Inside the Mind of a Nathan

Well now. It's a whole new season. I don't know if you can sense your own changes, but I feel like a new creature all over again. I don't know what I'm even doing here though. I should be in some quiet, secluded room; I should be writing for Seven Colors if not for Meadowvale — but I'm not gonna get into that now. Have you gone to a library recently? It is striking to see how the only silent room is one corner shoved in the back. I lament the loss of silence. I think we're malnourished when it comes to silence.

Do you ever feel the need to stretch your legs? Do you ever just feel like you need to find more space? You need to go out and see scenery, walk on paths, and hear animals. Writing is like that for me — real writing anyway.

I cannot tell you how many seasons have been packed into this short season of my life. In under one year, I have experienced like five years worth of experiences. I recently had a game night with some old friends. As I was driving to where we would be hanging out, it struck me vaguely but poignantly that I was a whole new creature. I'm not completely 100% different, but it's like Pokemon: Pikachu is quite different from Pichu, and Raichu is quite different from Pikachu. They're in the same evolutionary series, but — especially if you've played the games — they're quite different. Now, imagine some series of like one-hundred changes, and it's been more than that. I have a lot of the same, old habits. I don't look much different. My name is still the same and whatnot. However, it is both like thin veils have been peeled off, and new layers of paint have been brushed on. I don't know if you've ever painted, but if you've done some kind of pr...

Alright, my salty scalawags. There's too much to do and too little time. Even then, I don't use my time especially well. Speaking of pirates, I want the world to be filled with pirates! Disney pirates anyway. Did you see Stardust ? Do you recall when he met Captain Shakespeare? I loved the whole setup: collecting lightning illegally, the port on the edge of a cliff, bargaining with the trader, and everything.

I was thinking about my sin. Sometimes, I like to think it's powerful. I like to think it rears its head like a dragon, blasting fiery breath. Terrifying. Destructive. Unstoppable. Sometimes, it really does feel as though it will obliterate me, crush me beyond recognition. Sometimes, I want to think that sin is the equal opposite of God's mercy and grace. Shouldn't it be? The wages of sin is death. By my sin, I earn death: complete and eternal. If God is eternal and if the death I earn with my sin is eternal, are they not opposite but equal?

I cannot tell you how many times I clog my own brain with distractions and noises and tasks and diversions and more. I wanted to write a story, but I'm all clogged up in the business. Thus, I am here trying to drain el brain. Plus, I haven't been reading much lately. I finished the novel I was reading, and I haven't snagged a new one yet. I kinda forgot about libraries. They totally exist, and they're totally full of books. What should I read though?

Yo-ho-ho! I had something intelligent to say earlier, but I forgot it. Oh! Right! I may be finding a place to live soon! I even made a cool map of all the things I do: students, church, a class I take, etc. It's color and symbol coded. It's kind of exciting! It's sort of like a back-to-school project: going back to school isn't quite exactly fun, but it's fun to get a new binder, find cool folders, and purchase other organizational stuff.

Have you ever messed up something? I have. Did you ever use a lot of time and energy getting yourself into the mess in the first place? I do that a lot. Do you ever tell yourself not to fix it because it's probably going to happen again anyway, and it would be a waste of time and energy to get yourself back into the mess?

I'm feeling clogged, like constipated. Not literally of course. I'm feeling writing constipated. Partially, I slept high-ho crapfully. Partially, that's it mostly. Partially, I've begun retagging all of my blog posts. I don't know why it feels so important to me. I'm not even very confident about the tags, but it will be better than having hundreds of little words attached haphazardly.

Question Would Jesus have died for one sinner? Background Research C. S. Lewis was not shy about being allegorical. In Perelandra, the second book of his space trilogy, he wrote, "When He died in the Wounded World He died not for men, but for each man. If each man had been the only man made, He would have done no less."

AH I substituted today. It was like super chill. The teacher is a veteran, and he was over-prepared, and his students were over-prepared, and everything was over-prepared. I gotta admit: today gave me a few small twinges of the desire to be a teacher. I also gotta admit: I have zero sincere interest in being a teacher. I do like the idea of substituting again though.

Holy snapper japper! I haven't written (on my blog anyway) in like four days! I have been busy piecing so many things together. I am learning how to use YouTube. I am learning how to use Blogger.com. I am learning a lot of stuff, so it's ok even if it feels like I haven't been getting to really real work.

As it turns out, I tutor things. I have a student — we'll call him Captain — who usually works on math with me. However, we've worked on just about every subject. I think all students should devote time to reading, writing, and arithmetic, so I am always trying to find ways to encourage these. I wanted to share with you one of the exercises I gave him.

