Not that I'm the fattest guy in the world, but I am pretty big. I have no delusions of what I am, and what I look like. Nor do I have and false ideas of who my brothers are in comparison. The two of them are taller and leaner, built like MMA fighters.
In fact that's exactly what they do. The oldest is a skilled and determined guy who has been fighting since he was a kid. There is always a certain mentality that goes with being in Mixed Martial Arts, and this guy has it. The whole idea that he would rather die than lose. Even in small contests, he was crazy. We would play something like chicken and he would go all out.
The object of which would be to punch the other person as hard as one can on the arm, then wait for them to do the same. Then start over again. After a few rounds, The arm starts to become raw, and then people lose all desire to even win. Because winning requires one to lose their arm in the process.
My older brother, being the man of iron that he was, never lost a game. He would simply take the pain and move on. Luckily the idea of inflicting pain n me was more exciting than the sting of my hits, so it was easy for him to continue.
He would take in as much pain as possible as long as there was a promise of inflicting as much possible on the other person. This is why he does so well at Muay Thai, kick boxing and Brazilian jujitsu. This is why when he kicked another fighter in the face in round one and broke his foot on the dudes face, he simply shook it off. Not only did he just shake it off and go into the second, but he won the whole fight! The guy is nuts.
My younger brother is the most stubborn and In-Your-Face fighter ever. The second a fight begins, he is wrapping his arms around an opponent and doesn't let go to save his life. He reminds me of a sloth clinging to a tree. If sloths were trying to break trees' arms off.
I have personally pinned the kid to the ground and had my arms around his neck and he refused to tap. Just when I had a victory under my belt, he does some ridiculous flip and ends up putting me into an arm bar. He would rather look like a red fish sucking in for air, letting he complexion turn to a nice shade of purple than to tap on his own. The only way to win against his is to actually make his pass out.
Now, this is not really a story about my brothesr, but about my dad. The thing is, my brothers are a lot like my dad when he was younger. Tall, lengthy and always willing to fight. I know my dad is proud of this, I kinda envy that as well. The idea that my dad is proud of those to because of how God put them together kinda, just kinda, gets under my skin.
Please do take this as a rant on how much my dad loves my brothers, and not me. It has nothing to do with the fact that my older brother got all the opportunities and my little brother gets all the attention and I get left in the dust. Or how my younger brother got away with everything, and my older brother got all the cool new stuff. I simply got the hand me downs and got sent to my bed room.
This isn't about how I spent my childhood feeling like the freaking hunch back of notre dame, while my brother were like... that guy... from that movie... the really good looking one, that gets the girls.
Ok, well it kinda is. My dad loves me, and would die for me and he does treat me extremely well. I love him very much, and most of the feelings I laid out were fabrications. but this is a story of how my dad publicly acknowledged that I was his worst son.
He and I sat in the "Animal house" MMA gym watching my brothers spar. Dad was considering getting my younger brother a membership there, and the little kid was enjoying the free lessons. I was checking the place out and getting a feel of the fighters. It's pretty cool to watch some of the fighst, when all I've seen was UFC. It's amazing to see the talent that the biggest fighting organization in the world is missing. Maybe one day, I will see one of those fighters on the under-card or something, maybe.
While I sat there watching the fights, The lead Instructor came out and struck up a conversation with my dad. It was a civil discussion, on the way the gym looked, and how long they had been in the area. The instructor's nick name was "The Animal", which is why the MMA gym was called "The Animal House". I only explain this, because it took me FAR to long to figure it out on my own. and I don't want anybody to feel as dumb as I did.
Animal and my dad talked on about the career that Animal had. Fighting in small stuff and large events a like. Even getting to the point of fighting in the UFC as an under card. Some of the stories were fascinating, the people that he, not only knew, but had put into submission were crazy. Surely enough the conversation turned to my younger brother, and the possibility of getting him a membership. It was the real reason that Animal had approached my Dad in the first place, and I could see that, but it didn't make his stories any less invigorating.
My dad then started to speak on what he was interested in seeing my younger brother doing, and tied it into a couple stories of his time as a boxer. He then started to brag on the two sons he had in the cage.
"These two really have a lot of the same traits that guys from my family do." he said. Speaking like a promoter for a boxer.
"They have the tall lengthy build that helps in MMA and, I can see that it really helps in fighting. They are strong and agile and have really profound skills."
This is where it happened,one of the most entertaining moments of my life. Only because to this day, I simply refuse to allow my dad off the hook. reminding him of his blunder every chance I get.
What my dad wanted to say at that point, as he turned and looked at me was, with me sitting alone in a chair, as big as I am in comparison to just about every living person in that building.
"Unfortunately Tyler got the bigger genes of the family. Really strong, really balanced, but bigger."
I know this because we have had this conversation before. It's not just wishful thing on my part, hoping my dad wanted to say something nice about me. I had heard this sort of thing being said before.
