March 11, 2014

I believe today’s feeling of hope has to be as simple as positive reinforcement. I wrote (and posted) yesterday’s words out of fear and disappointment that I had let myself down. It was not exaggerated but it was exposing. So much so that I had to question if it was worth showing publicly.

I still have doubts about it, mainly because it paints me in one of two lights. According to how the post is interpreted, I’m either a manic depressive or extremely egotistical. I don’t even hope I fall in between the two. I just hope I’m neither.

Starting, therefore, is nothing more than another outlet. It is not intended to be a blog. It is not intended to be updated every day. Or ever. I may never write on it again. The only thing I will continue to do is write. For no one but myself.

I have now written at least 750 words every day consecutively for almost one year. Shout out to for being the inspiration and vessel for my words. The anniversary of this will come later this month.

Most of the time, I write garbage. There are times when I can think of nothing else to put on paper (or screen) besides the goings-on in my life, be it fantasy sports, video games, or random thoughts that appear and disappear in the middle of the night. In essence, it has become my journal. I am now Doug from my childhood. Tina is Patty Mayonnaise.

Throughout this writing, a few gems have appeared. Every once in a while, I would like to share them. Almost every single time, they are underdeveloped and don’t fit anywhere. The simple answer to post them on Facebook, but it doesn’t quite work that way. Long “status updates” don’t make sense in blog format, especially when taken out of context. This was the genesis of making some of my “journal” entries a little more public.

And what happens when I want to write about sports? I spent an entire day breaking down the American League Central division this year (to myself) and why I think the White Sox and Twins will surprise people (specifically Chicago). What do I do with that information? Tweet about “watch out for the ChiSox in ’14!” Maybe. But again, out of context.

I tried this before, and failed. (That should actually be my motto, as it has been written countless times in the past 350 days of consecutive writings…) I started a website of random blogs and, like many things I do, changed directions and had to start over. This will be attempt three. But again, “this” is not “that”.

This is not a blog. It is not even a journal. It is the only way I can share some thoughts. It will barely be edited. It will contain no pictures. The site itself will eventually become a host for the work I have done (videos, drawings, writings, etc.) only because I want a centralized location that I know won’t change going forward.

I urge you not to read most of what I write here. It serves no purpose and will provide no literary benefits. It will only provide an outlet for my thoughts. The only reason some will now be public, the only difference between this site and, is for me to break through my own barriers.

I may not even link most of what I write, unless it has a direct audience or purpose. I will not obsess over updating this, or make any effort to stay on track. For the past year, this is how I have written. And it has made me feel good, despite the content at times.

I will not update this site. I will not worry about its maintenance. I will simply write and share what I believe deserves to be outside my mind. This will be my challenge. I will do this and only focus on writing.

For me.

Mar10, 2014

Things matter to me.

Like that first sentence. It’s incorrect. It’s incomplete. Things matter *too much* to me.

Now it is correct.

I have had my bouts with milk. I have lost all of them. And cried when they spilled. The only positive that has come from milk containers is the printout of the expiration date.

“Mar10”, it once said. “That’s my name!” I replied to the container that would most likely end up in the pantry. Or on the floor.

Since then, I have celebrated “Mario day” each year. Every time, I try to do something memorable for myself. Past years have included opening a Twitter account and announcing when Tina was pregnant two years ago. Both events were life-changing.

More importantly, both things mattered. As does everything, with me.

This year was going to be perfect. Mar10, 2014 was going to line up perfectly with my 1,000th tweet as well as some things I have been writing for a long time. Planets aligned, tweets were counted, calculated, and held back.

And nothing life-changing occurred.

Work swallowed me for the past week. Deadlines I wanted to hit for my own personal goals were all missed. Pile after pile piled onto my piles until I was left under one pile. I don’t even think an archaeologist could verify the age of each pile, as the lines between layers are all blurred now.

This bothered me. It still bothers me. It makes me angry and upset to write this because it bothers me. It makes me upset that things matter so much to me.

Unfortunately, even that is a lie. It doesn’t make me upset that I care so much. It may be an extreme annoyance and disappointment at times, but it doesn’t bother me. In fact, it is what I consider my best quality.

I care.

I really really care.

I care that I don’t have something important to say on a Monday in March. I care that things I have worked towards personally had to put on hold. I care that I might lose Billy Hamilton in my fantasy draft. I care that I might have to take Jeter out of gratitude.

I’ve had this conversation with Tina hundreds of times, and she phrases it more poetic than I. Where I call it “unnaturally and unhealthy level of caring,” she calls it “passion”. We both have it.

And so does Hayley.

That is my biggest accomplishment. The single greatest flaw in my personality is also the thing about which I am most proud, and I see it every day in my little legacy. She is determined beyond comprehension, a level of stubborn that borders on conviction. She is strong-willed. She is tough.

She is passionate.

She will cry when she spills her milk. She will laugh when daddy slips on it and falls. She will care way too much about things that don’t really matter. But she will always love hard.

In fact, she won’t cry at the milk, because she laughs about how she spills it on her own accord. She won’t laugh at daddy, because she will come over and ask if I need a “Kees?”, because she cares about me. She will do what she pleases because she works hard for the outcome.

She will do great things.

Hopefully, I will too. I just need to learn from her and meet my next deadline.

As always, thank you for reading.

And thank you for caring.