Tongue. In. Cheek. (Please Keep That in Mind!)

Crap. I want to go home.

Wait, those two sentences are more connected than that. Damn you, Text! Curse you, Grammar! How do I... let's see...

Crap, I want to go home.

Does that fix the problem? Is that still one thought or two? It should be one. Hold on. I'ma put my thing down, flip it, and reverse it.

I want to go home... crap.

That makes sense, right? I don't like the ellipses. 'Crap' is not supposed to be a reaction to something and therefore 'I want to go home'. No no no! In fact, this has been a great trip! It is the realization that I want to go home that brings about the 'crap'.

I want to go home. Crap.

Voila! Can you feel it? The conflict between wanting to go home and realizing that this is my favorite part of my job! And, all things considered, it's been a pretty successful week! So, why in the world would I want to go home?

If you know me, you know why. If you don't know me, you'll be a little confused until I gather the mustard to come out with it.

Not that you've had any clues, mind you. Well, I suppose I told my house like a month ago... But, I've not brought it up since then so there's no reason it should be on the front of their minds. And, well, Melissa knows. She always knows. But, aside from that and some fairly highlighted clues in other blogs... you should have no idea!

And, I don't plan on giving too many more hints. Aside from the fact that I am blogging about it, obviously. And, by 'it', I mean the thing that I always think about. The one question about my future that I want an answer to. But, that's it! No more help! For now...

I feel lighter.

And, I'm glad I'm feeling lighter and everything, but...

Wait, that really doesn't look like it sounds in my head.

And, I'm glad I'm feeling lighter and everything, BUT...

People are more interesting when their melancholy. Nobody likes happy people!

Truly, truly... everyone WANTS to be happy. But, no one wants someone to be happier than they are! Okay, maybe for a moment on big occasions. We'll smile and congratulate them and wish them happy times from here to eternity... just, when we get to eternity your happy times should be slightly less happy than mine.

Well, I've been willing to take the hit for you people. I like being interesting and I like making other people happy so for years now I've made it so that I have been unconsolably miserable about one thing. I've been unconsolably miserable about one thing so that deep down inside you could be reminded about how happy you are.

And then there's the whole interesting thing. I didn't do this for free. In return, I got to be interesting and melancholy and fun to ask questions of. To check in. To make sure I was doing okay.

Well, damnit, now that I'm all light again you've got nothing to be concerned about. Nothing to be interested in. (Aside from figuring out what/who I'm talking about... but, as soon as this mystery fades then it's back to the doldrums of complacency and happiness.)

But, answer me this: (Or, these:)

Would you watch House if he was supportive of his staff, courteous to patients, and snacked on TicTacs?

Would Holden Caulfield have inspired millions of angsty high schoolers if he was the college-bound high school quarterback?

Would Moto have gotten replies on his last blog instantaneously while my thoughts are left commentless?

(Yeah. I admit it. I'm jealous. What part of "attention whore" don't you people understand?)

Aha. You see? Misery loves company. If not like company then company who want to help. And, by 'help' I mean 'feel better about themselves'.

Well, apparently, I don't need your help anymore. I'm happy.

I'm light.

Crap.

LeBrandon is Out, Sohrab is In

So, blogger here is telling me that it has been exactly one month since I have written anything in here. And, y'know... that feels about right.

Wow, it was a full month ago that my parent's visited me. It was a full month ago that I was just given permission to stop using crutches. It was a full month ago that I only had maybe a hundred pages left to finish The Kite Runner.

Good grief, those things seem like forever ago. I miss my parents a ton and can't wait to figure out a chance to head back down to SoCal. My leg is far from healed, but I am walking normal and going to the gym on a regular basis. And, I just finished The Kite Runner about five minutes ago and cried at the end of a book for the first time since 'Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close'.

This time it was in a Starbucks though, as opposed to the safe confines of my own room. Awkward.

But, so good! It doesn't quite topple EL&IC as the Most Magnificent Manuscript Manufactured by Mere Mortals (the 6M Award, I'm surprised you haven't heard of it). But, it might have my favorite last moments of a book I've ever read. The words:

"For you, a thousand times over."

will forever haunt me. In a good way. I want that phrase to fuse itself into my vernacular. No longer "Yes" or "You betcha" or "I can do it, I can do it nine times", but...

For you, a thousand times over.

