If I had more than one writer's block, maybe I could build a fort. Sadly, I've just got the one.

It's been a very long time since I've written anything. I haven't even tried to pen lyrics or write back my pen pal, much less blog. There have been numerous ideas that, by some inexplicable lack of motivation, were neglected. They stagnated, lost relevance, and have long since been forgotten.

This post is a desperate midnight effort to get something, anything, flowing again. I'm all stopped up. My ideas have been bubbling too long in my brain, getting thick and overcooked, keeping fresh ones from being thrown in, stirred, and served piping hot.

I hope I can just gently squeeze my brain, pop the blockage out, and get everything running smoothly again. There's lots on the near horizon that definitely begs writing about.

Takes My Pain Away

I got my tonsils taken out on Tuesday morning. I spent Tuesday and Wednesday in the Viking hospital, drugged up and bored. I spent today at home, in essentially the same state.

As a young adult, my tonsillectomy was a more invasive procedure than the one commonly performed on young children. The doctor's words of warning were "there will probably be a lot of bleeding, and you will be in quite a bit of pain". He did not disappoint, on the second point especially.

When I was under the anesthetic, I involuntarily bit down hard on my tongue and lip. They hurt right now in a nagging, frustrating way that makes it impossible to hold my mouth in a comfortable, neutral position. This is, of course, in addition to the whole scraping-the-tonsils-off-the-back-of-your-throat-and-cauterizing-the-stumps thing. Swallowing makes it feel like I'm igniting butane lighter fluid in my throat, letting it rush up my eustachian tubes and out my ears in little jets of flame. Thank goodness for Advil.

The doctor told me to drink as much as possible. The more moist my throat is, he said, the less it will hurt. I've been carrying a bottle, and downing water at a rate begetting bi-hourly bathroom trips.

It's supremely frustrating not being able to eat, sleep, or do anything but distract myself. I'm bored of TV and video games. I'm starting to get bored of movies and guitar. If I get bored of teh interwebs, I've officially lost my mind.

Batting Average

I got rejected again last weekend.

It felt the same as it always does. The best I can describe it is that it's like a kitchen knife stuck up underneath my ribs. A sickly, painful feeling, wrenching deep into the middle of my chest.

Since my pubescent years, I've had my share of crushes. They come and go, some pie-in-the-sky, some down-to-earth. Most pass by unnoticed by anyone but me. Others might find their way to the ears and IM screens of my closest friends. But once in awhile, I step up to the plate. This rarely ends well.

I worked it out, and found that my "batting average" is .091 . Less than 10% is a pretty humbling number, and I was a little taken aback. Bewildered even, as every one of these girls were my good friends, had shown at least moderate signs of interest, and were completely "in my league", so to speak. Further confounding me was that my "on-base-percentage" came out to .500, but I won't get into that.

I'm getting too old for this. I'm sick of being depressed and losing friends over this. I'm afraid I'm getting callous and cold, because even though it hurts just as much every time I pour my heart out and get cast aside, I'm getting over it faster each time. I hate that I'm well practiced at hardening my heart and shoving friends out of it.

I'm sure my girl is out there, I'm not worried about that. But at this rate, I feel like I'll have to ask six or seven different girls to marry me before one says yes.

Afternoon Showers

Yesterday it rained. People were complaining.

But I loved it. It reminded me of when I was little. One of my favorite experiences was driving home from Edmonton in the rain, and falling asleep in the back seat. I loved how the mood was set by the quiet patter of raindrops on the windshield. I’d then watch them slide hypnotically upward, and then along the side windows, meandering lazily, melding together and branching off again.

It was cool in the car, as if the air conditioning was running, but there was no annoying air blowing in your face. The tires on the pavement hummed smoothly and vibrated gently. The rain clouds made the lighting flat and dim, but not blatant all-out dark. It was a subtle dark, and the sleep it induced was a subtle sleep. It was a more sophisticated sleep than the sleep that the unenlightened masses gorge themselves on in their beds each night. If sleeping in a bed at night were Kraft dinner, then an afternoon sleeping in the back seat in the rain was filet mignon.

