Frustrated much?

Dear Frustrated Mindset,

Arrrggh!! I hat being stymied, even when I know what the subject I need to write about is. I have a 12 page team paper due on Monday along with a Power-Point presentation on the IT department, network topology and security, and the impact they have on the E-Commerce of a fictitious community hospital.

Everything is right there an I have no idea what to say. Most of the work has already been accomplished because this is a team effort and the paper is divided into four sections. I only have one section, the introduction, conclusion, and the editing ... so dang simple and yet here I sit in an impotent stupor unable to accomplish anything useful but suck up oxygen.

I just need to bite the bullet and dig in. Once I get started I usually have no problems, it's just that 'getting started' hump that causes so many issues. If I can just keep the 4-year-old distracted and the TV off then I can hammer this out and just be done with it.

Oh Lord give me strength. Strength to know what I need to do, strength to remember the important things in life, and the strength to act on my conscience and complete that which I must to achieve the success I desire.

Prayerfully,

Sam

Sugoi!

Dear family lovers,

Today was a good day. I purchased a ATI CS9 about 2 and a half months ago for my wife and I, and finally got to fire the dang thing today. This inability to shoot the new weapon had become something of a joke around the office. Each time plans were made to visit the gun range, something would happen. Providence, Fate, Greek gods, the weather gods, or some other wretched circumstance would endeavor to keep me from playing with my new toy. Well, not today. Ha Ha! Victory! I fired the damned thing and I enjoyed it.

My brother, his wife and their son came for a visit today. So I hijacked both my brothers and my wife, gathered out meager stockpile of guns, bought some ammunition, and destroyed some innocent looking paper targets. Man what a rush. One brothers .32 revolver and 10 gauge shotgun, the other brothers S&W 9mm, and my new ATI 9mm all blazing away in stinking gun shot residue glory. What a rush! 100's of rounds later and many hot cases smacking us in the forehead and we were spent, physically and emotionally. I don't think I will understand why so many people do not like guns. I'm sure they have their reasons and the reasons are very compelling ..... for them. I enjoyed shooting and I think my wife did too. It was worth the money.

We packed up and went to mom and dad's where they treated everyone to an exquisite dinner and family time. Salad, steak, homemade cheesy potatoes, and strawberry-rhubarb dessert. UFC was playing on the big screen and Rashad Evans got his butt kicked, oh yeah, he has knock-ed out. Conversations and good times followed until everyone had to go home.

Yes, today was a awesome day.

Thanks,

Sam

Dear U.S. Air Force,

I was talking with a friend today who finally he has had enough and has discarded his bond of indenture-hood and retire from work. We talked of decisions we had made and how we were living with those choices. Yes there are choices we wish we made made differently, but even the negative results of those choices have had a profound effect on shaping us into who we are today.

I may have never escaped the endless line of dead-end jobs that stalked me in Alexandria, Louisiana after my high school graduation had my father not decided to make a career out of the Air Force. I was exposed to a possible escape from middle America drudgery and knew that the world is larger than the next town over or cow tipping session. I joined the Air Force with the full intention of living in as many different places as my vocations would allow. Star eyed and packing too much luggage, I plunged neck deep into a world I thought I knew and was totally unprepared for.

I loved basic training. I craved the discipline. Not that my parents were not good parents, they were the best I had ever had up to that point in my life, but the Air Force provided something I am not sure they could have. The Air Force forced me to adapt or break and they did this without compassion. My parents could never sit by while I struggled physically or mentally with a problem, they love me too much. The Air Force did not care about my feelings, only my results. I needed that kick in my pants to help me decide if I wanted to grow up or stay perpetually young, stupid, and naive. I thought I rose to the challenge. I beat basic training. I beat that wonderfully awful place with style. We were physically superior, our Confidence course results beat every other Flights results hands down. We had more marksmen than any other Flight on the gun range. Ours was the only dorm not infiltrated by the infamous "Spy-Guy." Our Flight got top marks, graduated Honor Flight, and only had to do KP once. We kicked ass .... everyone's ass.