Well, salty dogs and sandy beaches! If there's anything about which I'm a little obsessive, it's probably sticky hands. I hate having sticky hands — at least when I'm in a clean mode. Clean mode is most cases but especially when I'm working on my computer or reading or normal things like that. Sometimes, I'm in a messy mode like playing outside or making a fire or cooking or whatever.

Oh. My. Goodness. It took me a lot longer to get settled in than I planned. For just a half hour or so, the morning began with aggravation. I get aggravated easily in certain contexts. However, I have re-employed my Ring of Distraction, which has helped me remember that I have been distracted in the first place — and that I can set it aside for a time.

Here I am again, trying to write something else (an outline for a video in this case). Here I am again, stuck in my thoughts. I am not surprised, but it is amazing how clogged I can get my own brain. There are plenty of reasonable, healthy distractions. There are plenty of unreasonable, unhealthy distractions. Good times.

How tough are you? Are you ever surprised by things that hurt way more than you would have expected? I like to think I'm pretty tough. I've taken some good punches to the face a few times in my life, and they felt surprisingly uneventful. I wouldn't call them comfortable, but they made sense.

Holy snapola! Right now, my computer is downloading the first videos I recorded both for Rudolph Strategies and for The Red Wolph Readings (specifically, Michael the Traveler )! Gracious, gracious people are in my life! What can I say except thank you?! Really, I'm not sure what to say! I'm excited! I'm thankful! I'm thankful and excited! I'm about to start making videos!

I tried to write a poem last night. It felt forced. I want to fear that my poetry soul has died or fallen asleep, but I think I was just pushing too hard for a certain theme. Usually, the way it works is that I feel an internal pressure, the need to write a poem, so I set myself to it. I'll pick some random phrase that pops into my head, and the poem usually finds itself.

I need to write a poem, but I am at least double distracted right now: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. 1, 3, 4, and 5 were all the same thing, but they work together so diligently and so subtly that they needed to be counted four times. I would just as soon count them four-hundred and ninety times, but there's no need to go down that path.

Well, alrighty then! Losing my mind losing my mind losing my mind! It's a song I sing often.

There's something magical about the internet. I'm thinking of Facebook specifically in this case. I can have some kinda tremendous motivation. I'm gonna write a blog post and an email and a poem. I'm gonna make dinner. I'm gonna send a résumé. I'm gonna work on my website. I'm gonna start my script. I'm gonna add a new chapter to my book. All these things! And then I scroll through the Facebook feed, and my motivation slips away like kissing a dementor. POW.

I recently wrote an exercise for Stephen King . A friend read it and, sadly, resonated with much of it. For the sake of anonymity, we will call this friend Joe. Graciously, Joe asked if it was just my great imagination or "did some of it describe your own experience?"

How does one foster a love of something in someone else? For example, how does a parent endow their child with a love of reading? I have a theory, and it's horribly simple (not easy, mind you, but simple):

Someday, perhaps. For now, have you ever been doing something (listening to a Pandora station for example hypothetically) that you know will distract you from working (writing for example hypothetically), but you don't want to do something else that's less distracting (listening to ocean sounds for example hypothetically)?

I sat and thought too long about the idea of writing another story sketch that I fizzled myself. Now, I shouldn't need — and I think I don't need — a comfortable starting place to begin a story sketch. It's become a bit more natural as I keep at it, so it's easier to sprout out from any random beginning. Still, it's late, I'm tired, and a story sketch may still happen. Either way, I needed to write. I even wanted to write. I actually always want to write. The only things holding me back are fears and such.

I need to write some kinda any kinda story, but I'm not focused enough, so I need to ramble first — or Brain Drain as I like to call it. What's on my mind? Nothing out of the ordinary, but you have probably noticed that we can handle the exact same set of thoughts differently, and it has a different impact on our experience of the day.

I don't know why my brain is always keeping me awake and making dumb choices! It's not like I don't take care of him. I feed him a good bit of reading regularly. I give him plenty of engaging tasks, lots of writing especially. I offer him a nice video-game dessert on occasion. I remind him of all the bad choices he ever made. I warn him about all the future catastrophes that could occur. And I make sure to drag him through irrational conversations that will never occur.

The world is still too big, but, sometimes, I'm ok with that. Sometimes, I can sit next to him like he's a big, friendly dragon. He gets upset occasionally, and he might accidentally kill me if he gets too worked up, but that's ok.

