The holidays.

As much as I don't want to admit it, I'll be glad when Christmas is over.

The holidays always stir up awkward and complicated feelings for me. Combine that with the guilt-laden practice of exchanging gifts and the stress of shopping... well, you've got a perfect storm of aggravation.

I'm going to be honest with you -- I've come to despise the gift aspect of Christmas. I don't expect people to give me gifts and I don't want to spend endless hours buying them for others. The disgusting stench of commercialism has completely disintegrated my ideal of the holiday.

What do I envision as the perfect Christmas?

Greetings Cards sent to loved ones. Homes and businesses dressed in lights and ribbons. Uproarious feasts filled with great food and merriment. Stories regaled around a fire. Egg Nog and warm cups of spiced tea. Staying up late to watch It's a Wonderful Life by the colorful glow of the Christmas tree. Kissing your sweetheart. Love.

The gift-giving never really enters into my equation. Am I ok with gifts? Yes, of course. We should all feel compelled to give tokens of gratitude to our family and friends. These gifts should be meaningful and have purpose. They should speak of the compassion and thankfulness deep inside our hearts. Instead, our modern Christmas is filled with frenzied sales at the local department store and mall. "SALE SALE SALE" they scream at us. "BUY NOW, SUPPLIES LIMITED" we're convinced of. Countless droves of gift-givers stand in endless lines for discounted televisions and game consoles. Average human beings are reduced to savages. We lose our sense of companionship, our sense of dignity. These things we spend inflated amounts of time and money on are not gifts. They're just possessions.

In our modern times, gifts have lost their sense of purpose. Instead, they're mechanisms by which we try to impress each another. They are badges of honor, stating "I gave this gift, look at me! I'm somebody special!"

If you're in my circle of family and friends, I don't want you to give me anything. What do I want?

Nothing. Just be yourself. Pick up the phone every once in a while. Write me a letter. Let's go watch a movie. Enjoy a cup of tea with me.

And, if you have a gift you really want to give me, that's all the better. I probably want to give you a gift, too. Not a possession, but an actual gift. Gifts come in all shapes and sizes -- a book with a personal story behind it, an old clock, a letter, a bottle of fine Scotch, a hug. These things are drenched with nostalgia, wonder and love.

As I said, the holidays are a difficult time for me. I think about the Christmases that have come before. Assuredly, I miss the loved ones I can no longer see. Often times, my mind wanders to Christmas at my maternal grandparents' home. Oh, how I long for the holidays there -- the record player spinning old Christmas tunes, the large silver bells hanging over the mirror in the living room, the whimsical old ornaments on the Christmas tree. I'd watch all the great holiday programs Grandpa had recorded on his VCR. Even now, I can remember the smell of all those tapes. Cousin Alex... I don't know how many times I watched a home movie of you when you were young. I wish I knew what happened to that tape. You were a marvelous little baby!

Christmas just isn't the same.

There's no Christmas tree in my home. No lights. No decorations.

Really - I'm not kidding.

I've lost my sense of celebration at the holidays. In it's place is the aforementioned aggravation. The worst part is that I want to celebrate Christmas. I love to send cards to friends and family. I take great joy in making someone else feel happy during this time of year. Yet, when it comes to rejoicing in the delight of the season in my own heart, I just can't seem to find the motivation.

The Ghost of Christmas Past has come and gone. Where is the Ghost of Christmas Present?

Caged.

I am completely and utterly ashamed of myself.

Just a short while ago, I exploded with furious rage at my sister. The reason why I uncontrollably erupted is irrelevant. My actions were without merit. She, nor any other human being, deserves to be yelled at and berated in such a manner. My behavior is solely of my own choosing - no excuses.

I am a monster. I always have been. I find myself circling back to the beginning of this very blog. There's a caged beast of frenzied indignation just fuming inside of me - shaking the bars of its cell, grabbing at any who come near. Like a rampaging gorilla locked in a prison, it sits inside of me and waits in the darkness. Waits for the right moment to strike. Waits to destroy.

