Pulling out the rest of my hair is the only thing I’ve been able to do consistently.

I was browsing the internet, like I do, randomly and with no purpose, when I decided to see what was on Netflix. I’ve watched a lot of movies on Netflix streaming since I cancelled the DVD service. Well, I watched a lot on streaming even when I had the DVD service too. So really, I’m watching the same amount of streaming movies I did before, really.

But I was searching for a movie to watch. Where the Red Fern Grows is under the section titled Starz Play. Which I assume is a selection of movies being made available for streaming from Starz. (I know, I’m pretty smart.) It’s not the version I remember seeing many years ago. And by remember, I don’t mean I remember the story or anything, I just remember there being a movie called that a long time ago. I did vaguely remember it’s about a kid and some dogs and end the end you cry. But that’s about it.

I looked over Netflix to see if they had the older version streaming, but they don’t.

I did however see a movie called White Lion that made me go to YouTube, search for White Lion, and then watch this video from my past.

Now I have a movie to watch.

I would list each individually, but I wouldn’t do them justice. Plus, with my horrible memory, I would most certainly forget someone important and do them a disservice.

I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, more than I can count. I’ve had opportunities that I’ve squandered, been foolish with what I’ve had, and taken for granted the status quo. I’ve not fostered good relationships with my closest family and friends and have held grudges for way too long.

I don’t deserve the blessings I’ve received from family and friends.

I hope that I’m changing though. I’m working really hard to make sure I don’t take advantage of the help I’ve received. If you’ve been fortunate enough to see my new apartment, you’ll see I’m not buying lavish furnishings or filling my fridge with non-essentials. I’m not going out and partying or buying things I don’t need. I’m living as minimally as I can until I get to the point where I can either repay what’s been given to me, or be in a position to return the favors that I’ve received.

Even if I match the financial help I’ve received in kind, it still won’t be enough in my mind to repay fully how much it has helped.

All I can say is, thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

I’m in a new place as of Saturday. Just a one bedroom apartment. Close to what’s most important to me. Isabel really wanted to go to Wylie High School and unfortunately, where she lives now, she is zoned to have to attend Wylie Easy High School. The apartment I chose is a good price and it’s in the WHS district, so that’s a win-win. Well, I’m also closer, about 15 miles closer, to Isabel. So that’s a win-win-win. I don’t have much right now. Just what I had in my one room stint at Matt’s house. It’s amazing what little I have. A futon and my computer and some clothes and other nick-nacks. Nothing really noteworthy, and by noteworthy I mean nothing that would sell for much on ebay or craigslist. But it’s home now and I’ve never lived by myself, so I’m trying to figure it all out.

Things I need to get:

• Food
• Cleaning supplies
• Towels
• Plates
• Silverware
• Pots and pans (for all the healthy cooking I’m going to be doing.)
• Batteries
• Vacuum cleaner
• Broom
• Mop

Starting from scratch is hard work.

And you know who knew about hard work, that’s right, I just did a segue to talk about my mom.

Mom worked hard. I don’t think I really ever appreciated how hard she worked. She was a single mom for most of my teenage years. I remember her medical transcription job that she hated, but she did it because it needed to be done. My brothers and I were pretty self sufficient so we didn’t need much supervision. We generally made it to school and back okay. Generally. I do remember trying to make sure there was a jug of iced tea in the fridge. I know that always made her smile a little bit when she got home from work. She got really mad when there wasn’t any. But it does kind of suck when someone takes the last bit of milk, but leaves just enough to make it seem like there’s enough to be used by someone else, so you don’t have to throw it out. I’m sure that’s probably what it was like with the tea. But she rarely got mad. I can really only remember once or twice that she got really mad. But that also might be that she got mad all the time and beat me so bad that I don’t remember any other time. I’m sure that’s not it though.

I remember more good things about mom. I loved playing games with her and talking to her. She’s obviously where I get my sense of humor. If she were alive today, she would probably be on Facebook and show up on Failbook frequently, or some site where people post things that their parents say.

She did an amazing job being in her position and dealing with what she had to deal with.

I do miss her.

I would like to, at some time, serve on a jury. I would like to be a part of the system. It just seems like it would be really interesting to me.

Someday.

That’s going to change in version 2.0. I plan on, when the budget allows, to buy fresh stuff and make things from scratch. No more things that have ingredients that I don’t recognize. No more prepackaged meals. Of course that doesn’t mean I’m going to be baking my own bread, at least I don’t think so. I think it takes more time and some special equipment for that. If there was only some resource I could use to find out how to bake bread.

Speaking of eating fresh, I have to make a comment on Jamie Oliver’s Food Revolution now. If you haven’t seen the show, it’s about this world famous chef going around the country trying to change the food that school districts are making available to the children. It think it’s an awesome endeavor and fully support what he wants to do. But I don’t support how he, sometimes, tries to get the point across.

In one of the episodes, he had an overweight teenager and a local fast food restaurant owner together in a room where the teenager is, basically, blaming the fast food owner for making her and her parents fat. That’s just wrong and being sensational just to make a point. In some ways the end justifies the means, but not in this case. We can’t blame fast food places for making us fat. That’s personal responsibility. That starts at home.

If your kids are fat, blame yourself.

Here is what I was working with before:

And here’s what I’m working with now:

I am ready to start running, get back in tip-top shape, and eventually start running some marathons.

I’ll keep you updated with the progress.

Geez. Version 2.0 was supposed to not lie and I did it already. I’m such a bastard. Yes, it’s all my fault. I did it. I chose to sit at my computer at night and browse meaningless websites and watch inconsequential videos instead of getting off my on-the-way-to-becoming fat ass. It’s my fault and I take full responsibility. But now that I’ve decided to get something going, I have hit a snag.