Now here is the problem, Animal had no idea who I was. for all he knew I was a fat stalker watching the beautiful people sweat. This a cured to my dad at some point. unfortunately it was a little to late. He had committed to one sentence, but decided to introduce me at the same time. so what he ended up saying was...
"UNFORTUNATELY, This is my middle son Tyler."
The air was silent. he knew what he had said. he knew that I had heard, and Animal was simply looking at the fat kid sitting by himself. The only thing that could have made the picture better is if I was wearing a spinning top hat, and holding an ice cream cone.
I simply smiled and looked at Animal. It didn't faze me in the least, I opened my my mouth an replied.
"You see how he introduces me to the out side world? this is why I don't come out very often."
Don't worry this isn't going to be another rant on my early morning walks or love loss there of.
No, I woke at 3 to the sound of clicking. It might sound harmless, and somewhat anti-climatic, but the fact is that this clicking was loud enough to wake me up. Now, I'm a fairly heavy sleeper. Nothing like a log of course, but heavy none the less. I snore pretty badly, as i have been told by several people, and so I must be a pretty heavy sleeper,since I barely wake myself up. I fall asleep with the television on in the other room pretty easily. My room mates usually stay up later than I do.
I sleep with a fan on all the time, in fact I find it almost impossible to sleep with out some kind of sound to downed out the silence. Honestly, I think that I might be afraid of silence more than dark. So I know that I'm not a wuss when it comes to sound around me when sleeping.
This clicking, on the other hand, gets under my skin. It's like having a hand hit up against the wall, and or, under the floor of my bedroom every few second to few minutes. It wakes me from sleep (like I said) and it keeps me awake. Because of this little clapping sound through out my house, I am up for hours, HOURS! That's precious time for sleep.
I used to think that it was something like an animal in my walls. It was very concerned that there were rats or some kind of rodent walking around at night. I would get up and stomp around to see if I could get it to scurry. I even went into a little hole in my wall to see if I could catch it, it find droppings. Guess what I found... nothin... squat... nilch.
Then I realized that the clicking was to exact to be an animal. There was a pattern, there was consistency. So I figured maybe it was the wind, blowing a branch against the roof, which echoed and projected into my room. I started to like this theory. mostly because it meant that I would be able to do something about it. The clicking would cause me to become so infuriated, so crazy, that I would walk climb to my roof with something sharp. Something like a chainsaw, or bull cutters, bone saw, a butchers knife. Heck I would climb to the roof with a pair of "My Little Pony" scissors to hack that branch off.
And I almost did.
There was a night that I was woken up by the devils sound, and I ran out side to watch the trees around my house. Once I was standing outside seeing the branches sway and move, and I could see that nothing was even close to hitting my roof. So that theory was a bust, and I had to move on to something else.
That's when i started to figure it was something mechanical. Nature was not against me, but rather mans creation. It had to be something man made, it sounded more and more like a machine. Thirty seconds, then two minutes, then forty five seconds, then two minutes apart. always in perfect synchronization. Perfect fits, like a cog on a watch or a grandfather clock. Oh how I wish it was a grandfather clock. The gentle and stead tick tock, and swaying would put me to sleep in moments.
No, there was something built into the walls that was determined to disrupt my dreams. There was something placed in my house that screamed out obscenities in my sleep. There was something evil in my home and i was going to find it.
I checked my bathroom, for dripping facets.
I checked the kitchen for the fridge or freezer doing weird things.
I checked under the house to see if there was something happening under there People told me that it could be the house settling. But i refused to believe it could be so innocent, and all I found was the heater sitting below my room.
how could I have missed it!? I mean, the sound seemed to echo in the vents, and it started when the weather started to get colder. It was so obvious. Well, it couldn't have been that obvious, since it took me two weeks to figure it out right? Right?
so now the battle had transitioned from a man against nature and man against machine, it had become man against man.
It was only time that could tell how my room mates would react to the news that their comfort was literally driving me mad. Knowing that the heat they craved at night, the imitation warm of a mothers womb, was slowly and methodically killing me. I had brought it up to them, and they seem to be somewhat concerned, but still unwilling to give up their precious thermal security.
I have seemed for the last few nights to find myself in the sweet delight of a full nights sleep. It was wonderful, and i thought that all was good in the home of ice.
But then, like I said, this morning, I woke to the sound of the beast, rapping in my ears. and I knew that very moment, all was not good, and something had to change.
I think I'm gonna have to talk to my roommate... I hate this.
Its a fun experience to be sure. Creating an entire world where I am in control of the way that things happen. Helping the characters I want with magic that can be made up on the fly, Killing off the characters that I want. Using made up scenarios to tech moral or educational lessons.