Sometimes, I fear I might develop a dependency on brain-draining/blogging before I write properly. I don't really think it's the case, but warmups are ideal when possible. I don't know what it is. I think I have a normal metabolism, a normal body temperature. At Starbucks, however, I always feel refrigerated. Sometimes, I don't even listen to music; I just use my headphones as earmuffs to insulate just a little bit more warmth.

Well, shoot. I've been reading "On Writing" by Stephen King, and he insists you gotta read and write like all the time. Here's the jankiest part: I love it! I mean, I've grown a bit lazy, a bit rusty these past 30 years. I'm not perfectly primed or well-oiled or what have you, but I embrace it. I embrace the assignment of reading and writing more.

I recently watched Kate & Leopold (though I had seen it before). In it, Leopold tells a young boy the exciting tale of piracy and romance — as presented in Pirates of Penzance . (Reportedly, he tells it wrong, but that's unimportant.) He delivers his story with inflection, motion, and charm.

Excuse me, old man at Starbucks. If you are making "six figures," you should be able to afford an office where you can have these boisterously loud conference calls. Starbucks should have sections like smoking or non-smoking: quiet or could-be-shot-in-the-dark-by-a-deaf-chimpanzee .

I'm trying to write about Starmada, but my brain is a mite distracted. This won't be very long or interesting. (She might have said something like that.) However, it serves the purpose. I'm sure I told you about Brain Drain — at least once some while ago. No, I am not referring to Brain Drain pills in the movie We're Back .

Have you ever met that kind of person that JUST scares you? You know they are safe and kind and mean well and pay their taxes and say please and thank you and smile and would buy you coffee if you asked, but they just scare you?

Well, snap! My next project is designing a creative writing class. I was gonna wing it together from scratch, but, now that I'm thinking about it, I should probably check out some of the writing books I've collected through the years. I suppose I can still format the sessions, set up the general tasks, or whatever.

Can I tell you something? I was recently called a trash panda, and it warmed my heart. I don't know if you've seen Guardians of the Galaxy 2 (I really recommend you do), but Peter Quill calls Rocket (the Raccoon) a trash panda when Rocket gets pissed about being called a raccoon. I've probably already told you this, but that pair of movies is deep in my heart. I love the mismatched family coming together in the first movie and sticking together in the second despite — or perhaps because of — their jarring differences.

Well, snap. I got myself distracted, so I have to work out of it again. I wasn't even trying not to focus, which is probably why I got foiled. I needed to try to focus. Whatever. Here I am, rambling again to ramble out the distraction. It's a bit of a waste of time, but sometimes you need to reset, restart, reload, or whatever.

Well, my friends, I might be teaching an origami class tomorrow. Set me back one year in time, and I'm just toying with the idea of tutoring on my own. In the here and now, I'm determined to tutor academic subjects, teach small classes, sell paintings, publish a book, and more. The future looks like a gritty pile of colorful adventures.

Well, hot crossed buns and mashed potatoes! The world is craaaaaazy! I might get my paintings hung up in a restaurant! Holy moly! What?! WHAT?! Holy moly. I don't know how to process that. It's crazy. In other news, I missed writing. I miss writing stories. I even wrote one recently, but I still miss it. I miss creating the worlds. I have so many worlds packed away in my heart, and I try so hard to talk about them to relieve the pressure inside.

I took a brief stroll through some woods today to pray and to think. I am 100% sure an elf could shoot me in the dark.

Do you ever devolve into un-productivity? It's an especially weird zone when you've been productive for most of the day. I did 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6: six or more useful things! (I don't remember them all.) I have one script for a short video. I've been meaning to write a second, but the drain has befallen me. There are a bunch of other tasks that are long-winded ongoing responsibilities, so I can't push them forward just now. So then what? I have reloaded Facebook too many times.

Well, snap! I might get to teach an origami class! I met with a lady at a place called the "Homegrown Facility," and we chatted about setting up some classes. It's always strange to imagine you'll get to do the things you actually like to do. I've had some great times sitting with random friends and acquaintances and working through making little paper thingies. We shall see!

There are so many weird things in our world these days. One of them is all the digital machinery that watches us. I agree that this is problematic in general, but, seriously folks, what do you have to hide? I imagine an NSA officer watching me:

Journaling! Writing! Scribbling! Wonderful things! It is always a delight to hear about someone who has recently stepped into making a habit of writing. It's not some mysterious magic that solves all your problems, but it is a wonderful way to sort your thoughts. Time and time again, I hear people say how helpful it was to write. I always recommend it.

