Results of Ruminations

One of my greatest fears has been realized, something that I dreaded since the trauma of Peter's heart condition began to fade into its familiar numbness: Kids can be mean. Peter came home from school the other day, and, after crawling into his mother's lap, talked to her about his experience thus far in kindergarten. He explained that, yet again, he had not had any friends to play with during recess. In fact, on the whole, he doesn't feel that he has friends in his class at all. "It didn't work, Mommy," he said. "What didn't work, Peter?" she asked. "Being nice. You said that being nice will make other kids be nice to me and that's how I get friends. But it didn't work." Then he started to cry. Hearing this story stabs me right to my heart. It could be, as Hamlet says, by "thinking too precisely on the event", and thus this is an overwrought analysis, but I can't help but wonder if the things we did to...

I wrote this poem a while back when I was in a somewhat similar situation as I am in currently: Writer Blocks Waiting to be able to write is worse Than a five year old on Christmas Eve, Worse than nine months' gestation To an elephantine mother. Yes, it feels great when it leaves, Like a virus expelled, or house guests― Like a bladder held too long getting relief. Though it feels great in the releasing, It doesn't feel great in the holding. Inability to write is holding glass in the hand, Painful, bleeding, possibly damaging. Holding anything in isn't recommended (Nine out of ten Surgeons General say so), Like breath or love or a story. So that's what it becomes, then, These mighty weights in the brain: Blocks upon which a tale is written, Cement stories, laid brick by brick, Word by word, letter by letter, Thought by thought. The writer Isn't blocked, but blocks the writing. Except in this case, when he sits And types a free verse poem And wishes he were ...

My general ruminations that I had at the end of last school year were expected by me at the end of this school year. Yet none came. I think, in large part, that is because of the pending surgery of Peter. Gayle's constant updating and analysis are elsewhere in the cloud, so I won't bother repeating them here. Suffice to say: He's recovering well, he's obviously in quite a bit of pain, and we're thrilled that the 5 and a half hours of surgery had such success. We anticipate being in the hospital for the next week to week and a half, though that's always a loose guess in situations such as these. We're grateful for the prayers, thoughts, comments, and well-wishes from friends and family, as well as the support of our parents as we've worked through this complex and difficult time. In other news, I finished my first reread of Words of the Silenced while at the hospital (we've had a lot of downtime in the last couple of days). It's perhaps 3/4 of wh...

Update time: Press Start has been getting fewer comments on my blog, which is only significant in that there are so few comments in the first place, so the disparity seems bigger than it actually is. I've been exploring Kotaku to get a bit of a pulse on what other gamers think, and though the site does a good job of making most of the comments worthwhile (instead of typical fanboy flame), it doesn't explore things the way I'm trying to do in the essays. This isn't a bad thing, necessarily, but it's something I've noticed. In terms of actual content, I've broken the 20k mark on the essays. Currently, the grand total for it is 21,382 words. I haven't received much feedback on my writing style for the essays, which is kind of a surprise. I thought that the language was a little more obtuse than I generally write. This stems from an attempt to be theoretical (so the verbiage is natural in that form), but also in trying to imbue more significance to what I...

Since many people on Facebook—and people in general (note: not many)—are curious to know a bit about me and my current life, I thought I would get the semi-detailed, I-hope-this-is-interesting-to-you-since-you-asked-about-it version of my life post-Florida. In fact, like a lot of returned missionaries, I see my return from the field as indicative of a major shift in my life. In quick sum: I graduated from Timpanogos High School in '01, took one year of classes at then-UVSC, went to Florida Ft. Lauderdale Spanish Speaking Mission, came home in '04, and married my high school girlfriend, Gayle, four and a half months later. Sweet. Okay, so that's the easy part of life. I spent some time working in hell a computer store where I learned quite a bit about computers. I wrote an entire novel called The Terra Campaign: Impetus while I was going to school, beat countless video games, listened to a lot of Rage Against the Machine, and generally enjoyed life. Then, for my 23rd birthd...

I still get a little teary-eyed when I mention how close we came to losing Peter. Twice. I was talking to a coworker in the hall today, after hearing good news that Peter's clubbed foot is doing just fine. I mentioned such that Peter was well and why we're happy for him today, which lead to a reference to the fact that I was glad the trip to Primary Children's Medical Center ended up being so fast easy, since there have been times when it wasn't. My coworker looked a little confused, so I asked if she knew of Peter's condition. She said no, so I briefly explained. She, curious science-type lady that she is, asked additional questions. The brief but colorful history of Peter was then related. During the part when I recalled the unknown future Gayle and I considered around two years ago, when we first realized the gravity of Peter's condition but knew nothing of what it might mean, that I may take my son for granted. We knew him not at that point, but wept to thin...