Posted in My Daily Adventures, My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

The Daily Adventures of Taylor Finn, Day 1 – “Wow, I suck at dieting.”

8/21/18 – It was a rather poor start to my weight loss journey, pretty much the exact opposite of what I should be doing if my goal is anything other than “gain 300 pounds and die of a heart attack at age 30.” I woke up too late to cook myself breakfast, so I planned to settle for some Honey Nut Cheerios. Unfortunately, dry cereal tends to only be a legitimate option when one has some milk to soak those sugary oats in, and wouldn’t ya know it, I was fresh outta milk. This shouldn’t have been a surprise, as I ran out of milk Saturday afternoon, and it was now Monday morning, but after my shit weekend, groceries were the last thing on my mind. O, and for me a shit weekend is the norm, so it doesn’t mean anything particularly terrible occurred, just that I suffered through the same, pill induced haze I’ve grown accustomed to from Friday evening through the 10PM news on Sundays. And before you ask, no, I don’t watch the news at 10PM on Sundays, that’s just the general time I browse through the internet for headlines, to make sure I didn’t miss anything important. AND THAT REMINDS ME!! This weekend did mark my last weekend of living in my brother’s (very nice) basement! As of Thursday, I will be living on my own in an apartment within walking distance of my work! How exciting! If only my facial expressions matched my use of!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anyway, back to breakfast. Cooking was out, cereal was out, so I drove to work on an empty belly (it’s full of fat and stuff, but that’s not enough, obviously). Upon arrival, I found myself face to face with our decades old vending machine. Clutched in my sweaty palms were 6 quarters, just enough cash to purchase a cold can of Mountain Dew and some generic brand Cup Cakes. Back at my desk, I scarf the cupcakes down within a minute, and I chugged half the soda in the next. I felt the sugar rush through my chub, and the deep disappointment I associate with visiting my parents took over my being. For the next 4 hours, I typed away with a lethargy rivaling a hibernating bear, and by the time I left for lunch, I had managed to color-code my weekly cash forecasting spreadsheet to resemble a Christmas Tree, and nothing else.

I needed a boost of energy for lunch. Walking through the parking lot, I saw my fellow cube-mate taking laps around the building with her headphones on, blasting some sort of 80’s hair-metal. A walk would surely help pump me up, get my blood going, and wipe away some of the guilt of eating cupcakes for breakfast! It was the perfect lunch idea! And so, 53 minutes later, I walked back into the office, feeling like complete ass after eating a 10-piece nugget, large fry and coke from Mickey D’s. Yup, I’m clearly an individual with amazing decision making skills. At least the fast food was extra greasy, so in a few short hours I’ll be forced to skip my 3PM meeting to take an extra big/long/uncut shit. I’m a salaried employee, so I will get paid for that shit too. America is amazing.

I ended my day with a dinner of…carrot sticks! And…. pickles! Yes, my dinner was 3 sour dill pickles and 8 carrot sticks. It’s not exactly healthy, but carrots are good for you, right? And pickles…are a vegetable? Well, they are a low-calorie food, even though they are just wet, green cylinders of sodium. And I didn’t even have any soda with my dinner! (I had a 0 calorie Monster. Yes, that’s pretty much liquid cancer. No, it was not refreshing.)

All in all, I’d say the first day of my first day needs a new first day. But that’s the greatest part about a first day; you can always have another.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Uncategorized

Drink up the sky and breathe in this soil, this fertile patch of love the world has set aside just for us.

Help me find my way back into this heart, back into myself and the soul I’ve forgotten. I buried them both under years of tears, scars and screams at my blinking check engine light. I haven’t lost every part of me though. I’m still able to find a laugh, squint up at a winter sun and find hope while shivering on congested Ohio highways. Little things still matter, like smiling at the cashier while they ring up my midnight junk food runs, or becoming a regular at the local Pizza Hut, so you can text the manager on Saturdays and have your “normal” order delivered within 15 minutes.

I like small talk, office banter. It’s not deep, but it doesn’t have to be. It’s complaining about missing sleep and having to work late on a Friday. It’s hearing someone ask “what’s up?” and responding “Good! Wait, shit, I mean nothing, what about you?” and laughing at the over-used, lame-ass Dad joke, because cliches are often the best part of life, and it was funny the first time you ever did it and it will never not be funny.

I like spending hours prepping up food to make a feast. I’m talking entire Saturdays dedicated to trimming up some Top Round Roast and rubbing in all the best seasonings; salt, pepper, some paprika and a dash of granulated garlic. Mix that with a bit of vegetable oil and slow cook that sucker. Then making red skin mashed potatoes, a thick, southern style country gravy, and a side of roasted artichokes, all set off perfectly with a cold glass of apple cider. Being in a kitchen, around the heat and the noise, soaking in the rush of stimuli to my senses, makes me feel at peace in a way I can only replicate when I’m on a roll writing something.

And I like writing. Journal upon journal, notebooks filled to the brim with failed attempts at poetry, love novels, dystopian futures and screenplays. I write something every day, even when I’m tired and stupid and making bad choices at 3AM, I still get something down on paper.