Oooooh. Can you feel it?

No? You should probably read the book.

Inshallah

"She said, 'I'm so afraid.' And I said, 'Why?,' and she said, 'Because I am so profoundly happy, Dr. Rasul. Happiness like this is frightening.' I asked her why and she said, 'They only let you be this happy if they're preparing to take something from you".

---

Gosh darnit, I wasnt going to blog tonight. I spent the evening counting my blessings, realizing that I am so little to complain about, and then complaining about it anyway. I had curled myself into bed, pulled the covers to my chin and commited myself to knocking out another noticable chunk of 'The Kite Runner'. I was going to read for a few minutes and then close my eyes and fall asleep.

Then, Amir crossed paths with an old professor who knew his mother. The last thing the old professor remembered Amir's mother saying to him was the above passage. "Happiness like this is frightening... They only let you be this happy if they're preparing to take something away from you".

I feel like I'm on the other end of that fear. Perhaps spending an evening laughing myself into a stomachache listening to my dad tell his stories was the start of my melancholy being taken away from me. I left dinner tonight with a huge sadness that I only had a few hours tonight with my parents and I only have a few days more with them. Over the course of the night I was entirely submersed in them and their love. But, as soon as I got back in my car to drive south my doubt grabbed hold and counted the remaining hours for me.

If Amir's mother was at the top of happiness, I am far from the bottom of sadness. There are still layers of bad news I'd have to find myself in before I admitted hitting 'rock bottom': anti-depressants, reactivating my WoW account, etc. But, why does my masochistic hopefulness find something to cling to in the above passage?

Spoiler alert: As the reader, I know something bad happens to Amir's mom. First off, it's been mentioned several times that she died in Amir's bearing. Second off, she is mentioned being pregnant just before the above passage is read. Third off, irony demands that something bad happens when admitting that everything is going oh-so-right. Think of any soldier in any war movie who carries a picture of his wife into every battle: You know that black and white photo is the last image he'll see of her.

Because if something bad happens to her when she is feeling so good, something good has to happen to me when I am feeling so bad. Right? That's the way the world works, isn't it? All of this self-doubt and druggery is going to climax into a wonder I can't describe just as all the blessings and happiness spiraled into the horror Sofia couldn't predict. That has to be it! That's why my parent's are here visiting, to help me begin this new chapter of untold joys!

There are two possible outcomes here: either the world is in order and my psyche is about to grab my hand and pull me from the hole I've been digging or another self-defense mechanism is about to be shattered while my psyche dumps a fresh layer of cynism on me.

Damn. I wish I wasn't a betting man.

Swept into the Sea

This blog thing is wildly inaccurate. The day/time that you're blog is "posted" under is actually the day/time that you begin writing the blog: not when you push 'Publish'. I started this blog, then went to go use the restroom, read a chapter of 'The Kite Runner' and now I am back well past midnight. Yet, this blogger thing is going to read 'Saturday, April 3rd'. You watch.

Anyone else offended? Up in arms? Want to take the streets with pitchforks and torches?

Yeah, me neither.

I cried tonight during Mass. I've teared up at certain sections each of the last two nights, but tonight it was tears coming down my cheeks. Not quite sobbing in the pews, but my myriad of themes, problems, issues, joys, doubts, frustrations, hopes were all pushed aside as I realized:

I've been with Melissa through this entire 6+ year process.

Here I am, wondering every day and every night as to whether anything I am doing now is making a lick of difference in the foreseeable future. And, sitting right next to me, is the culmination of a friendship that's lasted over a half-decade. All of our smiles and laughter and hugs and awkward moments and jealousies and small fights and coffee dates and sitting in cars listening to music and differences and indifferences and all of our love has manifested into this infinitesimal second of huge significance.

But, of course, now that the music has faded and a much-more-awkward-than-anticipated reception has passed my pride and joy is melting into one question:

What else am I working on?

It would be wrong to say that I was 'working' on Melissa. The beautiful thing about the moment of her confirmation was me realizing how little I had been involved. All I did was answer a few of her questions and be a stubborn ass when other people told me I was wrong. It has been her path this entire time and I have been fortunate to be walking so near to her. But, I will say a lot of untrue things before I take any kind of credit for her confirmation.

But, what else am I working on? What else is slowly morphing itself into something beautiful that will come to fruition years from now? I can't imagine it's my drumming. I don't see my time in admissions setting me up for my 'big break' into the corporate world.