Well, I am about to begin a script for a Rudolph Strategies video. Largely, I have been preparing: collecting my thoughts, getting input, and learning a few small skills. Partially, I have been avoiding it. Last night as I was tinkering around in my brain, I made up a little guideline: if you find that you've talked about doing a thing more than you've actually worked on the thing, it's time to attempt it — whatever stage it may be.

Well, snap, crackle, pop. Now is probably not the time to be starting a post, but I felt compelled. Truly, I shall not say anything extraordinary. Still, the world can sometimes seem so cruel and dark, but, sometimes, it can seem so full of potential, so full of healing.

We also have the prophetic message …, and you will do well to pay attention to it, as to a light shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts. (2 Peter 1:19) Sometimes, Scripture is kinda dry and historical: "He did this. This guy did that. They attacked each other. They claimed this much cattle. He begat children. They begat more children." Sometimes, it's epic: "Until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts."

Well, snap on a dog. It's amazing how much can change in so short a time. Obviously, there are seasons of change and seasons of stability. Still, it feels like my life has been roiling changes for the past many years. These past two years especially have been non-stop changes. I am a whole new creature like seven times over. I interact with others differently; I have different priorities; I have different goals; I have different fears; I have different confidence; I have different skills; I even have different music tastes!

There's nothing quite like it. Family: the place where you know you can be weird. The place where there are rough edges and abrasive conversations but always warmth and welcoming.

I'm not too focused right now. I just trudged through a lot of informational videos/slideshows for substitute teaching. One of the segments was 107  slides of legal jargon. The questions at the end didn't even have anything to do with all the blabbing! Ridiculousness.

I still don't want to write, but I don't feel death sick anymore, just a bit of a cold. I think it's wonderful to see the transition from <I don't feel like writing because I'm a whiny, cotton-headed ninny-muggins> to <I would like to write, but the snot has taken over my brain>.

Nathan : I don't want to write. Nathan : A little bit every day. N : Dude, I've been sick. The only thing coming out of my brain is snot. N : A little bit every day.

I haven't properly written in over a week! Shameful! I wrote some emails — even a few creative ones — but it's never quite enough. Anywho, Rudolph Strategies is coming along slowly but surely. I've spent the last few weeks discovering websites where I can create some kind of professional profile: thumbtack.com  for example. I've connected with a few people — but no jobs yet.

I have already completed a bunch of tasks today. One of my students will be starting up again soon. I have so much support from family and friends. I have a God who is strong to save. My car is still rolling. I have a future. My projects are forming, growing, progressing. I am being inspired to write, and I am inspiring others to write. Our circumstances are not the foundation of our joy, but — just as joy can be felt in dire times — joy can be felt in luxurious times as well.

It's an insane world I tell you. Insane! Really, I'm just insane, but it's hard to get outside of your brain. At least, it is for me. In any case, writing! Wut wut! 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 new people I have met who aspired to write but have shied away from it for one reason or another. It drives me half mad to hear how many amazing writers are hiding away from the calling.

I'm not sure if listening to metal would improve my writing or not. I'm listening to it now as I journal. I feel like it could improve my writing because it's energizing, almost safe. However, I think it might put me in a certain mood — a good mood but a specific, limited mood. I can't have all my chapters contain a hint of warfare in the background. It's tough to say, but I'm going to stick with ocean sounds.

Time. We often have funny perceptions of time, especially when it comes to the concept of eternity. Time is like a painting. Technically, one stroke is painted before another. At the end, however, no part of the painting IS   before any other. It's important to remember because I often get lost in one form or one color. Though the end product by no means devalues individual shapes, it makes no sense to get stuck on any one.

I'm feeling uncommonly normal. I broke down this morning and joined a gym. They're always talking about how physical activity will make you feel better and whatnot. Unfortunately, it did. I only did the elliptical thing for like half an hour, but, near the end of that half hour, I was sad that I had to leave.

As it turns out, I often distract myself. In this world of endless notifications and pings and bleeps and dings, there are too many opportunities to relinquish focus. Therefore, I'm experimenting with a thing: I have decided to embody my distraction. This idea was inspired by a friend who was advising me as I lamented about the distractions that blare inside my mind.

My goodness! I get myself worked up. There are voices in my head sure enough, but I definitely amplify them with my own mutterings. Do you know what I dream? I dream of silence: a real library or maybe even a monastery. Do you think monasteries let just anybody in? I need it.

