Theme Thursday
Today's theme came to me when I was walking to get a bagel. I don't know why, maybe carbs make me introspective. Who the hell knows? At any rate, today's theme is...
By Now I Thought I Would Have...
More Kids
Being infertile really threw a wrench in the Cackowsk-Schnell procreation plan to the tune of putting off our child obtainment by about 3 years. At the time it sucked in a manner that I can hardly describe. I mean, gut wrenching, soul consuming suckage that I wouldn't visit on my worst enemy. In retrospect, it still sucks, but we Cackowski-Schnells are known for our ability to adapt, that and our opposable thumbs, and we have rolled with it. Getting Ben when we did fit the adage very well, in that we didn't get what we wanted, but we got what we needed. Not that we don't want Ben, far from it, he has become the center of our family in a way that I still marvel at, but we certainly didn't want to get on a big, smelly plane and fly to big, smelly Russia to obtain him. The extra time did afford us the option to grow up a little more, become closer together, and save up more money, which was key because adoption is so criminally, fucking expensive. Sometimes things happen when they should happen, and when it doesn't coincide with your timetable, it sucks, but it may end up being a good thing. Besides, I got to play a shitload of amazing games that I know I wouldn't have played if I had a 4 year old and a 2 year old.
Written Something
I don't think I'm tooting my horn all that much to say that I'm not all that bad of a writer. Certainly I could use some work, as commas and I have a tenuous relationship, at best, but I can string coherent thoughts together in a successful effort to make people laugh. I'm not so deluded as to think that's all one needs to successfully publish something, but at the same time, I think I could, if I put the effort into it. Ay, there's the rub, the effort. In a very odd juxtaposition of personality disorders I am, at the same time, very full of myself, and very unsure of myself. On the one hand, I think I rock pretty hard. I'm funny, I'm a good husband, a so-so father (we're working on that), a good cook, a hard worker and a loyal and generous friend. I also know that I can write well, because a lot of people, including complete strangers (I had a site before Catspit for a couple of years) have told me so. However, when it comes time to write, I am so completely gripped by fear of rejection that I don't even try. The fact that all of these blasted video games give me such an easy outlet for my lack of effort doesn't help. Maybe some day I'll come up with whatever it is that's necessary to get my ass in gear. Who knows. In the meantime I'm happy writing here. After all, who cares if you don't like it? Kidding.
Had More Accidents
I am a shitty driver. I'm not one of those road raging, all over the road, obnoxiously dangerous drivers, but I do have a thing for cutting it close with stationary objects. The only accident I've ever had involved my mom's car, a guardrail and my unconscious form. Whoopsie. True to form, all I messed up was our car, and no one else's, but that fact didn't make the replacement of said car any easier. Given this charming aspect of my character, I am surprised that I've been able to keep all of my cars relatively intact with only minor scrapes here and there, and none more than expected for usual wear and tear. I'm sure the Big One is out there, prowling a parking garage as we speak and you'll hear on the news about the moron who managed to get his Maxima wedged in the garage elevator. Until then, I'll keep on trucking.
Learned to Play Guitar
I h ave a guitar, as I'm sure 75% of males my age do, and it's occupying the same space as their's, the corner of the closet. When we moved to Seattle, I thought that it was the perfect opportunity to learn. I paid for a community college course, which I actually attended. This was in part because it seemed silly to pay for something and not do it, but mostly because the my 80 year old, female, blues-loving, German guitar teacher scared the living shit out of me. The class was pretty fun, but I quickly tired of playing the same blues riff over and over and over, as I know that Linda did. I practiced in the bedroom because practicing in the family room put me at risk of wearing my guitar as a necklace. Eventually my laziness, and old, un-dextrous fingers conspired to take me out of the guitar game. I still have it, so that Ben, or our daughter can play it, at least that's what I tell Linda. In actuality, I don't want to get rid of it, because that would mean giving up on my dream of playing guitar once and for all. Plus, it's nice to have the threat of teaching that blues riff to the kids as a nice bargaining chip.
