Inside the Mind of a Nathan

So I'm blogging. On my phone. In my bed. Because technology. And America. We are the future.  In other news, a man walking a cat died of a tuna overdose. I almost said "tuna fish." That'd be like saying "cow mammal" or "frog amphibian." Don't do it.  That's all I wanted to say.  Peace out, homeslice. 

Dear Soldier, Thank you for your sacrifice. Thank you for the burdens you’ve borne. Thank you for the scars you have On your body and on your heart. Thank you for the freedoms you’ve bought With your sweat and with your blood. Thank you for the words you’ve shared To comfort those with timider tastes. Thank you for the silence you’ve kept To protect the weaker willed. Thank you for your humility. Thank you for your bravery. Thank you for the choices you made When you knew the consequence. Thank you for fighting. Thank you for guarding. Thank you for giving up control of your life So that we could feel like we control ours. Thank you for sustaining the misunderstood tradition Of shedding blood and risking your life So that we don’t have to. Thank you for letting me write. Thank you for letting her paint. Thank you for letting him build. Thank you for letting them argue. Thank you for letting us worry about our jobs, cars, houses, mortgages, taxes, bills, and p...

Well, holy moly. The planet is too big. God is merciful though. Sometimes, I try to share with people about some of my flaws—not in the I want you to say how awesome I am  way but just in the we were talking about things and this seemed relevant way. Invariably, though, people sometimes try to tell me, "You're too hard on yourself." I don't know about you, but, deep down, I got some dark things going on. It's especially scary when I speak my thoughts/feelings out loud—even just to myself in the car or something. God's been working in me, but, man, when I look deep, I remember why I need Him. Here's a really pretty song though: "My Father's Waltz" by Hem I remember a time when I didn't have weekends. Technically, I went through Friday nights, Saturdays, and Sundays, but I didn't feel it. THEN! Then. Then, I got this magical thing called a day job. ❄For the first time in forever❄, I have weekends! I didn't even remem...

I recently interviewed a lady for a tutoring position. Besides the fact that I think she'll be a wonderful tutor, I wanted to share one of the great adages she recited during the interview: Motivation follows action. I think most people know that principle, but I appreciated how succinctly she stated it. It's not a complex series of life changes. It's not a trite 10 easy steps to more motivation. It's not tacky self-motivation poster. It's a simple if-then statement: if action, then motivation. I think we are too easily tempted by motivation. I know I often am. I've had so many desires founded almost solely on my lust for motivation. As you might expect, these various plans haven't gone anywhere. However, lately, I've been reciting to myself "A little bit every day." That's the mantra I give to my students—it doesn't matter what subject. Whatever skill you practice a little bit every day will progress. I decided to set mos...

Sooooooo I'm seeing my ex today, so that's kinda scary. In other news, I have discovered these things called "refreshers" at Starbucks. That's the hyper-caffeinated coffee that doesn't taste like coffee. I'm pretty sure caffeine affects me, but I can never quite tell how. Some people are adamant about needing their coffee as if they know the difference it makes. Maybe I'm just always tired, and bursts of energy are merely unexpected surprises, so I can never really tell if it's caffeine or not. Whatevs. Speaking of short hair, it seems to have a lot of indications... But don't get me started. Drama. Drama drama drama. My dad recently said, "You may win an argument and lose a friend." First of all, there have been no arguments; that's half my problem with the anonymous individual: one person talking incessantly does not count as an argument. Secondly, if that's the way "arguments" are always going to...

I had a weirdly good day. Nothing too fancy even happened, but I've been in a swimmingly good mood for most of the day. I'm still in a great mood, but I've calmed down a bit. Last night, I finished the first season of Terra Nova. It was a pleasant enough show. For a good long time, I always said to myself that I'd never get hooked into general show-watching, but then I borrowed Netflix and HBO Go. Foiled. In lighter news, I've started playing the guitar again. I don't know if you've ever played the guitar, but, if you haven't played in a while, it hurts your fingertips. Still, there's something soothing about strumming strings melodically. Speaking of music, recently, a friend sang a song a cappella. Personally, I find there to be something magically calming about one or more gentle voices. Ode To Water (a poem I wrote October 2014) I know there rings within her breast A tune, a song, a chorus. I know the molecules that swirl Around in ...

