Reluctant

     I can't find a reason to go to sleep. I have so many things I would like to get caught up on, both out of necessity and desire. I have so many thoughts chomping at the bit to be put into text, but I can't calm them enough to understand them all. Instead, I'm wasting time discovering some new music and looking down some possible roads for my dreams to follow.

     Speaking of dreams.. Oh, am I ever stuck.. I'm a part of a band I'm truly proud of, yet I can't determine whether I really believe it has a future, or if I just blindly hope it does. I have numerous other avenues of music to explore, but I can't decide if it's even a dream worth following anymore. There are few things in my life I'm as passionate about as I am music. But I'm unsure if I have the time available or ability to devote as is necessary to make this dream come true. I have a family now that hardly sees me as it is, and my musical endeavors take more and more of that time away. Sure, it provides some personal happiness for me, but it takes away some happiness from them. I feel the decision between dreams and reality is ever closer, a choice between family and lofty hope.

     Speaking of family.. Again, I waste time awake when I should be sleeping. And Ashley is waiting for my promise to come to bed to come through. If she's actually asleep, it is surely with reluctance, though I'm sure she's tossing and turning, if not fully awake and frustrated.

     Speaking of frustration.. We're both growing incredibly frustrated with our daily monotony. I wake up, drive 45 minutes to go do something unfulfilling for anywhere from 8 to 11 hours, drive 45 minutes home, waste some time with tv, then go to sleep to prepare for exactly the same thing the next day. I do this 6 days a week. This leaves for a different, yet just as monotonous daily routine for Ashley as well. Utter boredom would be an improvement at this point.

      Speaking of boredom.. I've run out of words.

Thoughtlines

     It's the bottom of the 3:00AM hour and here I am, contemplating the first string of words to open this blog with. I find it interesting that, with all the thoughts and ideas in my mind, the opening line is simply a statement of my lack of words. I'm unsure of what outcome will result from this blog, but I do intend to digitally scribble some of my thoughts. So much runs through my mind at all hours of the day, I often find it hard to decipher the logic within the obscurity.

     It's confusing to try and make sense sometimes.. Onward to my ramblings:

     Tonight, it's difficult to find a place in my head that isn't filled with thoughts of my father. At the age of 59, he has been diagnosed with cancer for a third time. Having suffered little more than a few (OK, many) sports- and ignorance-related injuries myself, it's hard to imagine what he must be going through. The first diagnosis was surely disheartening, to say the least. But after a series of successful surgeries, albeit extremely complicated and day-to-day-life altering, a second, much smaller occurrence leaves much more room for hope. Then along comes #3, and reality forgoes the formal slap and instead commands attention with a clenched fist to the jawline.
     What's worse is that the treatment from the first two happenings, coupled with his age, leave few options for treatment this time around. And the options available are littered with debilitating possible side affects (i.e. the inability to speak or swallow, permenant feeding tube in the stomach, etc).
     Currently, he is enduring both radiation treatments and chemotherapy. He described the latter to me as 'the worst thing anyone has ever done to me medically.' Considering the sheer intensity of the initial surgery and the fact that he lives every day in some sort of pain or discomfort, that's a pretty bold statement. I remember sitting with him after the surgery and running through a gauntlet of words, helping him relearn how to speak. I remember watching him choke and aspirate in a restaurant - which, on top of being embarassing, landed him a stay in the hospital for a few days - while he was relearning how to eat. I remember seeing about 75 pounds drop from his frame in a matter of months, sending his body into shock and rendering him helpless. So, to say that some little ol' medicines and chemicals have such terrible side affects that it outweighs all he endured on the road to recovery... I can only imagine.
     As people have said many times they see my father in me, I see myself in my son. At nearly 9 months old, every day is a new adventure and experience, but every time I look at him I'm reminded of the 2500 miles of land mass that separates me and my father, who, by the way, has yet to personally meet my wife and child.

     I have much hope. My father, Nebraska born and raised, is pretty much single-handedly responsibe for the definition of 'stubborn.' I can only hope that fate is on his side.