ProtusMose.com

I’m actually going to type some words and compose a new protusmose.com blog update. This will be exciting. It’s been, what, two years? Odd things happen in the cycle of blogging. Or at least they did for me. This place started as a private corner to air my thoughts out to dry; to bounce ideas and frustrations off the anonymous cloud of interwebs. Then people started reading. You all ruined mah blagh. My wife got upset that I would blog about personal things that I had never talked to her about. At the time I thought it was an overreaction; however, that’s actually a very legitimate gripe. It wasn’t that I was intentionally hiding things from her. I just never thought to share those thoughts. So, many potential blog posts diverted into meaningful conversations with the woman I’m madly in love with. That’s wonderful for me, not so wonderful for the poor blog.

It was much easier when there was no one reading this thing. I could ask questions, get mad, and write in my little public diary. Then people started reading. And suddenly, I wasn’t writing for myself anymore. I had to keep an ‘audience’ in mind. Takes the wind out of my creative sails when I’m worried about what people will think.

Then, there’s Facebook. I used to get a small idea and develop that into a full post on here. Now, thanks to the instant nature of facebook, that crap gets shoved into a small status update and forgotten about. Yes, Facebook has robbed you of posts.

Finally, there’s nefarious HR representatives. I was looking for a job for quite a while. Employers are snoopier than ever, and make decisions off things they find online without a second thought. “Hey, this could be a great blog post! Wait, what if someone at XYZ company finds the blog and doesn’t like my: faith in Christ/taste of music/sense of humor/etc? I probably shouldn’t say anything.”

So, to recap, or as the kids say these days:

TL;DR

Marital intimacy, family, facebook, and the economy killed my blog.

It’s back though. I think I’ll come up with some original content soon.

Lately, I’ve noticed that I’ve become increasingly sedatephobic. Don’t worry, I looked up the word for it before writing this, just so I could sound intellectual. It’s the fear of silence. I don’t mean the absence of sound, like your annoying coworker or ex-girlfriend who just can’t stand it if no one’s talking and has to fill the dead air. I’m talking about the quiet times when there’s no one around and it’s just you with your mind left alone to wander. Traditionally, I’ve loved those times. It’s in the quiet times that God has spoken to me most. It’s also when I do my best thinking. In fact, I submit that 90% of all great ideas and inventions in history have been conceived while on the toilet or in the shower. Even mowing the lawn, there’s nothing to do but think.

Lately though, I haven’t relished that time. I’ve come to realize that a combination of a rather crummy last 14 months professionally, and serious lack of prayer and worship time, I just don’t have my head screwed on right. My defenses are in a pitiful state. Now when the quiet time comes, darkness takes in. Where serenity once lived and thrived, bitterness, lust, envy, and resentment now reign with brazen contempt. I tell myself that I’ve forgiven certain people for things that have happened in the last couple years. If that’s the case, why do I mentally rehearse all the things I would tell them if I ever got the chance to tell them off? Is that love? Is that forgiveness? No, it’s pride and folly.

When I can’t pretend I’m not thinking these things any longer, my first reaction should be one of submission and repentance. Instead, I fall for just about the oldest trick in the snake’s book. Shame. God knows every wicked thought that was going through my head, and instead of manning up to it and asking for His forgiveness for having done it and His grace and strength to withstand the temptation to go there in the future. I mentally hide in the woods, searching for a fig leaf, pretending it didn’t happen; as if stopping the sin erases it from history.

The only way to fight this is head on reckless abandon. I must pray for strength and wisdom, fortify myself from attack, and strike down my pride so that I may seek forgiveness.

I’ve been going over a couple of passages over and over, drilling them into my head. Setting perimeters for defense.

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely,
whatever is admirable–if anything is excellent or admirable think about such things.–Phil. 4:8

We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.–2 Cor 10:5

“Keep this on your mind – keep it within your eyelids” The Devil Wears Prada – Gimme Half

“I’ll never look back. I’ll never taste it again. I’ll never stop. You can’t stop me.” Project 86 – Stalemate

I’m sick of trying to keep my mind occupied just to avoid the mental silence. I hate that it’s been robbed from me. Rather, I hate myself for letting it be taken so easily and without a fight. I’m taking it back by force. Silence will once again be a time of rest. A time of serenity. A time of worship. I will leave the past in the past where it belongs. (I’ll never look back.) I will leave anger and resentment and impurity at the foot of the cross, not to be picked up again. (I’ll never taste it again.)

Consider it a vow.

My day has been ruined and a new mid-life crisis has been prematurely entered. I was stretching my legs while walking at work. Kind of rocking the Frankenstein walk to clear my knees out a little and stretch the hammies. This guy asks why I’m limping and I joked that I was getting old. The reply? “Old? Come on. You’re only, what, mid thirties?” I searched his face for a hint of joking. He wasn’t. I protested his assessment. “Mid-thirties!? Are you kidding?” His response was “32? 31?”

After I get off work I’m buying a box of Just For Men, and scheduling a face lift.

FML

Called Sarpy County Sheriff’s department to find out what was going on with hiring. “If you haven’t gotten anything from us by now, we’re not lookin’ at you.”

Two down. One more rejection to go.

I’ll preface this by saying I’m not intending to purposely offend anyone. However, please someone explain these to me:

What?

What is the point of this? “In memory of so and so…” That’s a dependent clause. There’s a first half of that sentence that is usually left off because it’s obvious. In order for something to be “in memory of John Doe” something has to be being done. You erect a building in someone’s memory. You donate money to a charity in someone’s memory. You… drive to Walmart in someone’s memory?. What is in her memory? What have act have you performed that has been done in her memory? What is it you have done that is honoring her? Was the act of paying $5.00 for a vinyl decal your act of remembrance? What sort of memorial is that? Are you cutting me off and not using your turn signal to honor your dead relative? If you have one of these stickers, please tell me why.