Pie
I've been waiting all day for someone to bring me some pie. So far, bupkiss. Does the world not feel my yearning for pie? Oh, cruel fates and flaky crusts, why must you conspire against me?
Lost a Finger
I am the most accident prone person I know. When I was in college, I started off my senior year, and my student teaching experience, on crutches because I had torn my ankle asunder playing raquetball. At the end of the semester, when I had finally gotten off crutches, in a stupendous display of ignorance regarding rotational physics, I dropped a massive conference table on my toe. Don't ask. I smashed my toe to little bits, an event that, to this day, ranks as the single most painful thing I've ever done to myself. Back on the crutches I was, only this time I had no cool atheletic tale to tell, just a mashed toenail and some bloody sneakers. Since spraining my ankle, I've done it more times than I can count, including once when I fell off of a curb. Those 4 inch drops are murder. My hands and fingertips are littered with scars from various cutting implements and my wrist has 2 scars criss-crossing each other, one from a window and one from a chisel. Again, don't ask. Despite my habit of allowing my blood to see the light of day, my wife keeps buying me bigger and sharper knives. Either she loves me and wants me to only have the best cooking implements or she's trying to off me in the slowest and most indirect way possible. Somehow I stay living, complete with all of my appendages. If she gives me a chainsaw for Christmas I'll really be suspicious.
Gotten Better at Halo
I mean really, this is fucking pathetic. I even own the game and I still get beaten like a redheaded stepchild, mostly by that Kojak looking motherfucker that runs this site. Bastard!
Wanted More
I have been extraordinarily lucky. I have an amazing wife, a calm, easy-going and very fun child and a fantastic life that I feel like I stumbled into. It hasn't been without its share of problems, but in the grand scheme of things, they're pretty fucking inconsequential. I think it's always important to want things, as it keeps you motivated to achieve something, but my list of wants is dwarfed by the list of wonderful things I have. It's hard, in the day to day of things, to focus on the good things, but at the same time, you gotta kick back and enjoy 'em. Cause eventually you'll be dead, and then won't you feel silly?
By Now I Thought I Would Have...
More Kids
Being infertile really threw a wrench in the Cackowsk-Schnell procreation plan to the tune of putting off our child obtainment by about 3 years. At the time it sucked in a manner that I can hardly describe. I mean, gut wrenching, soul consuming suckage that I wouldn't visit on my worst enemy. In retrospect, it still sucks, but we Cackowski-Schnells are known for our ability to adapt, that and our opposable thumbs, and we have rolled with it. Getting Ben when we did fit the adage very well, in that we didn't get what we wanted, but we got what we needed. Not that we don't want Ben, far from it, he has become the center of our family in a way that I still marvel at, but we certainly didn't want to get on a big, smelly plane and fly to big, smelly Russia to obtain him. The extra time did afford us the option to grow up a little more, become closer together, and save up more money, which was key because adoption is so criminally, fucking expensive. Sometimes things happen when they should happen, and when it doesn't coincide with your timetable, it sucks, but it may end up being a good thing. Besides, I got to play a shitload of amazing games that I know I wouldn't have played if I had a 4 year old and a 2 year old.
Written Something
I don't think I'm tooting my horn all that much to say that I'm not all that bad of a writer. Certainly I could use some work, as commas and I have a tenuous relationship, at best, but I can string coherent thoughts together in a successful effort to make people laugh. I'm not so deluded as to think that's all one needs to successfully publish something, but at the same time, I think I could, if I put the effort into it. Ay, there's the rub, the effort. In a very odd juxtaposition of personality disorders I am, at the same time, very full of myself, and very unsure of myself. On the one hand, I think I rock pretty hard. I'm funny, I'm a good husband, a so-so father (we're working on that), a good cook, a hard worker and a loyal and generous friend. I also know that I can write well, because a lot of people, including complete strangers (I had a site before Catspit for a couple of years) have told me so. However, when it comes time to write, I am so completely gripped by fear of rejection that I don't even try. The fact that all of these blasted video games give me such an easy outlet for my lack of effort doesn't help. Maybe some day I'll come up with whatever it is that's necessary to get my ass in gear. Who knows. In the meantime I'm happy writing here. After all, who cares if you don't like it? Kidding.
