There is a concept (new to me) I was introduced to last summer: opportunity cost.

For some background, I come from a family where everyone looks before they leap. And analyze. And weigh all of the pros and cons. And miss the opportunities. Enough to where it’s no wonder I miss opportunities and think so little of it.

Don’t pay someone to fix something you can fix yourself. What a colossal waste of money!

What about that colossal waste of time?

As such, my ancestors have rarely, if ever, embraced the idea that risk is your friend. It’s important to keep that “good” job. Freelancing is too risky. Buy a house and settle down. Collect things and stuff. Don’t invest though, that’s too risky.

So, here I am. I want to see the world so bad I can almost taste that adorable Thai girl who’s falling in love with me. Almost.

Yet, I have no money. And a lot of shit. And a house.

And a dream.

Anyway, circling back… I have not yet launched into my new role as a world traveler. There is always another excuse. My “stuff” has “value.” I don’t know the language. This girl just asked me to move in with her. There’s a pandemic.

Excuses really are like assholes.

It seems a lot of my friends are wiser with cash… and far less lazy than I. Or are they?

Ultimately, I decided to wait and sell everything before venturing out into the world. And my laziness has become apparent. So, I found someone to handle selling my estate. I have someone to handle selling my house. The cost of the opportunity is finally less than the value of my stuff.

Within reach is my ability to spend a summer working a seasonal job in a touristy lake land and stack some cash, while other people handle my affairs back home and lighten my load for officially wandering overseas as the pandemic subsides.

And if I can live with one or two lovely young ladies in the interim, well that’s just icing on the cake.

Maybe, just maybe, my subconscious has known what it’s doing throughout these past months of “no progress.” Regardless, I am excited about what’s next to come.

Since childhood, I’ve been—pardon the expression—fascinated with Mr. Spock.

Indeed, Star Trek was one of the first, well, everything, I was exposed to. I recall watching the reruns with my cousin Mark while my Aunt Margie babysat me. I recall my first exposure to the wonders of VCR at my Uncle Kerry’s... and his collection of most (all?) episodes of Star Trek on VHS. I recall setting my VCR to capture Star Trek off of local television while I was in high school—effectively acquiring my own collection of every episode.

Everything about the show was cool. The optimistic and utopic future. Captain Kirk’s suaveness. And so many lovely ladies.

Then, there was Mr. Spock. Half-Vulcan. Each half at war with the other. Struggling with his emotions. His desires. And with logic. Logic always prevailed.

As a teen with raging hormones, I opted to err towards logic as well. Fuck emotions. And pain.

Pain is a thing of the mind. The mind can be controlled.

Fast forward to now. This battle still rages within me. By choosing logic, I tend to spend most waking time in my head. Awareness, is there, yet I miss subtle nuances. I fail to let my passions get the better of me.

Usually with the fairer sex.

And to think I thought I was cool by not succumbing to so many desires. Oh, what a fool I’ve been.

For women are lovely. And women love sex. And passion. And desire. And whenever any of these things rear their head (pun intended), “logic” kicks in, and next thing I know I’m evaluating the pros and cons, and asking all of the “why would she...?” questions.

And like Spock (in most of the scenarios), I am alone. And mostly content with being alone.

However, once in a while some passion with a lovely young lady would be nice.

No, really. They are.

Life is fleeting. Yet so many wait until death is lurking before they realize it.

Stop being stupid.

Eat. Sleep. Shit. Fuck.

This. This is what we are here to do. Not to live in our heads. Not to imagine dreams unrealized.

Stop wasting your time. Stop wasting her time.

Eat chocolate cake once in a while. Sleep when you feel like it. Fuck the shit out of that gorgeous girl with the brown eyes and pierced nipples.

Stop playing games. We’re not here to win. We’re here to have meaningful experiences with special people.

If you like her—tell her. If you don’t like her—tell her that too... better than wasting her time.

And ladies, if you don’t like me? Tell me. Don’t waste my time trying to spare my feelings... I’ll survive. Until I don’t.

And if you want to fuck? What are you waiting for? Don’t waste our time playing the game and waiting for that moment—when you’re really just waiting for one of us to mess up and implode everything. Or until one of us dies.

Memento Mori. We’re not here forever. Stop being so stupid. Stop wasting everyone’s time. Fuck or move on.

I don’t think about you at all.

Most days.

Yet...

Some days, like today, I wonder.

I wonder what happened. I wonder how an electrical connection like we shared can just be

Severed.

Beauty. And brains. You taught me something.

You taught me that what women feel... what women say... is not the same as what men feel. What men say. That there are no harmless girls. That one’s everything can be another’s nothing.

That we can go from talking all day to being strangers.

And THAT is the fundamental difference between the sexes. THAT is why I’ll always err on the side of biology, yet I’ll do it with love and respect.

Will I underestimate a woman again? Probably...

Every day, I get better though. That’s all I can do. Get better.

The world is full of amazing women. Women with beauty. And brains.

You are special though. You might have even become my favorite.

Special? Yes. Unique? Erm... wait.

Maybe.

Yet I’m certain I’ll meet another. There’s an entire world out there. Full of women who’d love to meet someone like me. Of course, that requires going outside.

Most days, I don’t think about you at all. Most days.

What i'm listening to:

Give Your Heart a Break
Demi Lovato
Unbroken

Frequently, on this path of development, I have to remind myself I don’t need to understand everything.

Information is power? Knowledge is power?

Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe that is nonsense.

The need to understand becomes an excuse for analysis paralysis. Full stop. Don’t do anything without understanding all of the implications of the decision.

A fool’s errand, indeed.

It is easy to get distracted. Much of non-fiction out there is about our terrific leaders and innovators who had the foresight to do amazing things and make few, if any, missteps.