Then I went to Tech School to become a Circuit and Data Equipment specialist, aka ... the phone-guy. I liked my job. I didn't have a problem with heights so gaffing poles was fun for me. I took to mechanical and electronic telephone key systems like a duck to water. We had fun at our squadron, we bombed the neighboring squadron with water balloons from 50 yards away, and we watched Fern Gully every weekend. Life was good.

Then I got my orders. Barksdale, AFB. What? No. Please no! I faithfully filled my dream sheet to capacity with exotic destinations like anywhere Europe, Australia, anywhere Asia, Hawaii, and friggin' Iceland for the love of all that's holy! I GOT BARKSDALE! UGH!! I went through all that work, pain, sweat, tears, and drill instructors bad breath only to wind up ONE HOUR from HOME!!

I was not in purgatory, I was in the ninth circle of Hell ... I had pissed off God and he was getting back at me ... the jerk. Barksdale ..... ugh, ugh, UGH!!!

Then life got .... not so good. I had been assigned to a squadron full of people I had nothing in common with. I didn't drink alcohol, that's all they drank. I didn't really enjoy nightclubs, they lived for them. I didn't like crawfish .... and how in the world did they keep finding all those damn mud-bugs for the crawfish boil they had EVERY FRIGGIN' weekend!!

I lost faith. I lost faith in God for sending me to that hell-on-earth. I lost faith in my fellow man because everywhere I looked a new example of debauchery smacked me in my face. I lost faith in myself and I gave up. I gave up trying to live. I overslept all the time. I never cleaned my room and failed every inspection. I did not keep myself in physical shape and failed those tests as well. I became a physically empty husk of a boy trying to fool everyone around me and failing miserably. My sponsor got frustrated with me and gave up, as did my Sergent, and the Lieutenant. However, a enterprising NCO gave me an opportunity to get out. I didn't understand the implications. I would lose honor. I would become failure incarnate. I did not care. So, after only two years of a four year commitment, I left with a 'General under other than honorable conditions discharge'. Well, I was free and homeless .... at least I got to moon the Air Force as I left.

Did I mention the one bright spot of my life at that time? These beautiful women to the left are my wife and her sisters. The dark haired siren on the far left is Jenny, the breath of fresh air in the middle is Liz, and the goddess lighting the world on the right is Cheri. Cheri. Cheri is the one thing that kept me sane. Towards the end of by disastrous short-lived career int he Air Force, I focused on her so I could make through the day. I met her at a church function and she was so disturbed by my youthful stupidity, she wouldn't even acknowledge my presence for about a year. Then a real piece of crap, who I thought was a friend, set us up on a date by lying to us saying that the other was asking around about the other. Confused? That lying piece of sewer flotsam told her I was asking about her and told me she was asking about me. After our first date I never had a second thought, Cheri might have but I never did, I was going to spend the rest of my life with this wonderful person. After several dates and attempts at proving I was not as insane as she remembered from our first encounter, I thought she was falling in love with me. Me. A wreck with no discernible future beyond door-to-door sales. Hmmm. Maybe I didn't have a monopoly on insane.

I used my Air Force training to land a job installing collect call telephone systems in prisons. It was more than a broken and stupid little boy like myself should have gotten, but I was blessed. The job paid well and allowed me to rebuild and recollect myself for the future I was hoping for with Cheri. After some time and work, I was blessed by the angel sent to me when she agreed to marry this foolish and weak little boy. That was 14 years, a lot of growing up, two children (one more on the way), a plethora of jobs, three states, and a flurry of college classes. Cheri is a stay at home mom with money making projects she enjoys doing. I work at a place that is easy for me to excel at and provides the best insurance I've ever seen (they paid $1500.00 per eye for Lasik surgery, unheard of in the insurance community). My daughter is ahead one grade and my boy is about to join school. I cannot imagine a happier existence, unless one includes winning the lottery or figuring out how to solve world hunger.

I owe you U.S. Air Force. I owe you an apology. I apologize for failing you. I apologize I was not strong enough to make your investment worthwhile. I apologize for making the lives of the Airmen, NCO's, and Officers in my squadron. They were only trying to help me and I stabbed them in the back and mooned them for their efforts.