So I still have things I like, so my heart can’t be all the way gone. I’m lost, but I can be found, because I can find myself in little things still. I’m lost, but I clearly haven’t completely given up yet. I’ve buried my heart and soul, but I can still dig them up. I can do it…I just need a push…

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Uncategorized

I’ve never written anything while sitting in a coffee shop, mainly because I don’t drink coffee, but also due to my inability to keep my composure while putting any of my thoughts to paper.

It’s crazy, the things you’ll miss about a person. You’d think, being raised in the hyper-sexual culture that is the twenty-tens, the thing people would miss most is the sex. One glance at the top Apps for all smartphones and you’d find all the evidence you’d need to prove that thesis correct. So yes, having someone whom you feel comfortable being naked around is something I miss. I want to think I’m above that base-level, the driving forces of human instinct, but I’m just another human. And there’s nothing wrong with wanting sex, right? It’s a natural part of life, and it’s a super fun natural part of life, so why do I feel this guilt? I guess I let that Catholic school teaching dig in deeper than I thought. But yes, at some point throughout the day sex will cross my mind, and linger there in the forefront until I can either repress the urge, or something happens to jolt my other emotions back into place, dominating my everything.

So, I miss sex. I miss the rush of blood as the kissing starts, slowly building until it unleashes as a frenzied, uncontrolled, mad rush to see who can consume more of whom first. It’s a drug, and more feels like it won’t be enough. Our hands balance out the insanity that is our faces, and I know I can lose myself in you, because your hands are still in mine…

I miss laughing as we take off our clothes, shirts flying across the room and socks somehow getting lost in between the sheets. How long did we both spend doing our hair in the morning? It’s probably over a third of our lives, using the magic of combs and straighteners and moose to tame the beasts who call our domes home. Haircuts every-other month and a first-name basis with the local Sally Beauty Supply, all in hopes of feeling pride in something as silly as our hair. And it suddenly didn’t matter when we were together. We tossed and turned and rocked and rolled until cowlicks came out and pony tails were a must. I miss that, feeling like I wanted to show off my best features so you could be proud of me and remembering that I can drop it all at any time and you’d look at me the same.

I miss the feeling of another person’s skin against mine.  It always drove me wild, how some parts of you were cold but the same parts of me were warm, and we’d explore every inch until a map was etched into our heads. It was rough, but gentle. It was wild, but nothing could feel safer. It was magic, but my Harry Potter hardcover box set, complete with replica wands for everyone who went with Harry to the Ministry to save Sirius, was still locked safely on the bottom shelf of my bookcase. How else could you explain the fact that we both knew the other was smiling, even when we couldn’t see each others faces? It’s how I know my letter from Hogwarts has just been lost in the muggle mail for 10 years, or how you know exactly when I need a hug and for how long (you never let go first, thank you). I call that shit magic, or if I’m trying to save myself a letter, love.

I miss the way I didn’t rush to get dressed after we finished, because I felt fine never being clothed again so long as we never had to leave that bed. I had to see myself naked plenty in my life, because mirrors are a thing, and while some days I can feel confident, I think I’m not alone when I say most days I’m feeling less than enthusiastic. But your eyes? They didn’t blink, aside from when you have to naturally blink (and I watched your face enough to know if you were blinking more than normal, I’m sorry, that sounds creepy, but trust me, you had a super interesting face). You looked at me like I was a double scope of mint chocolate chip ice cream on a record-breakingly humid day in mid-August. And you looked at me like that even when we were done. When we were buying groceries so I could cook you dinner, or when we waited at the airport to pick up your cousins from New York, or when I didn’t get that new job at the mall, or when I screamed my head off, sobbing like an insane person, when I found out my Dad cheated on my Mom, or when you first looked at my upper arms and thighs and stomach in the light and I tried to quickly cover everything up while muttering some excuses and you grabbed my hand and stopped me and you made an obvious effort to not blink…you still looked at me like you wanted me.

I regret a lot of things. I regret not getting into bitcoin when it was just starting up. I regret going to college for a degree in Accounting when I hate all things business. I regret not upgrading my popcorn to a large bucket at the movies last week, and using my savings to purchase an indoor training bike I have yet to assemble, and for that time I yelled at Chef Robert Irvine to use the secret ingredient peanuts to make a peanut crusted tilapia with a peanut hummus and he did just that and lost his elimination match on The Next Iron Chef. I have regrets, more than I can count, but I don’t miss those days. I don’t miss wasted money or my years in college. I don’t miss watching Food Network with friends or that savory, salty popcorn I totally should have ponied up an extra $1.50 for. I don’t miss those things, because they are still here, inside of me, as moments I can revisit any time I choose. I can regret the choices I’ve made and wish things had played out significantly different (I’m so sorry Chef Robert Irvine, you will always be my Iron Chef), but I don’t miss them. They were moments, and they happened, and that’s life.

But you? I made the monstrously huge mistake of choosing to make you my life. So you can’t become another part of my life, something to reflect on, good or bad. I knew my mistake, every step taken towards that mistake, but I still made them.

I don’t regret you.

I can never regret you.

I miss you.