This guy gets me.

If ever there were a real life Bruce Banner / Hulk, it would be me.

For years, I shielded my younger siblings from the anger erupting from my father. No one deserved to deal with such horror, but at least I was best-equipped to handle the beast and absorb the blows. Now, as an adult, I spew forth that same atrocious bitterness, often times upon the very ones I love the most. What's wrong with me? Did I not see what such gross negligence could lead to? Just as an idiot whom keeps touching a hot stove, I now tread the very ground I so desperately tried to avoid all those years ago.

Am I doomed to become my father? No matter how much I struggle and squirm against the past, is there nothing I can do? Am I genetically predispositioned to morph into that which I came from? It's all just mind-boggling. And now... I'm left sitting here alone. I feel emotionally empty inside. Not angry or sad, just ashamed. The Hulk has returned to his cage and I'm left to clean up the mess he made.

I'm certain that I've done a better job of controlling my anger this past year. Yet, it seems that when the beast does manage to get out, the havoc is many times worse. This is a perfect execution of the quantity versus quality debate. Which is worse? More frequent outbursts of lesser severity? Or less frequent outbursts of greater severity? Either way, the balance remains unaltered. That anger is still inside of me. The underlying problem has not been fully corrected. I'm still on a course towards emotional oblivion.

I really need to right this ship before it's too late.

Julie... I'm sorry. You deserve better.

Another dream.

I had another quite peculiar and unsettling dream last night. I thought I would share it with you.

Oddly enough, I found myself in a church. Not a fancy church or cathedral, but a very homely, dilapidated country church. The pews were filled with a wide variety of people, whom seemed to be shouting and hollering. I was sitting in one of the pews, trying to find a way out of the madness. Suddenly, my mother took a seat next to me. She was in a condition very similar to the months before she became bed-ridden and passed away -- still able to walk, but feeble and weak.

As she sat down, I noticed that was she excited about a box in her hands. The box said 'Holy Nuts'.

Yes, you read that right -- 'Holy Nuts'.

These weren't nuts like cashews or almonds, but mechanical nuts used with screws and bolts. For some reason I can't explain, my mother's excitement lead me to believe that she was going to eat these nuts. She was hollering with the rest of the crowd now, shouting exclamations of hope that these nuts would completely heal her.

This overwhelming sense of pity engulfed me. I truly saw my mother as a pitiful and defenseless creature, just trying to get by however possible.

I leaned in close to my mom and said "This will not make you better. They will make you sicker and kill you." Yet, she continued to profess the magical ability of the items in the box and would not listen. Finally, I grabbed her and said "You can't eat these mom. You'll die!"

The shouting and hollering in the room stopped. All became still and calm. It was as if the other people in the room disappeared. My mother placed her hand on my shoulder and said "Son, I'm not going to eat them. I am going to sell them. The money will pay for me to get better."

So there we sat... on a pew in a church that I assuredly had no business being in. She began to rub my back. It was like... like I could feel it for real. Just a comforting rub, back and forth.

And then I awoke. Not just a half-asleep consciousness like when you first get up in the morning or slam on your snooze button. I was AWAKE. Rolling over, I glanced at the clock and saw that it was barely 5 AM. The piercing sense of pity was still with me. Turning to my side, I fell back to sleep quickly.

The emotions contained within the dream have lingered with me all day. What did the dream mean? Was there a message to be had? What was my subconscious mind trying to work out? We all know that I'm not a religious person at all. Why would I find myself in a church of all places? Much less, isn't it odd that I had this dream on the night of my birthday?

I've been asking myself questions all day, with no real answers to be found.

Unverifiable Existence.

Tonight, you and I are going to think outside of the box for a moment.

Light truly is a wondrous thing. Photons (the quantum units of light) are constantly whizzing past us, faster than anything we can even remotely achieve through current scientific capability. So humbling, this notion is. We can only dream of building an engine that would propel us as fast as light. Yet, could we not treat photons like taxis? Maybe we could 'ride' the light?