I just don’t get it.

So I watched American Idol tonight. I usually don’t, but I missed my wife and it was an easy way to spend time with her.

This kid is the worst human being in the history of the world. He should be shot with an elephant gun, run over by a semi, his body burned with napalm and his ashes soaked in elephant urine.

This is the only video I could find of it now. It just happened an hour ago, so a better one will be up tomorrow probably.

That is the worst rendition I could possibly think of. A middle-eastern/80s/wannabe cure version of Ring of Fire? Adam Lambert, kill yourself. Please.

Show him how it’s done, Johnny.

Dearest reader(s),

I humbly apologize for the recent lack of updates. I’ve been rather busy lately.

At work.

w00t!

Things don’t appear to be settling down anytime soon. I’ve got another two weeks of training or so before being thrown into the wolves. As if that isn’t unnerving enough, I’m going back to school starting next Wednesday. So, I’ll go to work and get beat up from 7 – 4, then come home and be mentally assaulted by learning Java programming and other fun stuff at night. If I get out of this alive, by this time next year, I’ll upgrade my Associate’s to a Bacherlor’s. Not bad for 10 years, eh?

I foresee a great deal of coffee being consumed for the next 12 months.

Avast! Updates ahoy!

It’s been a long week (even if it’s not over.) First, I’d like to announce that I now play drums apparently. My position within the worship team at our church has changed a lot over the years. Bass to electric guitar back to bass, etc. When we lost our drummer, I eventually started playing the congas. I’m fairly decent with them, I think. Over the last year or so, I’ve stolen the crash cymbal from our cobweb-ridden drum set and incorporated that into the set. I’ve been using some multi-rod brush sticks and some inventive hand slaps for the cymbals and even used the sticks on the congas occasionally. For a while, I’ve been joking about dismantling the drum set and bringing the bass drum over so I can kick that too. Anyways, on Sunday morning at about 9:50, we were getting practice started. (Service begins at 10:30)I was joking around about moving the bass drum over and, with a little encouragement, decided to give the drums a shot as a whole. I’d tried before, but getting all four limbs to move together never really panned out. This time, however, it went off without much of a hitch really. We ran through the set fairly quickly. I was worried I would freeze or screw up during the service, but that went just fine also. It’s a little more tricky, though. I have to watch the worship leader rather carefully to see where they’re going with the song. On the congas, if I think we’re building up but realize they aren’t quite going there yet, I can back off subtly. Once you start building up on the big drums, you’ve pretty much committed to follow through. So, I guess I’m a drummer now. Luckily, I haven’t noticed any real drop in IQ. Quote of the day: Person 1: “That was great. When did he start playing drums?” My Wife: “About 45 minutes ago.”

On to the lousies. (You know that’s what you come here for.) Lost my keys this week. That sucks. House key, car keys, boopers to both vehicles, keys to the boss’s shop, etc. Gone. Probably buried in dirt at a new home construction or laying in a gutter some where. :\ I finally got my letter from Bellevue Police Department. I’ll save you the text in its entirety. The only important part read, “Unfortunately, your candidacy for one of these positions is no longer being considered.” I’m in the usual maelstrom of emotions on this one. Part of me is mad and depressed, but another part is relieved and thankful. I’m feeling very Jobish. It sucks that I didn’t get in. However, “The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.” I’ve been very dangerous in my prayers, at least physically. Throughout this process, after I received the invitation from Bellevue, I’ve prayed, “If this is Your will for my life, let it come to pass; however, if it is not within Your plans, let it fall away.” Sometimes I hate it when He answers prayers like that. Still, I am relieved and refreshed to know that He is still guiding my path. That is not to say my cup is running over in the faith department. As I stood there, holding the unopened letter in my shaking hands, I heard in my head, “Why are you so afraid of what I have placed before you?” I mistakenly took that for a good sign and tore into the letter. Since I read the decision, I’ve been thinking about the question that was posed to me Tuesday afternoon. The only answer I have is “because I have no idea what it is and that scares the crap out of me.”

I still have no idea where this road is taking me, or where the destination is, but still I find comfort in knowing that, for perhaps the first time in my life, someone who knows what they’re doing is charting the course.

Seriously. I’m officially an old man. I was doing some housecleaning and found the Me page up there ^ still said I was 26, so I had to update it to 27. That’s old. Last year, I was still a young guy. This year, I’m old. My knees hurt when I run. I’m tired more. My foot’s been hurting for the past couple of weeks, so I went to a podiatrist yesterday. Apparently, I have a high arch, which puts too much pressure on the balls of my feet. This, in turn, has caused the bones of my foot to spread out, which (no shock here) hurts. The solution: orthopedic insoles. ORTHOPEDICS! I’m old.

Aren’t you supposed to get *more* money as you get older?

Also, don’t forget. $5 footlongs at Subway.

Man, I really need to update more often. Let me explain to you how these multi-week lapses go.

I get an idea for a story, but not enough substance to actually publish it. So, I mentally file it away to work out later. Then, it disappears. This will happen a few times a week. Then one day I look at this place and go, “Wow, it’s been forever since an update. I need to come up with something good. This pressure delays any updates further, as I want to make sure it’s something awesome. Finally, everything builds up to the point where I say, “Okay, new post. Subject: everything I’ve been thinking of for a month. Coherence: None. Structure: Fractured. Go.” In accordance with this process, I present the following.

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