Well, poop on a scoop. I don't have many minutes, but my brain was feeling crazy, and I needed to get words out. I think, sometimes, we don't take magic very seriously. Obviously, you could give it names like physiology, psychology, physics and whatnot, but, at the end of the day, it's magic.

I haven't been very productive today. Granted, I distracted myself with a lot of trivial things. However, it's also hard to concentrate in a lightly refrigerated room. I am now sitting on the side porch, and I love staring out into our thin woods. It doesn't matter the setting in whatever I'm writing; outside is always better.

Freakin' awesome! My little brother gave me all the good input for stuff and things, and Michael the Traveler is going to be awesome now! I mean, I like to think he's already awesome, but I'm looking forward to giving him visuals and sound effects.

Ho-ly mo-ly. I haven't written in like forever! I have been writing, but not enough writing. Never enough writing. I did manage a total of 4500 words this past Tuesday and Wednesday; that was pretty satisfying. And, by gum, a friend has been greatly encouraging in that regard!

Any time I don't write for a few days, it feels like such a long time. My friends, fear is crippling. Have you read Dune by Frank Herbert? It was a great book turned into a great movie turned into a great computer game . Like every good story—especially science-fiction story—it has some trippy things going on, but, with every good story, there are some bold lessons to be drawn out.

Ah, science: such a beautiful method. I wonder when it became a religion. I was chatting with a fine gentleman who clarified for me that it is not as monolithic as a religion but rather just scattered emoters banding together to feel some kind of solidarity.

Have you ever been told (by an email or otherwise) to write a multi-column list or some such about strengths, weaknesses, etc.? Just now, I was directed to write a three-column list with Old Identity New Identity What would I believe differently about myself if I believed I really were this new person?" It actually turned out really well.

I am visiting a new library, and it is much quieter and cozier than the Southampton library. There is an older gentleman at a table to my left who is working on a 2000 piece jigsaw puzzle. He grabs a handful of pieces every so often to plop them on his table as he sorts them into categories. It feels a bit chilly. It seems unusual how often places are refrigerated — as opposed to air-conditioned.

It's a funny planet. Have you ever been caught between a rock and a hard place ? (The phrase is a bit quirky, but it gets the job done.) What do you do? My current strategy is to keep my head down and charge faster. I don't know how effective it will be, but—and I've thought pretty hard about it—I can't devise a better approach.

I am on the verge of making videos! I got some exceedingly great input from a fine, upstanding gentleman named Andrew. Thus, I have ordered the recommended equipment and will be exporting crazy stuff rather soon! Via the same man's input, I also discovered iMovie for free (since I purchased a slightly-new used Mac a little while ago). It's a wonderful program that is very, very approachable. I'm looking forward to beginning a number of projects: education videos, narrating one of my novels, recording my few songs, and a couple other ideas.

I got a binder for my student! I had been asking him forever to get a few items that would help him organize his life (a binder, dividers, and loose-leaf paper), but I can understand how intimidating it is to step through barriers like that. I can understand how daunting it is to go from disorganization to organization without any kind of hand-holding.

I have a subtle but great triumph! that I can't quite share in the public forum. For some reason, I feel more tired but definitely less squelched. I even finished a book and started a new one! Brave New World —I'm sorry to admit—was anticlimactic. It did an intriguing job of illuminating the traps we've created for ourselves, but it was hard (nearly impossible) to invest in any of the characters. Let me linger on its virtues, however: hypnopaedic learning, zygote manipulation, and the sexual revolution. (When I say virtues, I mean to say virtuous condemnation.)

'Tis relatively late, and I have had a relatively unproductive day—and it was so worth it. I even took a brief nap, and it wasn't one of those naps where you wake up in a different time-zone feeling like everything went wrong. Rather, it felt like a brief but much-needed rest. Boom.

I slept extra poorly and had a late, grimy start. I am thankful for God's nature though. We have a side porch that is covered and looks out into a small grove of trees. It has rained most of today, so it's clean and cool outside. Birds are tweeting, and raindrops are pattering; it's the best kind of quiet. Thankfully, the neighbors are not blasting their misplaced music across the neighborhood, so I have a cocoon of nature and focus.

Google Drive, kids: it's not that hard. I can understand the computer illiterate disliking switching from a normal PC to Google stuff, but I'm talking about full-grown, under-40 adults struggling with Google Drive. There is no excuse.

I don't feel like writing again. Well, I do, but I don't feel like making sense. In other words, I want to write for Michael the Traveler, but I got him stuck on an island, and the plot seems too sticky. I don't know why I keep trying to turn him into something sensible. Nobody needs that kind of shenanigan. I like that he has a sensible core, an approachable theme, but I never wanted him to abide by the laws of physics or logic or any such gobbledegook.