I also owe you for who I am. I owe you for the insight you gave me of my own weaknesses I would not acknowledge before. I owe you for introducing me to my wife. I owe you for the resulting children we have had together. I owe you for the experiences you helped give me that has made me the man I am today. Without you, U.S. Air Force, I would have never achieved the degree of success I currently enjoy. For all this I thank you. I thank you with every fiber of my being. I hope that in some small way an opportunity to return the favor arises and I will have the courage to grasp that opportunity and make good on my previous failures.

I have found that life is full of regrets. I regret that I let my son play with mu xbox controller. I regret that I wasn't watching where I was going and broke my truck on a curb. I regret some previous failures and sometimes I regret previous triumphs. However, I have also learned that regrets are best used as tools and not subjects of brooding sessions. Regrets can destroy as well as any well placed point blank shotgun blast the the cranium. Use regrets to influence current decisions with the future firmly ensconced in your minds eye. As history shows, those who do not learn from the past are doomed to repeat the past. I sincerely hope that you can use your experience to enhance lives around you, which in turn can have a positive affect on your life and make life worth living.

Cordially with hope,

Sam

Those Annoying Drivers

Hello,
Is there anyone else out there that advocates vehicular mounted weaponry?

As I drive the 15 or so miles to my parents house so I can drop off yet another book, I find myself stuck behind a driver who is oblivious and in a world outside of reality. I wish these people would remember that, according to every driver's manual in America, slow people drive on the RIGHT hand side of the freaking road. Here we are on a highway driving 10 mph UNDER the speed limit and both lanes are keeping pace with each other,

OH cruel fate that has not blessed me with the financial ability or testicular fortitude to purchase, mount, and USE a .50 caliber machine gun to the hood of my truck!!

Grrrr. I bite my tongue, count to 20, and realize that one of us will turn off the road and remove ourselves from each others lives. One day, the world road systems will be computer controlled and the stress of dealing with these travelling philistines will be an annoyance of the past. Until that sad day when we do not drive ourselves, may all those who cannot drive remain where they need be, on the passenger side and not behind a wheel.

Thanks for letting me vent,
Sam

Power of the Written Word

Hello,

I am Sam.

Sam I am.

Popular words from one of the best authors in the world. Dr. Seuss has a place in history and in my families life. He isn't the only author I still read, Charles Dickens, J.R.R. Tolkein, Raymond E. Feist, David Eddings, L. Ron Hubbard, Vince Flynn, and lately Stephanie Meyer. Authors are the artists who paint pictures with word, alight the imagination, take us on adventures, and give us a glimpse of what may be and what possibilities exist.

My history with the written word dates to a wet day in Laxfield, England and a impending test in English history. I did what every other red blooded American boy in a strange country does, I panicked, played sick, and stayed home. I got bored quickly, picked up a Hardy Boys mystery, and proceeded to read every novel in my age group in the house. My mom didn't let me play hooky the next day, so I braved the school climate and raided the school library. I haven't looked back and typically finish a book every week.

So, what is so powerful about the written word that would make people bury their collective noses in a batch of paper and avoid the world of electronics. Thought, emotion, adventure, cliche, memories, faith, loss. For me the allure was adventure. Being the typical school boy, I gravitated to fantasy novels, such as Tolkien, Belgeriad, Rift War, and anything Dungeons and Dragons, and sci-fi, such as Dune, Star Wars, Star Trek, and Mission: Earth. To say I became obsessed is an understatement. I actually found a job so I could by books and when money was not available I resorted to theft to sate my addiction. ::Sniff-sniff:: I stole to support my habit, not even my mother knows about that.

Then, I got bored. And poor. Not just bored and poor, but bored and poor and married. Not just bored and poor and married, but now I was responsible too. I couldn't afford to buy books because I had a wife and children and I developed a conscience so stealing was no longer an option and I had a ::sniff-sniff:: JOB! I started reading all the books I had accumulated until I could practically tell you the entire Rift War Saga one year later in a PowerPoint presentation, complete with cliff-notes and references in APA format, without looking at the books for a refresher. Sad isn't it. Bored. So Bored. Working and still soooooo stinking boooored.

