We Could Have Been Golden...

"Would they even notice, would there be a change if I was gone for hundreds of days? And this is the reason why there're some people I won't miss."-Golden, Allred

You know that feeling where you're surrounded by people, but feel completely alone? That basically describes the previous month of my life. It all started back in July. Daniel heard about a job opening in New York and asked me if he should apply. This particular moment of our relationship wasn't the strongest. I don't know why I did it. Maybe I didn't think it likely that he would get the job. Maybe I wanted him to get it and choose me over his career. Maybe I felt like I needed some time or space or something. Whatever the reason, I was selfish. I told him to apply.

A lot of other events transpired--events too personal for even a private blog with a total of one follower ('sup Cort)--and he got the job and moved to Manhattan. Because I had never given it any real thought, I was unprepared for the move in every conceivable way. So here I sit. Wallowing in my dark, lonely, unmotivative financial crap hole that I created all on my own. I don't think I'm ready to actually accept responsibility for my situation just yet, but I'll settle for hating the universe and blaming everyone else for a little bit longer. Hence the need to blog again.

I am the worst kind of boyfriend. Worst kind of significant other in general. I marinated the very pickle I'm in, and yet I make Daniel feel guilty for going out and having fun with his friends in New York. I don't mean to do it, but I do. I don't think I'm completely unjustified either. I worry that Daniel will get used to going out and clubbing and bar-hopping and then when I get there, what? Will he be content returning to the boring life of monogamy, or rather mono-phily, as we tend to only spend time with each other. Will I want to go to clubs and bars and the like? I used to enjoy that kind of thing, but something comes over me when I go with Daniel. The same vice that holds me now while he parties on his own. On his own with thousands of attractive, young, single, fun faggots. Pardonnez mon français. Will he want to go with me? He never seems to have fun when I'm there. Surprising that he doesn't want to be with a manipulative, jealous Klingon, isn't it? Not a literal Klingon, obviously. Ew.

I don't think a single day has gone by this week where I didn't cry. Yesterday I think I hit a record of six pretty heavy duty sob seshes. Today I only ugly cried once. In the shower. That's where I usually do the deed. It's nice because you don't have to worry about tissues or tear-stains or runny noses. And the sound of pummeling water generally drowns out the pathetic gasps and moans of a hearty weep. See what I did there? Drowns? Water? Funny.

Tomorrow I return to work, finally. I'm excited and nervous at the same time. Excited for money, for one thing. I also hope that working will help keep my mind busy and let me focus on the things that matter. When I have too much time I start to over-think, leading to my illegitimate panic attacks regarding Daniel's social life. I just hope that working doesn't simply add more stress to the mix. That would be fun. Nothing I can do about it now, though, so I bid you a good night Blog-I-Named-Billy.

Peace.

I was thinking of how I could best recap the past year and a half since I last blogged. But I think the absence of posts basically sums it all up. It's all gone by so fast. And now my darling friend Cortney, from work, has convinced me to start back up again. I'm excited to start blogging again, but it'll take some time to get back into the hang of writing at all. And so we go.

What is the lure of Facebook, Billy? People spend hours every day staring glazedly at computer and phone screens. And for what? To see if someone 'likes' your status? To find out what all of your acquaintances are up to without actually having to communicate with them? I feel like most of Facebook's groupies are just auctioning themselves to the rest of the world. Sexually and metaphorically speaking. And when they're not working on their repertoire and self-auction, they're checking to see what other cattle have been brought to the slaughter. It's disgusting. It's the newest form of pornography; soft enough that no one would ever question it's morals, yet startlingly addicting--keeping its ill-fated victims prey to its sticky, all-encompassing web. I hate it. And yet, I owe it. So I, too, am prey. Just another cattle to slaughter.

But I feel like I've managed to escape the appalling sex-fest side of Facebook and use it only to keep in contact with those I would otherwise cease to speak with. So why can't they? What does Facebook have that I don't? I'd just like to know, Billy. I'd just like to know...

10 4 Good Buddy

PFC Hiserman, Paige 2nd PLT "Grim Reapers"
F Co. 1st BN, 13th Inf. 193rd BDE
Building 11000 Dixie Rd
Ft Jackson, SC 2907-5020

Teal Owls Pt. 1

On June 4, around 2:00 in the morning, Candice and I were leaving Pure; it was Pride weekend and the club was packed. Candice met up with one of Paige's friends from Paige and Telmar's birthday party. His name was Daniel.

We made our way outside and toward our cars. On the way, Daniel complained that he hadn't gotten his club make-out. I hadn't either, or at least hadn't had any satisfactory ones, and stated as such. No one heard, but then Candice offered my services. I consented, and Daniel said we would when we got to the car. The kiss was amazing.

August 22, 2011 at 12:02 in the morning Daniel Tadasuke Aukai Magapan Logan asked me to be his boyfriend.

I said yes. :D

Field of Innocence

Knowing hurts. At times I almost wish I could return to that state of ignorance before all this began. But I know it'll be worth it in the end. The refiner's fire may be hot and uncomfortable for a while, but the result is a flawless gem. I'm definitely straight up coal for now, though.

Pillars of Salt

To walk away from something that you love is like leaving behind a piece of yourself on the road of life. But what if that piece, that something, is an addiction or bad habit weighing you down? And the road ends in your eternal happiness? Is it any easier to lay it down and just walk away? Lot's wife would venture to say no, it is not. What is it that caused Lot's wife to turn around? Mere disobedience? Silly womanhood, perhaps? I've heard many make such claims, but in my opinion these ridiculous notions are ludicrous and make me vomit. Perhaps by discovering her reasons we can learn what it is that makes the Lot's wife in all of us turn and look back on that which we have left behind.

In Dr. Phil's Seven Steps to Breaking Your Addiction, he says that you must first acknowledge the purpose of the addiction. Why do we do it? Do we drink alcohol because we're thirsty? or because we're unsatisfied with our situation? Once we've identified the cause of the fire, we can better set about putting it out.

Saint Matthew said that "if thy...hand offend thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee." It goes on to say that it'd be better to enter eternal life maimed than to have both hands and be cast into hell. In these terms it sounds so simple. Just take a lightsaber to the leper hand and you're good to go, right? Unfortunately we can't go all Jedi on our problems and skip off down happy trail. It's a process. We have to first decide to even dispose of the hand. Then we take the gnarly, jagged-toothed hand saw and prepare ourselves for the damage. This is the hardest part. The lot's wife in us makes a bit of a cut, then applies Neosporin and bandages and waits for a more opportune moment. Why can't we just go in for surgery and have the addiction or habit removed while we sleep?

We often think that this is what happened to Alma the Younger or the people of King Lamoni. However, in Alma 36 verse 12 we learn this is not true. Alma says that he was "racked with eternal torment, for [his] soul was harrowed up to the greatest degree and racked with all [his] sins." The word harrow comes from the farming tool that consists of a heavy frame with sharp teeth or upright disks, used to break up and even off plowed ground. Remember Frank from Disney's movie Cars when Mater and Lightning are tractor tipping? Give him big discs or sharp teeth that look like giant ninja stars and you've got yourself a harrow. My point is this: not even Alma the Younger got a "surgical removal" of his bad habits.

So we've finally made it through the intense and excruciating pain of sawing our own limb off. Now what? You just leave it there on the side of the road to be feasted upon by birds of prey who, by the way, are circling above you this very moment? That's no way to treat an ex-body part of mine. Especially one so vital. In Chinese culture even the cat gets buried honorably. Heck, even the ancient Egyptians shoved their organs in super cute canopic jars. What do we do? Li'l old Lot's wife that I am, I shove it in my JanSport and lug it with me.

Every time I need to take a break from monotonous childcare and household chores, my new Jane Austen book's finished, and Hulu's run out of wholesome videos, I take a peak in my backpack, just to make sure everything's safe. Maybe, since I'm here, and all, I'll take out my severed leper hand "to throw it away," I tell myself. And, since I'm throwing it away, I might as well say goodbye for the very last time ever. So I toss it around in the air a bit and then I'm done; time to get rid of Mr. Habit forever. Right after I toss it around again. Then teach it to play fetch. Then sew it back onto my arm.

As one may guess, playing fetch with "broken" habits or addictions is not part of Dr. Phil's Seven Steps. So how can we leave behind something so indulging, so captivating as an addiction? How can we walk away from something that we love?

In this question we find the answer. How can we walk away from something that we love? Since when did indulgence and captivity qualify as love? Elder Jeffrey R. Holland says that true love must include the idea of permanence—that it endures. Suddenly, perhaps we no longer feel the same way for Mr. Habit. Perhaps we never really loved him at all, merely wanted to love him. And as he reflected that fake love we felt wanted, at least for the time being. Perhaps under this new light we see our leper hand for what it is: super gross. It's been sawed off multiple times, stored in a backpack without ice, tossed around and dropped in the dirt, and then crudely stitched back onto our arm. Mildly grotesque. Perhaps we can now leave the habit behind and walk away without a second glance, trudging painfully but willingly toward something better, something more deserving of our love.

Perhaps not. Sometimes we actually do love that which we must leave. If this is the case all the doctors and all the Phils in the world can't convince us to leave it behind. This must come from within. Here is the point where you must stand and say, "I love you. And I'm getting rid of you anyway."

Maybe this is where Lot's wife failed. Too often we think about something and remember too much. She probably remembered her neighbors helping her with the groceries. Where Lot and the others perhaps saw casinos and playboy mansions, she may have thought about the beautiful architecture of the grandiose archway at the Natural History Museum. Maybe she thought of the time when a random stranger stayed with her child at the bazaar until she found him. Whatever she thought about, Lot's wife had probably decided she loved her home, and wanted to see it one last time...

It is not wrong to love. Christ's whole life was devoted to the topic, so He probably agrees. But there are times when we must prove our love by doing the hardest thing we humans can do: we must walk away from something else we love. It tears us apart, strips us of our prestige and valor; returns us to a state of vulnerability. In this state we yearn for something to fill the void which we have just created (which is step three according to Dr. Phil, by the way). This is when Christ comes in and overflows our empty cup. If we let him, Christ gives us the means to repair our arm with a new, stronger hand than before. He then steps back to watch us stumble on, ready to catch us when we fall, to encourage us to look forward when we think we want to turn around.

So the next time you lay down a lifelong friend on the road of life and feel like checking up on them ten yards and forty minutes later remember: we're all just glorified pillars of salt, and that's all you'll ever be if you go back.