Smoothies are amazing. I don't feel like writing. Have you ever had the experience where someone's job is a certain skill, but you always see that someone doing almost the exact opposite of that skill, and it's really an easy skill that does indeed require energy but not a whole lot of expertise? What do you do with such individuals?

Oh, snap. Well, I went hiking. It murdered my little, baby calves, but the friends with whom I got to share the adventure are the best friends a man could hope to have. They were definitely very gracious to me since I was the weakest link in the chain. I learned too many lessons—or at least observed learnable lessons. (I'm not the best learner sometimes.)

Hullabaloo, I tell you. Hullabaloo. I haven't written in like forever. I haven't blogged anyway. I write a lot, and it almost counts, but it's never enough. It was strange. I recently realized most of my creative writing exercises are about being trapped:

Holy moly cajoley! Last week was pretty busy. I had two of my paintings in an art show! I felt super cool with my paintings in frames on a wall at a show where serious people looked at serious paintings. I felt like a proper artist or something, and people keep saying they like my paintings, so I'm starting to like my own paintings, and it's quite an experience.

I'm quite distracted, and I don't feel like writing. I just feel like playing Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag, but I don't have it. Sadness. I've never built a business before, but it seems to take quite a long time—even though five months is a surprisingly short time to start a viable business. I don't know.

Too many thoughts, but things are going well. I've probably told you a few times now, but I feel things catastrophically. It's not always quite so bad as that, but I often feel things vividly. God grants me grace, and I can often ingest the feelings and let them pass through me.

Did I ever tell you that I'm crazy? It reminds me of a line from Jack Sparrow in Pirates of the Caribbean:

Well, per usual, I'm distracted. I'm not even sure by what exactly, but it could be the noisy machines with which I fill my life, or it could be the quiet excitement about burgeoning opportunities. I like reading a lot! Like so much! Like super much! I may have told you how I set a book on fire because it stalled me for so long! Over a year, and I still hadn't finished that book.

It shows when you don't follow directions. I gave one of my students a number of tasks to complete between our sessions. Admittedly, it was a lot of tasks, but they were pretty simple and not very time-consuming. The tasks had to do with writing — specifically in preparation for completing a quality essay.

Today has been great! I wrote to a lot of schools that said they don't have tutor lists for parents anymore. I have decided I will politely pester their people until something productive happens.

Hashtag winning! I don't know why I said that. I guess I'm excited. I joined a webinar where a lady taught about making webinars, which is my next big objective. A dear friend named Ree was the encouraging lady who first gave me that grand idea. It makes perfect sense, but, when you're trying to adjust just about every dial in your life, some wonderful opportunities get missed. The webinar was obviously selling a webinar-help package, but there was still so much juicy advice already for free!

I only have a few minutes until I must be going, and I really would much prefer writing a story, but I can't write for Meadowvale, and Michael has started to take on a proper plot. I almost want to write about Allaria of The Menagerie . Honestly, I want to write about them all: Uelken , Xeif , and  Kaz  (though I think those three are the same man), Allaria of course, the dragon wakening , and so many more!

Well, poop on a scoop: things cost money! Car repairs, man: sheesh. In other news, I recently burned a book. I was trying to read The Name of the Rose ; really I was. I think I had been trudging through that novel for over a year. I started to fear my love of reading had dried up or at least grown weary; I really couldn't understand why a single book would take me so long. Then, one chilly day, the 10th of March, I decided to set a lot of things on fire—including a tree and that book. Since then (in under three weeks), I have read four books and am well into a fifth!

I don't know how to make my email work! I got a url for my business: rudolphstrategies.com . I'm just trying to set up one email, but GoDaddy is like "noooo." As it turns out, I'm not smart enough to establish one email. Sigh. In other news, Rambling has been such a blessing to me. Granted, I don't unleash my deepest, darkest thoughts. Nevertheless, it's been such a grand source of freedom. So many people, too many people say you can't do everything at once—in a blog, as a job, etc. For a time, I thought, "Shoot, I can't do everything at once." Then, I remembered how helpful naysayers are, and now I have to do everything at once. The only concession I'll make is that I have to do one thing at a time instead of concurrently. Still, I'm going to do all the things. You can't stop me. Boom.