I’m moving soon and need all the money I can save for that. I need to have money to pay some deposits and get a moving truck to pick up all the furniture that is being donated to this cause. I’ll be sure to send out hand written thank you notes when that happens. Because it’s important to go the extra mile when thanking someone. Sending an email or posting a Facebook message is just, well, lazy. But that doesn’t apply to birthdays for people over 25 years old. Facebook and email is okay for that.

So what’s the delay for? Damn dirty old shoes and the money to replace them. The shoes I have now are falling apart. Holes in the soles and on the back of the shoe create blisters and make it to where I can’t run. I’d take a picture of them and show you, but all I have is this camera phone and it sucks taking pictures. That does, however, give me another idea for fundraising.

So, loyal reader of my blog, what can you do about it? You can help in the fundraising effort to get me some new shoes! I’m going to work on raising the $40 necessary to purchase the ASICS® Men’s Gel-Express 3 Cross-Training Shoes I found at the Academy online store. Size 8D if that matters to you. How do I ‘work on raising’ this money? By shameless begging of course!

So if you want to help participate in this worthy cause, to save a life, and for the children, because everyone wants to save the children, you can click the Donate button below and donate whatever amount you feel is worthy of a child’s life and well being, or me getting a new pair of decent running shoes, your choice.

[Update: Achieved!]

Thanks in advance, and once I raise the required amount, I’ll take pictures of me using the new shoes and start an immediate running program to lose the weight. After all, if you’ve donated your hard earned money towards my shoe purchase, and for the kids, the least I can do is get off my butt and actually use them. Heck, I’ll even start a video series of me working out and getting healthier, for, you guessed it, the children.

Please think of the children.

That was apparently unbelievable coming from a seventeen year old long haired (oh how I miss my hair) kid with earrings and wearing a long, emo, trench coat. But it was the truth. It was before I started drinking, really it was. Apparently being there and looking the way I did meant I did drugs, drank a lot of beer, and listened to music that wasn’t mainstream. The looks of surprise and disbelief lasted for a while after that. Until they got to know me.

I met a lot of people during that time. The girl with the weird eye twitch. She would look at you for a couple of seconds and then shoot her eyes up and to the side then back at you. The magician that wanted to be a doctor, which I’m sure he accomplished. The punk kid that liked Lynrd Skynrd. We got really close and I think it effected him more than most when I left. The girl that had to be watched when she went to the bathroom because she tended to vomit out everything she had eaten that day. She ended up having a feeding tube in place most of the time. The cross dressing boy that had a brother that was killed during a police standoff while he was there. The really little boy that had rage issues and ended up kicking a tooth out of one of the doctors. The little girl that was so quiet and kept to herself, but she liked indie music. She wrote me a letter shortly after she got out. The big bad tough guy that was the dominator at foosball when I got there. He kept the little piece of wood that chipped off the goal when he made a particularly powerful goal. I ended up beating him once, and that didn’t make him happy. He never wrote me a letter.

We were all different, but we were all the same too. We were all crazy.

It wasn’t my first time in a mental hospital, but it was the longest, and the most difficult. I put on a lot of weight that time. They don’t let you outside to get any real exercise, and you pretty much had to eat everything they gave you. If you didn’t, that meant there must be something bothering you. Plus, I was in shape, for a scrawny kid, and I liked to eat. That was back in the day where I didn’t really have to watch what I ate. My metabolism hadn’t yet shut off. I guess I had extra metabolism liquid before then. Of course if I knew then what I know now, I would have watched what I ate. And flossed more.

It was a big adjustment for me. My sense of humor is darker than most. That’s how it’s always been in my family. We take a bad situation and somehow inject humor and we all understood that. As an example of how it runs in the family, I got a letter from my oldest brother one day. They scanned your mail… wait, this sounds like email. When I say scanned your mail, that meant they opened the letter, that was in an envelope and written by hand, and read it to make sure what is being said isn’t going to send you over the edge and do something stupid. As if there was anything you would be able to do while you were there anyway, you were watched constantly. But I digress. The letter from my oldest brother was addressed to “Davy Lester, 666 Lunatic Dr.” See, dark humor. But it was the kind of humor I understood, and still understand, and still turn to now. It is my escape.

It was a big adjustment because I had to do something I never really did before. At least I don’t think I ever really did it. I have a terrible memory. I wish I could remember things from when I was younger. A lot of my friends seem to have picture perfect memory of situations and song lyrics, but I don’t. My memory is very spotty. When I see pictures of me being a kid, I see flashes here and there, but nothing really stands out.

I had to talk about myself and try to figure out what put me there. I could blame my parents divorce, a difficult childhood, a sick brother, girlfriend problems, and school problems. You know, the typical cliche list of things that make people go crazy. But that would be a lie.

Yes, my parents divorced, but I think I adjusted okay to that. Difficult childhood? I don’t think so. I don’t remember having to go without anything. Sick brother? Sure, mom and dad had to spend more time with him because he was sick, but c’mon, he needed it and I was healthy. Girlfriend problems? Who didn’t have relationship issues during their teenage years? School problems? Same as above.

I guess the one thing I remember that came out of  my childhood was that I learned how to push buttons with my words. I was too much of a weakling to bully anyone physically, so I turned to the one thing I could do. Piss people off with my words. Sarcasm became my best friend, and to this day, we have a very close relationship.

Oh, and I got angry. Really angry. And you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.

I want to make YouTube videos and be active on Twitter and write some really cool, compelling, stuff. I have a feeling I’ll just slowly get into this by forcing myself to write something every day. It may be short and to the point or it may be a long drawn out opinion, but I’m going to write something.

It’s June 20th, 2011, and I’m starting now. This is the first post, of course.