What if it isn’t foresight? What if they just tried something... and it worked?

However, there is value in having the right mindset for the game we’re all playing. The game of life is not like a sporting event. There are no winners or losers. After I’m dead and gone, whether I have a legacy to contribute or not, the game will continue on without me.

Without you too.

Yet, we still struggle in life. Change is all around us—possibly the only thing all around us. We like our creature comforts, and we resist this change.

For instance, there’s this young lady I know. She doesn’t believe in binary genders, and therefore does not want to be referred to as “she” or “her,” but rather “they” or “them.”

Her their reasoning... is honestly none of my business. I have entertained the possibility of going out for drinks and asking the question, “Why?”

And we are friends. I’m certain I would receive a clear and well-constructed answer—one that might even help me adapt to this change and flub up... less.

However, the reason doesn’t really matter. That I respect this person does.

It doesn’t matter that I have visions of angry nuns poised with steel rulers—ready to swat me at any “misuse” of my pronouns.

As far as the many facets of the game of life... does my perception of using pronouns correctly really matter? Perhaps, it is more advantageous to respect others to whom which pronoun is used matters.

Doubtless, when I am on auto-pilot... and those moments do happen... I will still refer to biological genders. It is a habit. Yet I hope they know that I still love them and any missteps will come from a place of respect. And maybe that’s what it’s all about.

The world would be a better place if we came from a place of love and respect. Not ignorance.

We should all be aware that our chosen battles are not the only ones that matter. To each of us—the lead in our own movie—our choices, and our passions, are ours alone. And not subject to the judgements of others.

And we don’t need to understand why others take up the passions they do.

It is far better to bring a smile to other’s faces, than to attempt (in vain) to prove that you are right.

I suppose I should be grateful. It has been a minute since I’ve caught a head cold.

I saw it coming. There were a few signs. One of them surprised me though...

Increased ear wax? No, I’ve known about that tell.

Weight gain? This one was new to me.

It makes sense though. Immunity response to a viral invasion increases inflammation. Inflammation combined with water retention leads to...

Well, let’s say I nearly fell off the scale. However, science suggests that ten pounds of fat cannot appear overnight. Retaining ten pounds of extra water, though, is a distinct possibility.

Ugh. So, I guess I’ll join the millions who ignore the scale. If only until I can breathe through my nose again.

These are interesting times. A head cold may not be just a head cold.

Yes, the legions of fear have affected me too. Could these symptoms be part of another, nastier virus?

After reading through two or three different sources, I couldn’t find anything conclusive. I’m amazed that in this post-information age, there is so much information that it is merely noise. And hardly anything useful within that noise.

Do I have the VID? Well, I don’t THINK so. I suppose time will tell...

For now, I’ll just keep on living my best life—minus breathing through my nose.

Needless to say, after last month’s shit show, I will be reporting to work this week.

Once again, I had to say goodbye to an old friend today.

I have a trusty Panasonic portable CD player that endured many years of use and abuse. Then, one day, it ended up in a box. It’s been used maybe half a dozen times since then.

Now that I think about it, it’s been stored for more than twice the time it was in service. I’ve been looking forward to including it in the purge—maybe, just maybe it’ll bring someone else joy.

And it cleaned up beautifully.

However, it is currently my last remaining CD player—aside from the car. When going through CDs it is not always convenient to take the stack and go for a drive to figure out what’s on them. Especially the mixes. The playlists I meticulously crafted, and may not have in my iTunes catalog.

It’s not exactly safe to drive and take notes at the same time. So my portable seemed the perfect solution.

Until I turned in my chair, and my sleeve caught the earbud cable and sent the player. crashing. down. onto. the. floor.

While playing.

Shit.

I picked it up. The screen is blank. Hit the play button, and the screen flashes back to life. Whew.

A couple of whirs and clicks—damn, it doesn’t sound right. Then the confirmation: “No disc.”

Okay, maybe the disc was jarred loose. Open it, and the lid doesn’t spring open like it used to.

Shit.

The disc is seated properly. Hopeful, I pop it out and back in and close the lid. Whir, whir, click. Whir, whir, click. “No disc.”

Shit.

Popped the batteries out and reseated. “No disc.” Tried a different disc. “No disc.”

Now my mind races. Where are the tools? I used to LOVE fixing these things! A project! To distract me from my bigger project!

Breathe. Stop. Ask yourself… why?

Why, indeed.

So, in the process of blessing and releasing my trusty CD player, I decided to write this li’l piece as a tribute.

True, I loved to fix things as a kid. Even as an adult. Yet, for the most part, those days are long gone. The items we purchase are cheaper whole than almost any single part. The fix-it shop of the past is gone.

Sad statement? Maybe. Throwing away everything seems to be the wrong answer—so wasteful—yet, this twenty-five year old player possibly (probably) has broken plastics inside it that cannot be replaced. Nor rebuilt. So, why open it?

To sell it for a dollar? Or five?

So, old friend, it’s simply time to say goodbye. Again.

And try not to drop the iPod that replaced it.

What i'm listening to:

Betrayal
L'Âme Immortelle
Als die Liebe starb

Pancakes and alcohol. That’s the devil’s playground right there.

One true advantage to not really liking people: there aren’t many birthdays to celebrate.

Nor many late, late nights. Nor rounds of shots.

Nor many post-party trips to Denny’s. Nor late, late pancakes. The latter which definitely help me sleep, and definitely post a gain on the scale the next morning.

Nor many next day hangovers.

Seriously, when will I learn to stay hydrated. This is the worst part of my “non protocol” lifestyle… I don’t drink enough water. And whatever I might have had planned for the next day is utterly irrelevant.

So it’s a good thing I don’t like many people.

Anyway, happy birthday beautiful.

I feel like I’ve been passed out in a cave for three days.

What? Too soon?