt for months that God was preparing my heart to eventually leave it.  But that was like smelling rain while the skies are still clear.  I LOVED what I got to contribute to our ministry, and I'm proud of the people I got to work with and the wonderful, creative opportunities granted to me.  Those memories continue to further flesh out my definition of grace.  But as 2005 continued unabated, my personal funk rolled on.  I didn't want to talk to my friends; didn't even want to be around them.  It's like I woke up and just couldn't bear to try and explain myself to them.  I was having a hard time reconciling lots of things back then...I couldn't understand what was going on in my head, and I was nothing close to comfortable with other people around.  Well-meaning, good-intentioned people...and the thought of spending time with any of them was simultaneously revolting and terrifying.  Screaming, "Stay away from me, I might be crazy and I don't feel anything like myself," is not an ideal way to keep your friends around.  Or necessarily representative of the best frame of mind to help lead a ministry from. 

Days turned into weeks turned into months.  I resigned my leadership position at my church.  I read a lot.  I sat on the front steps and watched the airplanes come and go.  I listened to John Mayer and Derek Webb and lots and lots of Counting Crows.  I took a step backwards in my bank career in order to prepare for a teaching career that I abandoned before it got started.  I started this website.  I thought, and I thought, and I thought about thinking some more.  It is often said that God is in the details.  For me, he was in the deafening silence.  He existed in the solitude - every single inch of it.  He was in the darkness, the empty inbox, and the late night walks around the tennis court to the laundromat and back.  My phone didn't ring and not one verse I read made me feel any better.  Not one word - even the special ones written in red - made me feel any less alone.  And I would tell Him all this.  I would say things into the wind, in as many different ways as I could think of, as eloquent and descriptive as I could be, and what little relief it brought was the good of getting it off my chest.

So there I was with all the lights coming up red.  And I hope you've experienced what's coming up next.  Life, and by "life" I guess I really mean "circumstances" or simply "the day to day," got better.  Or easier.  Calendar pages changed, and at some point I did too.  I didn't feel so emotionally raw anymore.  I felt grounded again.  The funk no longer surrounded me like London fog.  I could read 2 Corinthians 12:9 and laugh (instead of wince) at myself and all my follies.  All my junk.  It took quite a while, but I could take all of my history in.  And it wasn't too much to handle.  I could be wrong, and take missteps, and think about pretty girls that didn't look back, and be clueless professionally...and still end up "succeeding" in some gloriously original fashion.  I could be a few pages further into my story, and they could read exactly the way they do, and it could still be a great story.  A fun story.  A story I'll be proud to bore the nursing home caretakers with someday.

I'm crawling out of the dumpster with more dexterity than I thought was still possible.  I'm cleaning up more quickly than I thought.  And one of my favorite things to do is to share my stories - my thoughts, my fears, my antics and adventures - with someone, ANYONE, that will listen.  Other people's stories have always made me feel less crazy.  Less empty and alone.  Maybe mine can do the same for someone else.  These days I think about how it would be nice to live in California, eat an In 'N Out burger, and smell the ocean.  I think it would be nice to work with college students in some setting.  I wonder if this writing thing could ever lead to something beyond my wildest dreams.  I go to Starbucks and think about cute girls and triple shot toffee nut mochas.  I've been wrong about stuff I thought before, so I talk to God about all of it.  Perspective...wants vs. needs...personal direction...all that good stuff.  And it feels good to talk into the wind and get it all off my chest.

My Kingdom For A Good Title

Had a phenomenal time at the Derek Webb - Sandra McCracken - Judd and Maggie concert back on April Fool's Day.  Amy hit the highlights with her recap.  The show was so good, I dragged Tara to Deep Ellum so I could see them again three nights later.  This show stood out for two reasons - 1) Judd came out into the crowd to watch Sandra and Derek, standing a few feet away from us, and 2) it's the only Christian concert I've ever been to that had an open bar.  Seriously, these people put out GREAT music that also has a GREAT message, and in my very limited time speaking with each of them they were GREAT people.  Check out their stuff and definitely catch them live if you get the chance.

The next weekend I spent in Goldthwaite, Texas, at my friend Nic's Disciple Now.  I led the senior group (three boys and EIGHT girls), and they were SO MUCH FUN to hang out with.  (Even if they did refer to me as "Davida" - a Goldthwaite youth tradition, beg me to model some toenail polish, and mock my voice squeaking / disappearing all weekend).  Tim, Jordan, Clark, Kaylen, Ashley, Faith, Lyndsey, Sam, Ali, Jaclyn, and Robin are some cool cats, and if I was going to college next year I'd want to hang out with them (well, except for Jordan, who apparently bites people when he's playing basketball.)

I highly recommend seeing Inside Man with Jodie Foster and Denzel Washington.  It's a mystery, a drama, and, of course, it's a Spike Lee joint.  (In other news, I no longer write "blogs."  Instead, I will henceforth refer to them as "joints."  Congratulations, you're reading a David Brown joint.) 