I don't know why more people don't have scarves. They're so comfortable, they're so warm, and (in most cases) they're so stylish. I don't know how I lived before scarves. I don't think I did. I think I was dying. In aaaaany case, there's a huge difference between old people and old  people (notice the italics). The former is a person who is numerically old, which is merely a number-line comparison. The latter is a person who has become one or more form of crotchety.

Productivity is such a strange thing—mainly because I can't always remember what I did. In part, I think my memory may be a little wonky. For the most part, however, I think I just move on when I complete a task. Often, I'll be asked, "So what did you do today?" I'll know I did things. There are slots throughout my day that I know were full, but I can't remember all the bits and pieces. And then I feel embarrassed because I make my own schedule, and, if I can't remember exactly what I did, I probably didn't do enough, and then I'm wasting my time, and my business is failing! It's not even remotely that bad, but I like to panic. It seems that a lot of people like to panic. I don't know why we're so fond of it. There are solutions galore if you slow down and look for them.

I can never write enough! Seriously. Even when I don't want to write, it's only because I don't want to write for Michael or Meadowvale, but I feel guilty about trying to excuse anything else. It was charming: I was having lunch with my old boss yesterday. He was telling me about his business, his family, a book he's reading, etc. I got to tell him about my little business, my extracurricular activities, and some of my stories (especially my elemental series!). He exclaimed, "You're so creative. You have more creativity in your little finger than I have in my whole body." It was very kind of him to say that.

Fortunately and unfortunately, Michael has started to take on a shape. I still want to use his story as an exercise of freedom, but logic is trying so hard to take hold of it. It's not exactly bad, but it makes me think too hard. I think his story has great promise and could be used for something lucrative someday, but I really didn't want it to be a proper craft. I really wanted it to be like an extension of rambling. I wanted it to be a deeper expression in the form of fiction. Sure enough, each chapter has been eerily reminiscent of pieces of my life, and I'm starting to lose track of when my life forms the story or when the story forms my life.

As it turns out, the world is still too big, and I am just this guy. It's both frustrating and encouraging to see how poorly I control my emotions. Frustrating only in the sense that everyone pretends they can control their emotions, so I feel like I should be able to too. Encouraging because I'm realizing that control should not be preventative; rather, it should guide.

Holy snapola! Not today, but, some day, I shall have to teach you of the scientific method. Honestly, I think I'm going to have to write a book about it. A bit of a preface though: there is much talk about "science" and how it "proves" things. First of all, proof  only exists if you are making presuppositions. (If you can recall geometry  proofs , you needed "givens.") Science never proves; it only provides supporting evidence. Next, science requires the scientific method—not just a hodgepodge of bold claims and sensitive emotions. Not last but quite possibly most important, scientific results need to be repeatable. Otherwise, it doesn't even count as supporting evidence.

Dang it. I was distracting myself with useless memes when some self-respecting-looking bloke sits next to me, so I have to pretend like I'm useful too. Srsly. In other news, distractions are tough, but that's why I have Rambling . A dear friend was asking me how my writing has developed over the years. One of the most striking turning points was when I started Rambling . A bloke named Ericsson said any person who practices any skill for 10,000 hours will become an expert at it. That is easily disproved, but there is an undeniable correlation between frequent practice and noticeable improvement.

Too many distractions. Also, I'm obsessive. This is good when I have plenty to do as it keeps me focused. This is bad when I don't have enough to do as it turns me manic. You should try it sometime. I think I woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. I actually made a point of shifting to the left side of my bed last night because I wanted to see if it changed my sleep. I feel like I was soundly unconscious for a longer time, but I woke up feeling disoriented and anxious. When I sat down to work, I felt so unmotivated. I started some brainless tasks, which built some momentum.

Oh snap! The world is wild, and so am I. It happened again: Sunday, I despaired. Monday, I was hopeful. Today, I am filled with a weird kind of excitement determination. Like I said, my emotions swing all over the place. I haven't learned how to control them, but I am learning how to stay on the path while my heart thrashes about. I'm looking forward to writing about my water elementals. I'm looking forward to writing so many stories. First, I have to establish Rudolph Strategies . Then, I can write full force.

I've been working with a few gentlemen toward the end of establishing a youth group. We have very few kids in our church, so we're collaborating with a number of other churches to provide a place where all our kids can come together and play, eat, learn, and get to know Christ. I invited one of our youth leaders (we'll call him Bob) to host the chat for this coming youth group since our main guy will be out of the country that weekend. At first, Bob was politely reluctant. Eventually, he shared that he has a lot of academic responsibilities that would make it difficult to prepare for youth group.

