The Loss of Passion

Of late, I've lost my passion. Or maybe I've just noticed that the passion is gone. Ten years ago, if I wasn't sleeping, I was either listening to music, playing music, or writing -- mostly words but sometimes music. I had a real passion for writing and for music back then. (Of course, I was lonely and depressed and surrounded by people who seemed to be quite content with their lot in life, so I had a lot to write about.)

But that passion just isn't there anymore. I am completely unmotivated to do anything. To get anything done, I need to put it on a list of things to do so it doesn't just flitter out of my memory.

I go home and sit down and tell myself that I'll just play on the PS2 for, oh, maybe half and hour. Two hours later, I turn off the games and go hunt for dinner. I know there are things I ought to be doing, and I tell myself, out loud sometimes, what I ought to be doing.

But still I sit on that couch.

I feel like I'm constantly waiting for the next thing to happen, instead of making the next thing happen. I'm just so unmotivated. Maybe I'm just lazy. Maybe it's pre-traumatic stress disorder.

There are a few glimmers: I did sit down and start writing my novel (for the fourth time) two nights ago. I got about a page and a half in when my brother-in-law called. By the time I hung up the phone, I felt like S.T. Coleridge. I could no longer write anything worthwhile.

That'll teach me to answer the phone. My caller ID works just fine; it's my thumb that needs to be fixed.

Christmas Movies

With the coming of December comes an influx of Christmas movies in prime time. I don't like Christmas movies on the whole. They're always predictable, and they almost always have unrealistic happy endings.

Bah. Humbug. I say.

But I'm interested in what other people think about Christmas movies. What are the best and worst Christmas movies ever made.

The best one, in my opinion, is "A Christmas Story," which we watch every year. (Will Ferrell's "Elf" comes in second.)

The worst Christmas movie? "Frosty the Snowman Returns." Even the title sounds like it should be a parody.

Your opinions?

Book Review: Jim Tomlinson's "Things Kept, Things Left Behind"

Sure, I love short stories -- in principle. My all-time favorite author is Kurt Vonnegut, and I’ve read every novel and autobiography he’s written. But even I couldn’t make it all the way through Welcome to the Monkey House, his first short story collection.

Perhaps I’ve become jaded simply by growing up in the era of MTV, but I have come to expect the complete story: the arc, the conflict, the resolution, the denouement. Where once we had static splashes of paint on canvas, leaving us guessing about exactly what a picture might represent, now we have television and film -- complete stories with completely developed characters and a beginning, middle, and end. It’s what we’ve come to expect, possibly to the detriment of the past masters.

This has spilled over to literature, as well. The novel -- the story that starts on the first page and neatly ends on the last (with perhaps just enough of a cliffhanger to get people to buy the sequel) -- has become the pinnacle of literary creation, to the detriment of the short story -- the literary equivalent of the still life, the portrait, the sculpture.

Fortunately, even though novels win the day, the art of the short story is still practiced by a few deft hands.

Things Kept, Things Left Behind is a collection of short fiction that won Jim Tomlinson the 2006 Iowa Short Fiction Award, and for good reason. What daVinci is to art, Jim is to fiction.

In this collection, Jim introduces us to people. Not characters, not stereotypes, not archetypes -- people. Jim presents glimpses into the lives of real people. And, much like the glimpses we get of strangers’ lives every day, their stories do not start with the first word, nor do they end with the final punctuation. This is what makes these stories great.

And he wields his words like a master, at times abandoning so-called “proper grammar” to create something that couldn’t be taught in a high school English class. We’ve all seen incomplete sentences, run-ons, and the like. But rarely do we see them used with such accuracy and with such great results.

The common thread throughout these stories is failed or failing marriages. In each story, Jim reveals what really goes on in the hearts and minds of ordinary people as their marriages die. But don’t look for “And they all lived happily ever after,” because you won’t find it. What you will find are well-told stories about people you recognize, and these stories leave off in moments of despair, indecision, confusion, anger, exasperation, pain, and hope. But the stories don't really end. Sure, the words stop, but the people in these stories don't. The true endings of these stories are left to the minds of the readers.

And along the way, you'll find some little gems of beautiful writing. Here’s one of my favorites, from “Things Kept”:

Sometimes she thinks of herself as a howl. The wail of a coyote, maybe, or a
lone banshee, a shriek dying away in the night without reaching ears. Piercing,
like something wrenched raw from an orphaned soul. A hollow thing, haunted, a
sound that lives on, still shrill in the memory long after its echo dies.

Things Kept, Things Left Behind is well worth the reading.

Who would like this book?
People who are separated or divorced; people who are happily married (though they would enjoy it for a different reason); people who prefer the truth, even when it isn’t pretty; real people.