Could the secret to light-speed travel literally be right in front of our very eyes? It could be, but this isn't my main point of discussion. As they say in Hollywood, I've buried the lead.

Alternatively, I find the very nature of light to be somewhat deceptive. Why? Because we never see the 'real' universe. I'll explain.

Light travels at a speed of 671 Million miles per hour. To our senses, that's instantaneous. Yet, there is an undeniable microscopic delay. From the point at which light is reflected off an object to where our senses can receive it, there's a gap (albeit insanely small). Because of that 671 Million MPH speed gap, we have no possible way to verify that the object reflecting light is actually as we perceive it. We exist in a world with sensory data that's delayed and unverifiable. The 'real' world only exists within a realm where there can be 'instantaneous' light transmission.

Here's the twist - because the very nature of light can not be 'instantaneous', then the real world is completely dark and not visible. That leads me to one conclusion - the true fabric of our universe can not be seen while inside said universe. The only way to 'see' the real universe that we exist in is to view it from an external vantage point. And what's the only way to leave this universe?

You guessed it -- travel faster than the speed of light.

Concurrently, if one were to shine a light upon anything within our 'real' universe, it would extract that object into our unverifiable existence.

To put it mildly, we exist in the world of 1 ⁄ 299,792,458 of a second ago when our senses are running at optimum capacity.

Let that stew in your mind for a bit. I'll continue this discussion in a coming future post. Stay tuned.

Positive.

I readily admit that I've discussed many horrible and depressing bits of my past on this blog. Hey, that's the purpose of this creative outlet -- to get rid of all the emotional weight that's been dragging me down for years. If you'll let me, I'd like to concentrate on some of the great things in my life.

That's right -- I'm going to be positive for a change.

I'm thankful for the family that is still in my life.

My two brothers -- Josh and James -- you're the two best damn brothers a guy could ever ask for.  Josh came along when I needed a little brother the most. I was already a miserable wretch in elementary school; you helped to socialize me. You were my confidant, my ally. Remember when we fought an entire school bus full of kids? Remember how we would put rocks in our snow balls? Remember the late night drives and silly antics on the highway? I sure do.

James has always been a better version of me. A free thinker, a rebel, a master of the tongue -- you are an improvement upon me in every way possible. You've always been my little buddy, though. Believe it or not, I always looked forward to you sleeping in my room at night for comfort and security. Oops - didn't mean to embarrass you there, kiddo. You've grown into a man I completely respect in every way. Now we've just got to get you out into the world so you can spread righteous change to the masses!

My little sister Julie -- goodness, you've grown up so fast. Though I have a hard time seeing it now, I'm sometimes lucky enough to catch a rare glimpse of the sweet little sister inside you. I'm reminded of the endless loop that was your Daisy-Head Mayzie video tape. Or... how about when I taught you how to defend yourself against brash little boys in grade school? I seem to recall some boys wishing they never met you. Though you sometimes credit me with making you tough, I disagree. You were born tough. I just helped you see it a little more clearly.

I'm thankful for the aunts and uncles that have stayed in touch with me, even throughout the turmoil with my folks. My Aunt Jackie - ever the fighter. You have been the voice of reason so many times in the past. You were there for my little sister when she desperately needed someone. I won't forget that.

My Uncle Billy and Aunt Kathy -- my beacon of hope in a desert far, far away. Do you two know just how great you are? I appreciate the text messages, the emails, the little gifts in the mail. You're a connection to my preceding generation that I lost somewhere along the way. I appreciate you more than I may let on. Here's to us seeing each other soon.

Last, but certainly not least, I'm thankful for the love of my life. Crystal -- you're the lemon in my tea; the cheese on my pizza; the hot sauce on my beans. You make everything about me better. I've been pretty damn miserable for a long time. For many years, you've stuck by me, supported me, carried me. You even convinced me to go into business for myself. I've lost count the number of times I've cried on your shoulder. (Yes, real men cry. Deal with it people.) I'm not perfect, yet you've stayed anyway. Often times, I've expressed how guilty I feel for keeping you chained to me. Yet, you always reply with love and compassion. Though you tell me otherwise, I'll never believe I fully deserve something as perfect as you in my life. You've taken this big, grumpy lug of a man and turned him into a slightly less big, somewhat less grumpy lug of a man. Progress, right?