There is nothing that I can't do, it is amazing. Yet, at the same time there is an over whelming sensation of burden on my shoulders. The lives that I create are stored in my head and play over and over like a loop of a scene at a retail electronics store. I can see their every move, every word, every breath. Not only can I see it, but I am responsible for it.
That is to say, if I don't tell you, the reader, that the monk,Sadon, is breathing, how would you know it? how would you know that he suffers from asthma, and has to overcome that obstetrical to fulfill his potential.It's to much to keep track of. Its like trying to go to a city council meeting, and writing down every little look. Understanding every single tiny ting in a each persons voice, and knowing everything that they're thinking. There is certainly a lot of fun that goes into the development of these characters. The way the move, the way they speak. while being an extension of the way i do everything, they some how pull away from me and become their own person.
Now, don't get me wrong. At this point in my life, I am not a father, not even an uncle, so I don't presume to understand the complexities and real joys and struggles that come with fatherhood. That said, I believe that what this could be is exactly like being a father. but better... I understand the wants and needs of my children better than any parent ever has. I am basically saying that I am the greatest parent ever.
I finished the first volume of my book yesterday. the first 60,000 words or so. I don't know much about writing, since this is my first book. but that feels like a good amount for a first act. Especially with what I have planned for the second one. It will be at least twice as large .
The problem that I am running into at this point is the lack of direction. I start to think I wanna go one way, and find later that I should reverse it. It's a little frustrating, but I think I will get my grips and get this thing done.
Well, I came up with a concept for that video game. It seems to be pretty original, and I told it to a few buddies who are super excited about it. Gotta keep working on it.
I find it in insatiably integrating how uncommonly tired I happen to be.
4 in the AM... That was how early I woke up yesterday. Not today. It was not a hard waking experience either. I simply heard the ring of my alarm and with out opening my eyes, turned it off. In fact, it wasn't until I was standing up, and walking into the bathroom that I opened my eyes for the first time.
I'm suddenly starting to wonder what the longest I have gone with out looking where I'm going has been....
I turned on the light and bleached my corneas, realizing how much I need to stop doing that to myself. Somewhere between trying not to miss the toilet and spitting the nasty prescription tooth paste out of my mouth, I was awake. I then threw on my clothes, and a nice jacket. Something that would keep me warm but wasn't over encumbering, Then popped out the front door.
After an hour's walk, I was at my place of Tasks, and went on with my day.
THIS morning I woke before the alarm rang.
Which, by the way, has to be the worst thing in the world. Seeing that you only have maybe two minutes to catch up on sleep. But knowing that its really not worth it, so you feel a little cheated out of life.
The first thing that I noticed was that it was almost seven-o-clock, and it was still dark out. Something about this seeped into my soul and I died a little.
I then proceeded to head to the bathroom, where in I found that my former day's attempts to not miss the toilet were in vain, and that I had in fact be quite unsuccessful. Realizing this at approximately the same time that my ride showed up at my house at started honking the horn. This was undoubtedly the worst thing that they could have done, considering the state of anger and sadness I found myself.
This all translated to the Task site where I was immediately meet with questions that truly tested the saying, "There's no such thing as a stupid question."
You know that scene in "300" when the narrator is all like,
" Immortals... we put their name to the test."
These people were like that... but with dumb questions.
Well I guess, now that I've sat down and written it all out like that. I can start to see why I would feel the way I do. Although, now that I see it in a list sort of setting, it all seems a little trivial. Also a lot shorter of a list than it was in my head.
So, This is I where I start to look back on the day and wonder what I could have done better. and I would say that waking up was my first mistake. Now I can only go to sleep and hope that I wake up to a better tomorrow.
The hardest part about being me is not all the bad things that happen to me. Those I can handle. The hardest part about being me is dealing with the moments that follow the bad things happening. Living with consequences, and dealing with afflictions.
I'm gonna write out the story and game play to a video game now.
Despite what most people may think by my writing sometimes, I love life and want to enjoy it to its max. Though I might seem to be a pessimist on the outside , I really just have a creamy optimist center.
I view life like my walk into Task this morning. It was 4 am and I was walking along a road in this sleepy town called the "Logging Road". It used to be the path taken by large trucks when hauling wood from the mountains down to the river. Because back then the river was the fastest mode of transportation for large things like trees. Then when the highways and byways were built, and things like trucks and trains and other such automobiles were made better, the road was used less and less.
So eventually it was turned into a pedestrian route for the people of this small town. Its quite nice actually. About three and a half miles of pavement crossing the eastern part of a growing city. And I was walking on it at an ungodly hour. The sun was still several hours from even thinking about coming over the horizon, and the clouds blocked out any light from the stars or the moon. It was pitch black. The road I walked on has no lights on it, because it passes so close to houses in a residential area. So things like light, at 4 am, were only wishes and dreams.
mmmmmm. dreams, how I would have loved to be dreaming at that point. but no, I had to be up, and hiking to my place of Tasks. so I could compete several meaning tasks, and gain more responsibility and new tasks. It probably wouldn't prevail to dream any how. Since I would commonly have a stress dream about the tasks that needed to be accomplished.