So I decided to broaden my literary horizons. I re-read classics like Beowulf, Copperfield, and the Pilgrims Progress. I read documentary short stories of World War Two. I read mystery novels. I read cyberpunk novels (Neuromancer and Infoquake anyone?). I read political intrigue, go Vince Flynn. I was still bored. The books were good but they didn't sing to me. They didn't spark my imagination. They. Were. Boring.

So, one boring evening while eating with my family in a Chinese buffet, my mom suggested the Twilight saga.

::Gasp:: ::Choke:: ::GAG:: ARE YOU SERIOUS!! ::More gasping, choking, and gaging::

My mind rebelled. I pantomimed thrusting my entire arm down my throat so I could regurgitate the very thought of stooping to a teen angst, emo-ridden, goth-sapp, romance book aimed at every heart-throbbing teenage girl in existence.

Ugh!

Ugh Ugh!!

UGH UGH UGH!!!

Then a coo, like the sound of dove (yeah ... props to Dr. Seuss), stopped me in my tyrannic chest-beating act that would make any silver-back gorilla proud, and forever changed my life. My 11-year-old daughter told me I was being a hypocrite. I had been telling her she should try new things and not let prejudice cloud her thinking, she might be surprised by her own bravery when she gets out of her comfort zone. That pulled me up short. She smirked and began singing a song from that annoying show my 4-year-old son likes, Yo-Gabba-Gabba. "Try it, you might like it!" I got pissed, I glared at her, she smirked again, I tried to kick her, I threw a egg-roll, I relented. I read Twilight. Me. a 36-year-old heterosexual buffoon read a teen-angst book about a human, vampire, werewolf love triangle and I LOVED it.

What the HELL! Am I gay! ..... no. Metro!! ...... no. I'm bored and this is .... is... new... FRESH! .... scary. I read the first three novels in two days. My mom still had the fourth novel and was only half way through. What?! I had to wait!?! I DON'T THINK SO!!!! I got the novel, finished it in one day, and got it back to my mom so she could finish.

I was a Twilight fan. A 36-year-old male Twilight fan. Hmmm .... there's a creepy side to this and I just cannot figure out if I should be scared for admitting I like Twilight. See, I am not swooning with delight and drooling over Hollywood's vision of the characters. I got hooked on the actual story and the theory of supernatural monsters that can overcome the role fate sets and become what they want. Yes there is romance and enough whining to sate even the most die-hard emo-ridden psycho. But there is more. For me, there was an epiphany. A discovery of such proportions that this written word has changed my life forever.

Few things in life can bring absolute clarity of thought. Near-death (or near-life) experiences, moments of faith, and in this particular case .... the written word. In the second book (New Moon, chapter 24) one of the main characters realize that the other character is so in love with her that he is willing to sacrifice everything he is for her, and she feels the same towards him. Yes, very emo-tear-jerking-slobbering-crying ..... very ::SQUEEEEEEE:: moment. I read this. I read it again. I read it one more time trying to grasp the depth of insight and emotion. The written word took a 20 pound Halibut and began beating me about the head and shoulders with a realization so profound, I had to read it again. Then my very own epiphany. I have this. I have had it for 14 years. I have had the very best of human existence for 14 years and I have been neglecting it. I came to realize that very few things are important in life. For me there are now three: 1) my faith, 2) my family, 3) everything else in a random order depending on importance as they begin annoying me.

So. The written word. A source of release. A source of wisdom. A source of mindless bliss. A source of soul crushing despair. A source of mind expanding self-realization. Which one works for you? I like all of them. I learn when I read. I learn about my imagination, my goals, my limits, my emotions, and I learn that I am like other people. I am one of a kind among millions of one of a kinds. We all have moments of angst. We all have moments of romance, granted some moments are like a hammer courting a nail. We all want to belong. We all long for a better life or a second chance at happiness. Chances are we already have that life and haven't realized it yet. The written word is a treasure trove of information wherein a person seeking answers can find a safe harbor from the terrors of life. The written word is a source of life-affirming or life-damning insights that one can either learn and grow from, or wither and die.

I hope and pray that we each find our epiphany. I found mine in a book. You may find yours elsewhere, a movie, a play, a conversation, a prayer. Never give up looking for your own epiphany. Don't forsake living because you are hurt. Don't forsake reading and looking for your answer in the written word. There is power in words. Power to change lives.