Had More Accidents
I am a shitty driver. I'm not one of those road raging, all over the road, obnoxiously dangerous drivers, but I do have a thing for cutting it close with stationary objects. The only accident I've ever had involved my mom's car, a guardrail and my unconscious form. Whoopsie. True to form, all I messed up was our car, and no one else's, but that fact didn't make the replacement of said car any easier. Given this charming aspect of my character, I am surprised that I've been able to keep all of my cars relatively intact with only minor scrapes here and there, and none more than expected for usual wear and tear. I'm sure the Big One is out there, prowling a parking garage as we speak and you'll hear on the news about the moron who managed to get his Maxima wedged in the garage elevator. Until then, I'll keep on trucking.
Learned to Play Guitar
I h ave a guitar, as I'm sure 75% of males my age do, and it's occupying the same space as their's, the corner of the closet. When we moved to Seattle, I thought that it was the perfect opportunity to learn. I paid for a community college course, which I actually attended. This was in part because it seemed silly to pay for something and not do it, but mostly because the my 80 year old, female, blues-loving, German guitar teacher scared the living shit out of me. The class was pretty fun, but I quickly tired of playing the same blues riff over and over and over, as I know that Linda did. I practiced in the bedroom because practicing in the family room put me at risk of wearing my guitar as a necklace. Eventually my laziness, and old, un-dextrous fingers conspired to take me out of the guitar game. I still have it, so that Ben, or our daughter can play it, at least that's what I tell Linda. In actuality, I don't want to get rid of it, because that would mean giving up on my dream of playing guitar once and for all. Plus, it's nice to have the threat of teaching that blues riff to the kids as a nice bargaining chip.
Pie
I've been waiting all day for someone to bring me some pie. So far, bupkiss. Does the world not feel my yearning for pie? Oh, cruel fates and flaky crusts, why must you conspire against me?
Lost a Finger
I am the most accident prone person I know. When I was in college, I started off my senior year, and my student teaching experience, on crutches because I had torn my ankle asunder playing raquetball. At the end of the semester, when I had finally gotten off crutches, in a stupendous display of ignorance regarding rotational physics, I dropped a massive conference table on my toe. Don't ask. I smashed my toe to little bits, an event that, to this day, ranks as the single most painful thing I've ever done to myself. Back on the crutches I was, only this time I had no cool atheletic tale to tell, just a mashed toenail and some bloody sneakers. Since spraining my ankle, I've done it more times than I can count, including once when I fell off of a curb. Those 4 inch drops are murder. My hands and fingertips are littered with scars from various cutting implements and my wrist has 2 scars criss-crossing each other, one from a window and one from a chisel. Again, don't ask. Despite my habit of allowing my blood to see the light of day, my wife keeps buying me bigger and sharper knives. Either she loves me and wants me to only have the best cooking implements or she's trying to off me in the slowest and most indirect way possible. Somehow I stay living, complete with all of my appendages. If she gives me a chainsaw for Christmas I'll really be suspicious.
Gotten Better at Halo
I mean really, this is fucking pathetic. I even own the game and I still get beaten like a redheaded stepchild, mostly by that Kojak looking motherfucker that runs this site. Bastard!
Wanted More
I have been extraordinarily lucky. I have an amazing wife, a calm, easy-going and very fun child and a fantastic life that I feel like I stumbled into. It hasn't been without its share of problems, but in the grand scheme of things, they're pretty fucking inconsequential. I think it's always important to want things, as it keeps you motivated to achieve something, but my list of wants is dwarfed by the list of wonderful things I have. It's hard, in the day to day of things, to focus on the good things, but at the same time, you gotta kick back and enjoy 'em. Cause eventually you'll be dead, and then won't you feel silly?
posted by Brandon at
12:32 PM