So, I was walking along this black trail through the dark world, and lip syncing to some dubstep, and the only thing that my eyes were fix on was this tiny, TINY, thing of light. It was straight ahead of me, and it was unmoving. This meant that it was not mounted on a bike, walker or even a car. It was a solid piece of ion producing mass. This flooded my heart with great and over powering joy.
some might find it odd that I was so happy about a light, but it was more than that to me. It was something to hold on to. This simple little light was the destination to my journey, it was proof that I was not simply walking through an endless space. Through the dark void that is the outer limits of our galaxy.
Well that and you know...Oxygen, gravity,atmosphere, and the overwhelming sensation of not being in space.
But this tiny tiny little thing that was a good mile and a half off, was my salvation.
I want to find something in this world worth holding onto. I know that there is a light in my life, and I will follow it as long at it stays in front of me. So you see, I'm not as dark and dreary as you might think I am. though my situation might be. Instead i find that i am only cloak in my environment. its a phenomenon in natural selection known as adaptation. Its becoming a part of your surroundings or wasting away. Coming to know that which i am influenced by. But I am still me, I am still human and still a happy person. I want nothing more than to bring a smile to every face I see, and hopefully share in the joy that could bring to someone else.
No matter how back and bleak my world my be, I will continue pounding my feet against pavement. There will always be a reason for me to push forward and fight on.
as long at I have some dubstep to listen to along the way.
As I usually do, I was staring off into space while I was at work.
This was while tending to some meaningless task assigned to me by the higher ups. A task in which I had done many times before, and will most undoubtedly continue to do for the for see able future. One of many different tasks that I am told that I must do, in order to some how feel a sense of accomplishment in my life. Tasks that, unbeknownst to the world around me, kill me slightly everyday. and yet the world tells me that I am required to complete these meaningless time wasters, in order to progress as a person. This is what work is to me.
The Idea that I am nothing more than a puppet at the theme park, grinding gears and following orders. Work is the promise of a future, while simultaneously promising an impossibility. It is an endless archaic mountain of tasks. And so in it shall be known as "Task" instead of "Work". One day, when I have considered how to completely circumvent that mountain, rather than climbing over it, I believe that I will consider what I do, Work. Not in the term that is to consider one doing something, with tasks. Rather, I will have something in my life that will define me, and my path.
I was considering the world around me, and the road that was building itself in front of me. Brick by brick I was beginning to see the choices I would make and the ultimate need for consideration at each fork. There was a supple amount of decisions that needed to be made. Each one was a new exit to the life Highway, leading to a new world that I could live in.
Should I continue with the degree I have, and fight that hard fight for Video fame?
Maybe pursue a second degree in graphic design and really tone my artistic side?
Could I possible start a small business and make a real living doing that?
Will I let my voice be heard on the interweb and beyond?
Could I write what I dream and let others dream with me?
Was there a chance I could let the music in my heart pour out to the world?
Is there any sense in dragging the Girl of my dreams along side my struggles?
I started to wonder if there was any possible and definite reason to any of these things. Should I just continue in my current Task and be happy being unhappy. This was what hit me hard, and it almost knocked me to the floor. My task was making me unhappy. It's not that I don't want to work. I love working, I love hard labor, but it has to have a purpose. What purpose was my current task allowing me to hold on to. I realized, these are the things that make me happy. Seeing the finished product, seeing the smiles that I make. I MAKE. That's exactly what I love. MAKING. I was floored. all of these things were products, that were being made.
Each and everything that I wanted to do, required hard work, and it required that I make something. It would mean that I would make something bigger than my self. If I desired to follow even one of these paths than I could make something, not just for myself, but out of myself. Each and every one of these possible projects was a way to my future. It was a way to the me I wanted to be.
Here's the kicker, I decided at that moment that I would do them all.Video, Comics, Writing, Music, Married life, Owning a business, Being a dreaming and a creator.
I am daring to invent myself as I see my self. I want the world to know what I think of while I preform meaningless and arbitrary tasks. I will define my self with a life that it parallel to the gifts I have been given. I believe that God gives us all gifts, and that if we deny ourselves these gifts than we will fall away from happiness. We will let a Joy that sparks in our hearts fall into a cold a deserted place. I believe that I am closest to God when I am creating and innovating and doing what he has gifted me to do. Jesus the Christ was a carpenter, he was a man who worked with his hands and a man who worked hard. So I must too work at what I am good at, and do it with everything I am.
So while I was doing something pointless and tedious, I came to a realization. The epiphany that I wanted to do everything I could do everything I could. all while I was starring off at work, as I usually do.