Who wouldn’t like this book?
People who think that Disney movies have the best endings; newlyweds (this book tops the list for the world's worst wedding gift); people who insist on “correct” grammar and complete sentences; people who don’t deal well with a lack of closure.

Find out more at Jim's Web site.

Finally, Some Good News

I had an e-mail waiting for me when I got to work this morning. A new "explanation of benefits" document from my healthcare provider was ready for me to view. A quick hop over to their Web site revealed that they had processed the claim for the first of my two ambulance rides to the ER -- and my insurance covered the whole $495 (the most expensive taxi you'll ever find)! I work for a great company!!!

I still have three $100 ER copays to take care of, but if things keep going this way, I'll owe only that $300 instead of over $1200. Maybe this won't be such a bad Christmas after all.

(I made it through 30 years without seeing the inside of an ambulance. Then, over Labor Day weekend 2005, while visiting friends near St. Louis, I literally put another crack in my ass at a water park. Now, this year, two more ambulance rides -- both of them, as it turns out -- unnecessary: the ER doctors couldn't really do anything for me. I hope this isn't a trend.)

Pre-Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is tomorrow. I feel like I should say something about Thanksgiving, but what is there to say? At least I get a few days off work. And they're letting us go at 12:30 today, which is a great opportuniy for a nice sushi lunch.

I'll be spending most of my time off working on some freelance copy editing work, though. But that won't stop me from staying up late and sleeping in later.

Children, Birthdays, and Immigrants

My wife's birthday is coming up this week. It's interesting how a child's mind works. If you ask my kids what she wants for her birthday, they'll list a bunch of "girl toys" for people their age. My youngest thinks she wants Strawberry Shortcake and My Little Pony toys.

I am sometimes disillusioned by how much our opinions are guided by our own limited view of the world. One big controversial topic right now is illegal immigrants from Mexico. People gnash their teeth and beat their chests roaring that the end of our economy is near because these people come up here and use all of our tax-paid services -- fire and police and the like -- without paying taxes.

But why is it that we never hear a similar cry from Canada? Northerners often hop over to Canada to get cheaper prescription drugs and to take advantage of their socialized medicine -- which is paid for out of Canadian taxes, which those Northerners don't pay. There's irony everywhere you turn.

The other thing that gets my about these chest-thumpers is that they seem to equate "illegal" with "immoral," as if there is something ongodly about heading north out of Mexico in search of a better life.

Anxiety/Panic Update

After three trips to the ER and one trip to a therapist, I think I'm finally on a good road. I'm on Zoloft, which takes 3 or 4 weeks to kick in. After my last ER visit, I got a small prescription for Ativan, which gives more immediate relief (in the form of knocking me out completely). I've used the Ativan only once.

The most important therapy, though, has been knowledge. I bought a copy of The Anxiety and Phobia Workbook and have been reading through it from time to time. The important bits of knowledge: panic attacks can't kill me, they are limited by time, and they can't kill me.

Plus, I think I technically have a panic disorder, not an anxiety disorder. The big attacks have all occurred in the morning without any warning. (By "big attacks," I mean my arms and legs get exceedingly cold, and the cold tries to creep in my chest; I also get slightly nauseated and dizzy and very, very pale. Green pale.)

Sometimes I can feel them coming (I get slightly dizzy and hot-faced), and I'm doing a pretty good job staving them off just with some controlled abdominal breathing, happy thoughts, and occasionally singing in the car. Still, I could really use a "happy place" in troubled times. (I'm reminded of Meg Ryan singing "I Love Paris" before the plane takes off in French Kiss.)

A few more therapy sessions to learn some coping mechanisms and I'll gain my confidence back. That and making it through Christmas.

Oh, and thanks to my mom for getting me, among other relaxing things, some "Calming" Yogi Tea, which tastes and smells delicious but is the awfullest shade of green.

Electionwear

I had other things on my mind when I got dressed this morning, and here it is at 2 p.m. when suddenly I realize that I'm wearing my "Vote For Pedro" T-shirt on election day. (Will I be allowed to wear this when I go vote?)

It's nice to know that my brain continues to work, even when I don't ask it to.

Birthday

Today is my birthday. I plan on staying in my twenties for as long as I can, so today is my twentitwelfth birthday. Eight more years and I'll be 20-20.

Birthdays mean less and less as I get older.

A Copy Editor's Pride and Joy

The other day, when I was dropping off my elder son at school, he began a sentence with "Me and Jalen..." but then immediately and accurately corrected himself, "...I mean, Jalen and I...".

Not bad for a second-grader.

Of course (writes the prideful parent), according to the tests, he reads at a fourth-grade level.