I was told today (for the second time in three nights) that I have a decent voice. I've really enjoyed singing a lot of the Easter songs: they are significantly underrated compared to Christmas tunes... But, seriously! Where is that going? I'm going to join the choir soon?

I'm afraid I'm not working on anything. I can't see more than about fifteen minutes into the future nowadays and even that superpower isn't very reliable. The one thing I know for a fact that is changing is my demeanor. Beth called me out on it the other night. My cheerfulness has an edge to it. It is cheer without happiness. It is cheer slathering itself in cynicism.

My favorite song tonight was a diddy with a more traditional Jewish sound and tempo to it:

"Sing a song of freedom, God has won the victory.
Horse and chariot are cast into the sea.

Sing a song of freedom, God has won the victory.
Horse and chariot are cast into the sea.

Horse and chariot,
Fear and lonliness,
Death and emptiness,
Horse and Chariot are cast into the sea.

Horse and chariot,
Hate and prejudice,
Chains and slavery,
Horse and chariot are cast into the sea."

The cheerful part of me clapped my hands and swayed to and for.

The rest of me sits here and wonders: 'What else is left?'

A Mischief of Mice

Did you know that was the proper term for a family of mouses?

Oh, families! Is there a better word in the English language? What a broad and generic term when we are grouping things that belong together and then what a intense and specific word when we begin conjuring images of the families we belong to.

From what I understand from the media and some personal ties, I am in the very fortunate minority of people who still get along great with their folks. My insides are doing backflips thinking about how my parents will be visiting Portland for a few days with the primary intention of spending time with their eldest son and seeing where and how he lives. Suddenly, I feel like I am planning time with a girl that I like: my mind has gone blank! I can't think of what I do on a regular basis!

We have to go to Powell's, that's a given. I'm kind of hoping they'll buy me a few somethings there... Then, I want to take them to Bunk. That's kind of a self-serving trip as well, because I really want another Bunk sandwich. But... then what? I really like these people, what can I do?!

Families beyond my immediate family have been a source of comfort this week as well. I forgot how much I truly love the triduum of Catholic services leading up to Easter. I've spent most of my adult life trying to be as ecumenical as I can. But, the fact of the matter is that you Protestant Christians haven't experienced Easter until you've consecutively attended Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Vigil services.

Of course, I don't mean that as condescending as that might sound. I'm sure most of you have had very fulfilling Easters. I hope this is one of them. But, seriously, next year. Think about it. It could be because my dear friend is joining the Church, and I'm sure the fact that I've had a rough couples of weeks/months has magnified my need for the stability and love that I find going to Mass, but I can't think of a time of my life that I felt more connected to the Spirit. This week is good. And right. And alive.

My house family is riding a roller coaster right now. I think the stresses of moving and the realization of limited time with one of our housies is wearing on us. The constant reminder I have is that we all are in this because we are good for one another and really care about each other. We had an amazing dinner and some great time of hanging out that really solidified that continuing our houe-family-ship was the right thing to do. I think some more honest conversation and a couple of exciting days of moving will put us in an awesome place. Both literally and figuratively.

And, of course, there's the family that I met breifly earlier tonight. They were gracious enough to let me gab about myself for about an hour while we got to know each other. Oh, and there was some wicked tasty (gluten-free) chips and dip. I like them; they're good people.

I've got a lot more thinking before I make any bold declarations, but I'm formulating a thought that says something along the lines of:

You're going to be okay as long as someone claims you as family.

Contrary to Last Night...

And, I was trying so hard to be a skeptic!

Lesser known things about Justin Hudec:

-In a perfect world, I will never order the same item as someone else in my party at a restaurant. I will do everything that I can to be one of the last to order when I am in a group and will always have two different plates in mind just in case someone kypes my first choice.

-As the oldest of four brothers and having the closest brother being the single most stubborn person I know, I've been in my fair share of disagreements. I am nowhere near perfect, but I have considerable training in the art of choosing battles. You will find me passive on the issues where my investment is slim but shaking my head violently against the soft chimes of reason if I have any stake in the matter.

-There is nothing more crucial to comedy than commitment. Brevity, wit, appropriateness... these are the purest of vanities unless you are willing to walk a mile along train tracks wearing Crocs backward as they dig into your Achilles.