Crystal... I'd write you a love letter, but there aren't enough words in this universe to finish it.

Quite the contrary to my disposition, I'm grateful for so many things in my life. Many of you (even if I didn't mention you by name) have been there for me when I needed a friend, a lover, a companion. The best way I can repay your kindness is by living my life to the fullest. My life must be long and full of success. Thanks to my steady exercising and improved diet, I've dropped thirteen pounds and regained much of my muscle mass. I recently had an annual blood screening come back with great numbers. My cholesterol is quite low. I'm not at risk for diabetes or heart disease. Believe it or not folks, I'm the healthiest overweight guy you'll ever meet! I'm on track to live a long time... and that's good.

A short note on the departed.

Today is my mom's birthday. She would have been 53 years old. Satan didn't take her. An absent God didn't take her.

Lung Cancer took her. Years of abusing herself with cigarettes took her.

My emotions and thoughts about my mother are awkward to say the least. Out of respect for my mother on her birthday, I won't say anything negative or disheartening. What I will say is that she owed it to herself to progress forwards in life and not leave at such a young age. If not owed to herself, then at least to her other three children. I've come to accept what my life symbolized to her, so there's no love lost upon me. Rather, she should have been here to provide comfort and support to my siblings in their most important of developmental years. It's a shame.

Assuredly, my father has performed a grand theatrical display of emotions today in his dead wife's honor. Certainly, his latest girlfriend was submissively amused. I wish him the best of luck in his continued life of phantom monstrosity.

I can not eat the cheese.

A few days ago while taking my normal, everyday morning walk, a startling revelation occurred to me.

I can not eat the cheese.

Let me preface the scene. Sometime in early June, Crystal dared me to go a month without eating cheese. Now don't get me wrong, I actually eat pretty healthy. No junk food, no sodas, nothing. I'm quite healthy for my size -- no diabetes, no high blood pressure, my cholesterol is very good. Cheese is my "Achilles' Heal", though. I didn't think there was any way I could do it. I L-O-V-E cheese. Cheese is what makes my culinary world spin 'round. CHEESE!

Anyway, I accepted her challenge. The first week was tough. Then the second week -- that was tough, too. By the time I reached week three, I started to think I could get through the month-long ordeal.  Eventually, I succeeded and completed a month.

How in the hell did I do it?

I'm not sure, to be honest. I just stuck to my guns and did my best to drown out the constant craving. I didn't think I'd ever pull it off, but somehow I managed. Even to this day, I find myself avoiding it. My mind will create new and more extravagant reasons why I shouldn't eat cheese, even when I have the option to do so. And let's be honest -- in my attempt at losing weight, not eating cheese has certainly helped.

Jump back to my exercise revelation...

In discussing how as of late I've made a real commitment to improving my health, exercising regularly and losing weight, the link between exercising and the cheese was made. By proving to myself that I have self-control, I realized how that has carried over into other aspects of my life. My self-control is what tells me to get up and exercise every day, even though I don't want to. Not only that, but it's what keeps me moving on my walks instead of letting me stop and take a break. I keep going, and going, and going...

I can not eat the cheese. I can not eat the cheese. I CAN NOT EAT THE CHEESE!

Literally, I was jumping for joy and picking my walking pace up (which is already a brisk, speedy walk to begin with). A flash of instant genius went off in my brain. If I can not eat the cheese, I can do anything I set my mind to. That being said, all of the physical activity is paying off. My weight has dropped (though I still find myself not believing the scale) and my mood has started to improve. More so than physically healing myself, my exercise is a means to shed off emotional baggage. So much of my weight problem stems from old emotional trauma -- I improperly ate as a child to bury my feelings and abuse. By letting go of all this weight, I'm setting myself free.

I want to eat you... but I don't have to.