The 10,000 Hour Rule

The final speaker in this year's professionalism class alluded to Malcolm Gladwell's book Outliers, a study of the factors that contribute to high levels of success. He specifically mentioned the 10,000 hour rule, the idea that it takes 10,000 hours of practice or experience at a certain discipline to gain effortless mastery of it.

I obviously haven't practiced music for even close to 10,000 hours. In fact, I likely have well short of even 1000 hours under my belt. I am a very long way from being a musical master. But there is something else, an area of expertise wherein I am much closer: I am, slowly but surely, becoming a Pokemon Master.

I set out to tally up my total estimated hours of playing Pokemon since the release of the original Red and Blue versions for Game Boy in 1996. I've played through most of the games released since, beating at least two of the handheld games in each generation, as well as several of the console games. The estimates are very conservative; the real totals could easily be over 50% greater, but the hours still add up quite formidably. Here are the results:

Red - 200

Blue - 200

Yellow - 100

Stadium - 50

Silver - 200

Gold - 100

Crystal - 200

Stadium 2 - 25

Ruby - 200

Leafgreen - 200

Coliseum - 25

Diamond - 200+

Soulsilver - 65+

_____________

Current Total = 1765

My dad often used to bug me about my burgeoning Pokemon Mastery. He would tell me that if I devoted all the space in my brain invested in Pokemon knowledge, I could learn at least one new language. He probably wasn't exaggerating by as much as he thought. All this knowledge of stats, moves, evolution, items, strategy, and other specifics seems to stretch deeper the more I think about it.

Its too bad a true Pokemon Master has to know such things. Otherwise, he'd probably be a much better musician.

P.S. The book in the image is ridiculously novice. Don't even bother.

Gui-tarded

This long weekend I picked up a guitar and learned to play it. This is a big deal for me.

People have always assumed I played guitar, and were somewhat shocked to hear that I didn't. It makes sense, I'm a musical guy and my favorite music is heavily guitar based. I play piano, drums, and sing pretty well. Why wouldn't I be a guitar guy too?

Unlike piano, for which I took lessons from the time I was old enough to sit still right up to highschool graduation, I've had no training on guitar. Unlike singing, which I'd been doing in church for just as long, I didn't have constant exposure to guitar. Unlike drums, which came easily enough that I taught myself, guitar felt unnatural and hard. I'd tried before, gotten nowhere, gave up, and decided it just wasn't my thing.

For whatever reason, I decided that by the time the weekend was over, I was going to be able to play pop progressions in G. Somehow, at the end of the long weekend, I was able to play pop progressions in G. They are very slow and have no intentional proper technique to speak of. But now I can whip out "Wonderwall" or "You're Beautiful" by James Blunt whenever I want.

Oh yeah, and power chords. Especially in drop D. I can totally rip on power chords.

The guest speaker in professionalism class today said something that really stuck with me:

“If you want to be a musician, get out of the business. If you can’t afford NOT to be a musician, if you HAVE to be a musician because its hardwired into you, because its in your blood, then this is a great business to be in.”

This statement struck me because I do want to be a professional musician. However, thats about as far as it goes. I don’t feel any grand, profound, specific need to work in the music business. I just want to, thats all. Music is but one of many talents God has blessed me with, it just happens to be the one I enjoy the most.

I doubt the speaker today was making his statement in the context of God’s plan for a person, but it certainly stirred up the familiar sense of uncertainty on the subject as it pertains to my own life. Since I don’t feel in my heart 100% that I should be pursuing service of God through music, should I be cutting bait and running? If so, where to next?

I write this in the basement of my parents’ house in Vegreville, as I prepare for a weekend of filling out applications, and preparing for auditions for next year’s schooling. Some will be for musical schools, many will not be. Which will I get accepted to? Where will I choose to go? Will God make it clear when the time comes?

The suspense is killing me.