The thought just hit me that all kinds of Google blog searches involving the word "joint" will now be pointing people to this site.  Awesome.

Last month I had a short article published in my church's magazine, The Village Pub.  It was pretty exciting to see my name in print for the first time.  I must also confess to a significant amount of overall giddiness, as well as to bugging my friends in the middle of a workday just to call and brag give them the news.  Now that it's no longer new news, and the initial euphoria has run its course, I've settled into the realization that writing is the same as flying a kite, throwing a fastball, or playing a guitar.  It's included in that verse in James that mentions how all good and perfect gifts come from God.  So while, yes, it is very exciting for me on a personal level to see some measure of "success"...for me the funnest part is the writing itself.  Having some form of an audience is like icing on the cake; it's an added bonus more than anything else.

Lastly, I feel like I'm forgetting about 15 things I wanted to write about...but the hour is growing late and there has GOT TO BE food in this apartment somewhere...

28

A little over two hours remain in what has been a phenomenal birthday weekend.  Odds are that I will spend most of the next 131 minutes typing about it.

The best gift I received on my last birthday was the year that I just finished.  There's been this great inner-conversation going on all weekend, running between and around all the phone calls and emails from friends and family.  My best summation of year 27 is this:  It was the year I got a lot better at being me, instead of playing the role of me.  My skin feels more comfortable, my quirks found more of their niche, and the voices in my head got a website.  It's been a full year, to say the least.

It's funny, the moments when self-discoveries are made.  At 3:30 Saturday morning I got that feeling.  The one where your stomach wakes you up with a soft, but firm, "There's something wrong in here.  And I'm going to take care of it sooner or later.  And probably sooner rather than later."  So I cozied up next to a small pile of dirty clothes in my bathroom floor and awaited the inevitable purging...which was, indeed, a short wait.  In between heaves, the thought crossed my mind, "How am I going to find a way to write about this?"  This was quickly followed by "Clearly, I am crazy."  A few moments later my stomach was happy again and I brushed my teeth.  As I returned to bed I was thankful for the healing powers of nausea...and I marveled at why in the world I want to write about all these different things.

Earlier in the week my mom had said I would be getting some envelopes in the mail, but not to open them until Sunday.  I lied and said I would wait that long.  To my credit though, I waited until Saturday night to use the Best Buy gift card.  I walked past the line of crazy XBOX 360 people camping outside the store and quickly made my way to the register, season four of 24 in hand.  The guy started to ring me up, which led to the following conversation:
Me:  I got this gift card, but I don't know how much it's for.  You'll have to check first, and then I'll pay the difference.
Best Buy:  Seven cents.
Me:  That's cool, I only owe seven cents?
BB:  No, there's seven cents on the card.
Me:  Huh?
BB:  There's only seven cents left on the card.
Me:  Odd, since it's brand new and I received it yesterday.
BB:  Maybe someone is playing a joke on you.
Me:  I don't think so.  As funny as that would be, my mom is nowhere near having that particular sense of humor.
BB:  probably thinking "I don't care, just pay for the dvds already."
Me:  Here's my debit card, I'll sort it out later.

A few hours later I checked the clock, and noticed that I was about to ring in my 28th year by viewing Kiefer Sutherland's fourth go at saving America from terrorists and mediocre television.  As clock-striking-midnight-on-your-birthday moments go, I was pretty pleased.  I couldn't remember anything about what I'd done the year before as Birthday Eve came to a close, but figured this had to be an improvement.  Then five minutes later I remembered that last year's BDay Eve (probably) came and went with me making out with my girlfriend.  Now, I am on record as being a big fan of 24.  But do we really need to weigh the respective merits of Making Out vs. Watching A DVD?  I didn't think so either. 

At this point God and I had a quick conversation on the subject of making out.  And really, if you're going to talk to God, you might as well talk about fun stuff every now and then.  Yes, there are many, many more important things to discuss.  They have been and will continue to be discussed on a regular basis.  But for that 30 seconds on my couch, the conversation revolved around the general idea of making out.  And more specifically, what the odds were of my seeing any action in '06.  (I had to leave some great jokes out of this paragraph, but I didn't want to misrepresent an honest moment that never gets talked about out loud.)  God doesn't blush that easy...he invented sex.  He's cool with my questions, and I'm cool with waiting to see what happens next.

Once that was all sorted out, 24 had me glued to the edge of my seat and it was well past the wee hours of the morning (like say...6:15), when I finally made it to bed.  Only to get a birthday phone call from my mom a few hours later.  Anyone else would have been ignored, but mom is mom and today was kind of her doing anyways, so I picked up the phone.  She was calling with some birthday trivia.  As it turns out, December 18th was also on a Sunday 28 years ago.  Moms remember the craziest things, and choose the early morning hours to call and share them.  God bless them.

Church tonight brought home another unfinished thought on the year that was.  God loves me now.  Not tomorrow's me; not the future me once I've bettered myself with x, y, or z.  He loves today's me.  Now that's a thought worth spending some time on.  Go ahead...meditate on that for a while.  This site will still be here later.