Well, bloody. I'm not sure what God is trying to teach me, but I'm not quite a fan of it. And then I read this: "For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it" (Hebrews 12:11). I hope there's not much more to be gained from my current predicament; I am quite ready to move on.

Who is +1-ing my things?! It's a mystery. In other news, it was practically spring earlier this week. Now, it's snowing. If global warming is as severe as some report, bring it on. I kinda like catastrophic solutions. If the sun burns us all, well there ya go. But, if Waterworld becomes a thing, I may still get a chance to be a proper pirate. I've only been on the ocean a few times—and I never had any real boat responsibilities—but I love the water, the waves, the salt, the air, the freedom. I don't know where I belong. Sometimes, I belong in latin dancing. Sometimes, I belong on the ocean. Sometimes, I belong in the future as a cyborg. I think that's why I'm writing Michael: he belongs everywhere, and, because of that, he belongs nowhere. But he can still travel anywhere; he can still thrive anywhere.

I don't have much time because I want to write some literature, but I needed to do a warmup since my focus is a bit unfocused.

Sometimes, I really do feel crazy. Did you see the movie Gladiator? At one point, Commodus, the insane emperor, says, "All my desires are splitting my head to pieces." I don't think I'm quite as insane as he was, but my head does often feel split to pieces.

I want to write a random story—not Michael stuff just now—but my mind is cluttered with useful and useless things. Fun fact: if you want to write, you have to exercise. Lemme splain you: If you've ever played a sport in school or elsewhere, you most likely did this magical thing called a "warmup." It was to get your muscles ready for a real workout or a real practice or a real game. Just like the body, the mind also benefits from getting a warmup.

Holy moly! The brains are too much! And I can never write enough! And I really need to get something published so that I can excuse more writing, but somehow I excuse Netflix... Have you ever had that syndrome where you feel embarrassed about spending your time on something that you really love because you think someone will believe you're wasting your time while at the same time you waste your time on trivial things like Netflix because it's a commonly accepted waste?

A bumbling brain so full of distractions. The main thing on my mind at the moment is setting up my little online classes. I have to speak with a lady named Ree because she knows things! Excuse me while I email her quickly...

Holy snapola! Michael the Traveler might become a thing! I've submitting the first three chapters to a small company called Tapas . Thank you to those of you who have given such encouragement about the story.

I saw a little video about penguins that asked how they have survived. They seem like hobbling, clumsy creatures. I then realized they are one of the most poetic creatures. They are birds, so, technically, they belong in the sky–but they cannot fly. They breathe air, so their next option is to live on the ground—but they have short, clumsy legs. They can't breathe underwater—but that is where they soar. They are torn between three elements and thrive in the least likely of them. Beautiful.

I think we would all be surprised how convinced we can be of some facts that really aren't true. These phantoms enter our mind, and we cling to them for various reasons; the most common reason is probably our aversion to being wrong. I misconstrue a lot of things in my mind. I haven't quite learned how not to muddle things yet, but I'm getting better at holding my tongue until someone confirms or denies the notion that lingers in my brain.

Someday, I dream of having a study. I want at least one large window or two medium windows. I want shelves along every wall. There will be a cushy chair in one corner where I can read comfortably or take small snoozes. I'll have a tall desk so I can actually put my legs underneath it; it will need lots of drawers too. My chair will be slightly soft or perhaps just sturdy wood. I've found it's usually easier to focus on a hard chair. My desk will be relatively tidy since I'll pile most of my junk on the many shelves.

I did a bit of research, and Blogger is going to serve my purposes better. Honestly, I'm relieved: I didn't feel like switching over a whole new set of thingies. I got rid of my old email address (ZadokNauthiz@gmail.com), so I had to transfer calendar, pictures, documents, and way too many other things. At the end it was freeing and worth it, but it was still an ordeal. I wouldn't want to learn a whole new blogging system.

I'm feeling distracted, but I think I might always feel distracted. I'm slowly trying to learn how to stop bombarding my own brain with noise (audial, visual, etc.). I've developed the unfortunate habit of watching Netflix most evenings before going to bed. I have a large pile of books that I have to read — even want to read — that are collecting lonely dust.

Monday, I chose to clean my room violently, for it was a multitude of mess. Yesterday, therefore, was my first proper day working for myself. I got a new student, wrote notes for an old one, began my application for substitute teaching, submitted the documents for supervising visits, wrote an email to a young-adult fiction editor, and a few other things. Before I wrote that all down, I felt like I had been unproductive. Hmm. In any case, I wanted to encourage all you folks: