maybe i didn't realize what was coming out
(but, what if i did?)


there is something dreadfully wrong with me and i am not sure what to do about it. wednesday afternoon, i was sitting on my couch watching the movie, speed racer. i was about fifteen minutes from the end of the big race, just shortly after speed tells a rival driver to "get that weak shit off my track." should have been a funny and/or compelling moment. speed was finding his inner neo. everything was making sense. everything had slowed down. degree of difficulty as compared to his fellow fictional racers no longer existed in his world. he was becoming the best. all that was left was to finish the race, collect the trophy and kiss his girl. before all of that happened (and it did happen), i felt a rush of emotion come over me.

my eyes began to well up. had i not contained myself, i could have out and out bawled all over myself right there, all alone, in my living room with no one but the cats to console me. i thought to myself, "what the crap is this??? what is going on with me. i am watching speed racer for christ's sake! get a hold of yourself, man!" and i did. i got a hold of myself. but as the end credits rolled, it wasn't celebrating speed's victory that was forefront in my mind. it was my almost becoming a blubbering chim-chim while watching an escapist, family/action movie meant to entertain, not to pull at heartstrings.

or was it?

i doubt the wachowski's overarching goal for the movie was to make 32 year-old men weep, but there are certainly familial themes that drive the plot that might speak to all of us on some level. maybe on wednesday, i was just on that level.

i've been walking around in a haze for a few weeks now. few things are bringing me joy and that's just a crying shame. i look forward to getting away from the store and being at home, and then the burden of "doing my share" around the house makes me mope-y. i dreaded heading to the gym to play basketball all afternoon on tuesday. it took me getting there, breaking a good sweat and looking around to see me and one other guy were the only white guys out of our eleven man collective. i thought, then, to myself, "this is what you've been dreading? this wonderful metaphor of what our church could look like if we could ever focus on filling needs versus shifting that focus to stupid blogs (figuratively speaking, of course.)?" it wasn't just the black/white ratio that jumped out at me. it was a young thing. a fun thing. a, man, we picked to be here tonight rather than somewhere else thing. it was a beautiful thing, and i came within a hair of calling everyone and calling the night off. i am having a hard time, still, finding what's worth smiling about in my life, because something seems to be stuck in the way. or a lot of things. if i figure it out, you'll be one of the first to know.

"i always kind of, sort of, wished i was someone else", you know? that's part of it. i wished i was that guy that didn't get hung up on why people won't return e-mails in a timely matter when i am that guy that couldn't return a phone call in a timely matter if his life depended on it. i wish i could corner the market in my mind where i am always optimistic and never cynical or skeptical. i wish that i could find better ways to tell sarah that hindsight shouldn't be an excuse for saying what a good idea our family pictures turned out to be. you can take me out of them. that would probably up the quality, but we never would have had the images of our girls that we just can't take our eyes off of since last night. i wish that i wouldn't be so disappointed in people that i care for and about that my thoughts breed "contempt"uous language that those same people could use to misconstrue and mismanage my message to those beautiful little girls. i wish that i was the type of person that could see the good in everyone more than skip directly to the bad. i wish, much of the time, for a fresh start. somewhere away where the history of my name and old title and my cuss words and my lack of time spent currently with my parents weren't as much as my (your) definition as they've become. suitcase in my hand, "i always kind of, sort of, wished i looked like elvis."

but that wouldn't be fun, right? not that being sad or frustrated or annoyed is fun. not all the time anyway. but running wouldn't be fun. running from what? running from where? whom?

it's probably ok for me to cry at speed racer as long as i come out of the funk as focused as i went in. i am ready to get out of the funk. maybe acknowledging the funk is the first step in recovering from it. we'll see.

the shame of this is that, in a lot of ways, i've been a runner all my life. running away from the things that are hard. from the things that make me uncomfortable. from the things that i can't completely control. from my mom ('til recently). from my dad (still jogging kind of). from my brother (found him again). from my church (um, yeah. i am back.). i guess it's just too bad for my church that i drew my line at her. it's too bad that the evolution of me (what? people can evolve?) came at a time when huffman had become important to me again. when running was no longer an option. it's too bad. or it's too good. depends on how you're willing to feel about her.

as soon as i shake out of this funk, you'll see me smiling again. to you, it could be a genuine smile or a sinister and miscalculated one. but it won't change the message behind the smile.

think.