All that is to say that I can be stubborn when the kneejerk reaction kicks in. And, when I sat down to watch Shutter Island tonight my knee had already been jerked and I was settling in for two hours of nit-picking. Too many people had given it two thumbs up for me to give it a fair viewing; I was prepared to tell people why they were wrong.

And, for the first half of the film I had a mental list filling up. The cinematography seemed a little contrived and a little more obviously trying to be artsy. The flashbacks were getting a little longer everytime in order to give you more backstory but I still felt like I was being dragged along forceably through the set-up. There were definitely some weird people and events in the first hour but they made me much more uncomfortable than creeped out. Long story short, I had convinced myself that I didn't get it.

Then, the middle half hour begins and the scariness that had been advertised for months finally got cranked to 10. No longer was I uncomfortable, I was grabbing the seat dividers and wishing I had left myself some soda to temporarily pull myself out of the film. At the peak of the horror, as every ounce of your being is afraid of what is around this last turn... the best performance by any of the actors shines on screen. Literally. I want to send the actor who played G***** N**** more money because he was Heath-playing-Joker-esque in his role. Incredible.

At this point in time, my jaw is fixed to the top of my chest from adoring this guy's acting. It stays there through the 45 minutes of the movie as the plot crescendoes and your brain leaks out each of your ears. As your brain matter drips off your earlobes, little smiles from the first half of the movie wave and taunt you and swim laps in the pool of things you should have added up the first time through.

I mention all this for two reason:

1) Go see Shutter Island. I will go with you. I have no hesitations about dropping the price of four or five or twelve movie tickets on this movie. It's that good.

2) I'm getting all this sorted out in my brain so I can explain it to someone. No, not the stuff about the movie. In fact, part of me hates that I liked the film that so many people liked before me. So, I have to explain that along with why it bothers me and with my specific reasons of liking the movie. I'm not just a fanboy or anything, here.

For Beth (And, Really I Mean 'Dear Me')

Attention friends:

As of tonight you are no longer to accompany me to a bar and, after more than one drink has been consumed by this party, ask or proceed to talk about me. After more than one drink has been consumed by Justin, the topic of conversation must be changed to one of the following:

-The weather;
-How boring it is to talk about the weather;
-Places to ski;
-Cheeses made in the state of Vermont;
-Books I have not read before (Note: this is a close violation to the new rule, but the object is to turn the conversation to something which is foreign to me, i.e. a new book);
-Things you can make out of one sheet of 8.5"x11" piece of paper;
-The proper number of times to use a towel before it must be washed;
-The advantages to a Radial coordinate system versus the Cartesian coordinate system;
-Ponderings to if they've changed map's location of sea level and the height of Earth's mountains due to global warming;
-Anything which I should not reasonably be able to steer back towards a discussion on me with one or two well-placed question.

One should note that 'reasonably' is a very subjective word. It is up to the friends present if I have unreasonably or unexpectedly turned the conversation back toward me and if a punishment is in order. I trust you all to be both severe and fair.

---

I am not entirely certain that imposing the above rule is in my favor or yours. Likely both. Apparently my cynical side is slowly blossoming into my cynical psyche. I'd apologize for it, but I'd say there is a strong a chance that you are witnessing the birth of the 'new Justin' as there is a chance of me snapping out of it and reverting back to being one smile pasted on top of the previous one. One way or another, this rule should protect both of us.

Crap. This blog doesn't work. Earlier tonight I perfected a theory that the best blogs are happy blogs. You want to read happy blogs. I want to read happy blogs. The blogs that update once every three weeks with an apology that 'I keep meaning to write more' translate into 'there's nothing happening in life right now' really translates into 'what a sad, sad life I lead'.

Sad blogs are simply passive agressive electronic calls for help and generally arent interesting to write or read. That's why you won't find the words "Sorry, I've been trying to think of stuff to put here" anywhere on my blog: I don't feel good about pressing "Publish" because I don't want you to get bored and close the web browser or get conflicted about what the best electronic means of reaching out to me is.

But this blog... Sad? Happy? Somewhere over the rainbow? Is this blog interestingly depressing or cheerfully cynical?

I've had a lot of fun writing it, I feel good about pressing 'Publish'. Does this mean I've broken the genres of blogging and transcended into a realm untouched by human thought?

I like to think so.