I think I'll be dialing things back a bit, turning in new directions, and trying to spice up the blog of life... or at least, the blog of my life.  Less weepy, whiny, self-opining, nostalgia drama.  More pictures, day-to-day, and fun fun fun fun.  Even Rebecca Black would be proud.

Actually, my daily web browsing introduced me to some 52 writing prompts, and I think I'll start doing those each Wednesday.  A "Writing Wednesday" if you will.  Name subject to change, of course. Anywho, let's get to the pictures.

This is a picture of the top of my computer monitor at work.  Toy soldiers.  Arguably the best toy for little boys everywhere.  I got this from an arcade that I went to with her, though I honestly can't remember the name or place.  It might've been the old GameWorks that was at the Pike, but is now noticeably absent (though there's a nice $1 book store down there!).

These were some of the cheapest items you could redeem for and for good reason.  Looking at the above, the guy on the left seems alright.  The guy in the middle, tossing the grenade, has a wonky base.  And the guy on the right looks like he came out of a cartoon.  Just look how the nozzle of his gun is drooping!  But before you think Commander Green is doing alright, make sure you get a closer look.


Those are some of the worst bug-eyes I've ever seen!  Sorry for the fuzzy pic, my camera finger isn't used to such bloggy-photography.  Not seen in either of these pics, the grey soldier's eye is sliding off his face.

The ironic part is, despite these being poorly made toys, I kind of like having them hanging around the office.  They were certainly not my first choice for office decoration (I'll probably share more of it later on), but there's a nice sense of playfulness they bring.  I can daydream and imagine that they are giving me covering fire while I make a phone call or that they are on lookout for when my boss drops by my desk.

Or I can just laugh at the cheap paint job.  At ease, soldiers!

This was a post I intended to make last Friday, but time got away from me.  Or rather moody selfishness did, but that's a tale for another time.

Friday was a terrible day for me.  Just one of those foul-mooded, rotten, wish I had stayed in bed, kind of days.  The days where other people reap rewards, but in return you just feel even more miserable.  Flashes of green, wailing cries of broken dreams, and all that is usually included with such sour visitations.

Friday was terrible.  But leave it to her to snap me out of it.

That's one of the things that annoys me about her.  She has this nasty habit of not letting me stew over such mired emotions.  As a resident depressant, I must contend that I enjoy letting deep seated feelings of hurt boil and bubble.  There's none of that now, but that's what makes her significant.  She has the gentle touch to viscerally rip me away from such dark place.

It caused me to stop and ponder over the term "significant other," and where it applies in the matrix of relationships.  To offer up my own definition, a significant other is the kind of person who reads you instantly.  When I step in the door, it's no mystery to her just exactly what I'm feeling.  Likewise, a significant other knows how to affect those feelings.  I know the kinds of words I can use to help or harm her, as comic books often remind us... "With great power comes great responsibility."  It's the type of person that can make you want something you didn't want.  The type of person that can pull you up from a low point.  The type of person that will stop the clock and enter a midsection in the space of cosmic reality with you, leaving you the comfort and emotional assistance necessary to both grieve and grow. Words do little to describe with what incredible expertise these persons use wordless deeds.

I'm often one to champion her as some tantamount elevation in my personal existence, and it should come as no surprise since it inhabits part of the title of this blog.  But largely, I feel it is simply my duty to uphold and cherish her.  It is not perfection that I describe, but rather the imperfect joys and revelations of a relationship so finely crafted and designed that dares to touch upon the outskirts of perfection.  It may not be perfection, but it is perfectly-suited for me.

For the last couple days, I've found myself starting a new trend.  When I get home from work, I change out of my business attire and immediately put away yesterday's dishes, wash any new dishes, and clean out both cat boxes.  It's "amazing" to her, but I can't see what is incredible about doing a daily task.

I know too well that as soon as I sit down on the couch; I'm leaving all responsibility behind.  I don't want to be sitting there, watching the judging eyes of the digital clock, constantly chastising me for idleness.  I don't want to be lazily admitting "Just one more episode of Friends" before it's far too late for me to lift a finger.  Plus, I want to live in the "now."

If I have a task to do, I want to get up and do it.  I'm a grown-up and I get to set my own priorities, and I want to have the integrity to see them through.  If I'm going to do the dishes every day, then I am going to do them.  It's an oddly empowering feeling.  Some might view it condescendingly or consider it a punishment, but there is a real sense of purpose when I come home, finish my tasks, and busy myself with entertaining, extracurricular activities.  The positive sensation is what encourages me to keep with it.  And while it's too early to tell if I'll continue these jobs in such a timely fashion, I can't but help appreciate their regular completion for the time being.

Besides, if it makes her happy, it can't be that bad.

My boarded ship of dreams sets sail

There's nothing quite like a new year to make an introvert turn introspective, though granted it doesn't take much to spur an inspection of an introverted life.

In years past, I've had a tendency to dwell on what I was not or could not be.  I wasn't popular.  I couldn't be cool.  I wasn't funny.  I couldn't be social.  High school was a trying time, and I was largely a shadow of who I have become.  It is an often told story of how it wasn't a joyous time.

I always wanted to be one of those cool or arty people. The ones who would divide cinemas between "film" and "movies," offering some air of elegant arrogance concerning all things evocative.  Be it art, music, or more.  But I grew up in a stable home with no cable.  I didn't have MTV or IFC to watch at night, let alone a TV or sound system in my bedroom.  Sure, I expressed interest.  I even feigned interest in things I knew little about (or barely comprehended).  There's nobody better at saving face for being ignorant of something than me (I do it quite frequently to this day).  Truth be told, I was in to all those things that sixteen-year-olds who smoked were into.  Only I never smoked or visited record stores or smuggled liquor to church outings.  I guess I didn't have the credentials to really fit in.  I didn't ride a bike or have much money.  I was just an amorphous blob that sponged life from others' interests.

Over time, I've grown in different directions.  Now I'm the "game" guy.  All things games.  Board, computer, video, card, you name it.  If it's a game, it'll probably pique my interest. To be honest, it scares me a little bit how into games I've become.  In the absence of hobbies or active social life (like high school or college), I guess it isn't surprising an activity I often do alone has become so primary in my life. Now I'm that guy who wears funny shirts, whom you roll your eyes at when he talks. A bit surprising coming from someone who once wished that he might leave a profound impact somewhere in his life (hopefully more profound than a witty shirt's anthem).

Despite my better efforts, there are some things I have long thought impossible that I've attained.  I'm married, living with cats, and on my way to hopefully owning a house within a few years.  I was lucky enough to attend E3, which is considered the largest expo in the video game industry.  It has been exciting to be me.  But sometimes I still wander down the road of who I could be.  The number of funny shirts in my wardrobe has declined, though I am hesitant to fully discard such a self-comforting attire.

And there are still things I think I cannot be or will not.  Some days I still want to be arty or into the scene of the day.  Some days I would like to be all a buzz with social media, running an interesting and exciting blog and twitter feed.  But there are other days I know this is not what I am and not what I ever will be. Pinterest annoys me, Instragram is frustrating, and I seriously will never understand the fascination with owls or other fashionable animal life of the day/month/year.

I am what I am.  I'm glad that I am, but more frankly I'm glad that it makes her glad.