What is it like? It's like trying to measure the location and trajectory of an electron. An experiment was done. It attempted to track an electron. However, the device that measured the electron interfered with it and changed its trajectory. Consequently, the attempt to measure the electron made it unmeasurable. What it really is is emotions mixed with insecurity mixed with a lack of focus mixed with oversensitivity mixed with an obtuse manner. You can't untangle that. You cannot untangle it. It's like trying to count the sum of a set of dice that re-roll themselves every time you look at them: there are real numbers and real sums, but there is no chance of counting it. Even more fascinating is that the dice take offense at not being counted. In other news, grammar is logical and relatively simple. More specifically, punctuation is never used to indicate "natural" pauses. Rather, punctuation is used to show the structure of thoughts. A quick lesson: com...

Alrighty, it's Wednesday. I'm at Starbucks. Werbel is ready to be furthered. I'm not tired of him; it's just work. Writing is hard work. Focused, consistent, relatively unified writing is hard work. I'm feeling pretty mellow. The weather is mellow. This week has been pretty mellow. You know what's exciting?! I can imagine myself writing all day every day. I still have a lot of growing up to do, and I still have to develop a lot of writing stamina, but, the more I write, the more I feel that possibility. Last night, I was thinking about today. I was thinking that I didn't want to write because it would make the day end too quickly, and then I wouldn't get to write anymore. It's weird. Whatevs. In other news, I'm drinking "green" coffee. It doesn't taste anything like coffee, and, reportedly, it has one of the highest caffiene contents of the beverages. We'll see how that turns out. Well, I just wanted to warmup fo...

I stopped chewing my fingernails. It was strangely abrupt. I don't even know what the impetus was. My mom's has been advising me to stop for years. Even my mentor/boss shared that it can be seen as unprofessional. I think it was something along the lines of deciding I want to be in control of my hands instead of gnawing them compulsively. In other news, politicians are still dumb-dumbs. In other other news, news is typically a sad place. In other^3 news, Werbel is way too bloody slow, but he's trying, so I can't condemn him. In other^4 news, I should probably start writing on my clipboard pages instead of typing because clipboard pages feel freer, messier—messy enough not to worry but rather just write. I wrote a poem recently! It probably took me longer than a year, but I was still pleased; it was simple, rhyming, and metered. I have a plethora of theories. One of them is that people tired of writing quality poetry, so they frivolously deemed it childish o...

I'm not sure how to get in the mindset of writing for Werbel. I spent most of the past few hours pursuing some theological answers for a friend, so that's a reasonable excuse not to have Werbeled. However... However, I'm just going to sit in front of Werbel until words come out. Goodbye.

I saw a lightbulb joke earlier today, and I couldn't resist making this one up: How many Americans does it take to change a light bulb? Why does the lightbulb have to change, you intolerant, racist bigot?

I am such a lazy-legs sauce-face. "A little bit every day." And did I write a little bit every day? No! I was a wamby-pamby muttonchops. Well, so, yeah, anyway. Ice cream is nice in small doses. I haven't had a good argument in such a long time. I'm not talking about being bombarded by adolescent omniscience, and I'm not talking about self-worshiping platitudes. The definition of platitude is positively delicious: "a flat, dull, or trite remark, especially one uttered as if it were fresh or profound " (emphasis mine). That describes most of the "debates" I've encountered of late. The core of many of these fresh philosophies is that we, the modern world, especially America, in all our wisdom, have finally, suddenly, become enlightened: < utter tripe > We have risen up like Galileo. We have dared to defy the god-mongers and anachronistic, old prudes to establish right thinking and true reasoning. New things are happening. Ne...