Who should have standards? What are standards? Where are standards applied? When are they necessary? Why do we need standards? How do we enforce standards?
All these questions, I ask myself whenever I run into a wall. When I feel that maybe I am imposing too much on you. Everyone should have standards. Every single person, kids, adults, males, females, moms, dads, bosses, employees, instructors, students, business owners, customers.
Standards are how we measure things, activities, events, behaviors, feelings, etc. It is the lower acceptable measurement of something that you are willing to take. For mothers, it is how much they are willing to let their kids get away with it. It is how little they are willing to receive for their services. what quality of work you will accept from your employees, and the minimum score before you fail a test.
Standards are applied in everything and are dependent on many variables. At work, school, and even in your personal life. If you have never thought about it, look at your hair, and tell me how long it took to get it how you wanted it this morning. How many times did you have to redo it until it was acceptable? Depending on where you were going, it may have been 5 min to 1 hour. The minimum amount of critique you are willing to accept from the people at your destination.
We need standards every day. Even if you do not think about it, or worry about it, but they keep you alive, how bad of food are you willing to eat? How much traffic are you willing to cross?
This is how we define the quality of life we want. If by now, you do not know what standards you have, then you are very low on the scale. Think about the quality of life you have, once had, and want. What type of standards did you have or need? Well. It depends on where you want to go and with whom.
Standards have to be consistent. They have to define who you are and what you want. It is in your character, in your goals, in your life, and in every decision you make. What is the least you are willing to accept for. In some cases, you have to make decisions on your time, the most valuable resource and currency. How little are you willing to trade for your time? If you inconsistently enforce standards, you are showing weak character. If you are standards are low, you are wasting your time, and setting yourself up for failure. It is like shopping at the dollar store. You get what you pay for.
Why should I lower my standards for you? If my requirements for my quality of life require a certain standard, why should I lower it, just because you do not see it for yourself? The only reason why I am with you is because I have high standards, and now you want me to lower them?
I do expect things from you, and big things, because you are capable, and you are wasting your time when you do not apply the same level of standardization on small events, that will accumulate into a better quality of life.
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Thursday, September 19, 2013
Thursday, September 5, 2013
The Last Hour of My Life
The last hour of my life went by very fast. People say that your life flashes before your eyes right before you die, and it does. It's called life. Every moment you live since you are born passes in front of your eyes, it just happens that at the point when you seize to exist, your brain relives everything in rapid succession. Think about it as copying files to another hard drive. Just because it took you thirty-five years to build up your memories, your knowledge, and everything you have stored in your brain, does not mean that it takes the same amount of time to copy it. Every sad moment, anger tantrum, life-changing event that made you happier than you have ever been; every memory that you have of your childhood, since you were born, got married, crashed your car, got wasted, had kids, got that promotion, will be condensed into a fraction of a millisecond, and you will feel and see everything that you have ever lived again all at once.
The last hour of my life went so fast and I think it was attributed to not knowing that I was going to die. I would have never imagined it, but I realized it at the last possible moment, right before muttering the word "Fuck". If I ever get the chance to meet someone like me, I should definitely ask if when you have a slow death, you still have the same experience as I did. The gunshot was loud and thunderous, and I did not even get a chance to flinch. If I was only facing the other way, maybe I could have had a chance to react, but at that time, my excitement blinded me and I was preoccupied at the moment. One thing that will always stay with me this time around is that you should not hold on to anything, especially regrets, because it is all meaningless.
The last hour of my life could have been one of the happiest hours of my life, instead, it turned out to be the one that took me to my end. My soon-to-be wife witnessed the whole thing. She was not next to me, but I am pretty sure she saw what happened from afar. Across the street she stood, waiting for me, while someone put a bullet in my head. As irrelevant as it is, I wished I could have seen who it was and why he did it. My whole life I have preached situational awareness and I failed because I was focusing on what was going to happen that day. The day that I would ask her to marry me.
The last hour of my life consisted of driving from my hometown, after visiting a jewelry store. I could not afford to buy the ring I wanted cash, so I used my credit card. My job was not the best paying, but it was a stable job with many perks. Not being a big spender myself really helped me. I still remember the song on the radio, Sublime. Ninety miles an hour may have been a bit too fast on the highway, but I was in a hurry to give my love her gift. There were no cops, sheriffs, or highway patrol. It was the perfect sunny day, with eighty percent humidity, partially cloudy with a ten percent chance of rain. As I arrived at her workplace, I could see her through the window, picking up her things, and waving to her co-workers. Checked my coat, made sure the collar was right, no stains or wrinkles on my slacks, and my tie was properly knotted. She stepped out the door about the same time I stepped into the sidewalk, and determined to confront her, I felt the cold barrel of a .40 Smith and Wesson handgun press on my right temple, and I barely muttered the word "Fuck".
I felt what could only be described as the atom bomb of emotions, and the only thing I could do was scream as loud as I could. It felt as if at the same time that my bullet entered my brain, every single piece of information was jammed out of my brain and then reinserted. The pain was not from my brain being splattered, but from feeling everything in my life all over again in a split second. My eyes opened and I was screaming to my lungs capacity. I was sitting up on a bed, and tears filled my eyes. My heart was pounding, my ears were thumping and everything was sore in my body. I heard my mother tell me it was OK, and that the nightmare was over. My father asked if I was OK. I passed out shortly afterward, crying because it had been the most horrid nightmare I'd had since I was a boy. In fact, once I thought about it, it was actually the exact same nightmare, except this time it made sense.
My eyes opened once again in the morning and in a daze of confusion, I looked around the room and realized that I may still be in fact dreaming, since I sat in a Mickey Mouse blanket, wearing blue flannel pajamas, and staring at a wall of toys that seemed very familiar. Outside I would hear the birds and feel the breeze from the open window, watching the curtain dance with the draft. My feet touched the ground and it was cold concrete, and I noticed my tiny little feet, around size eleven in boys. My heart raced as I tried to make sense of things. I hurried outside the door, took a right, then another right, as if I had been here before, little footsteps tapping on the hard cold concrete floor into the kitchen, where my mother and father who had been divorced for the past twenty years sat eating breakfast. Aside from being about thirty years younger, they looked very familiar, and I realized this was the real deal. I was standing in my five-year-old pajamas, with my parents in their mid-twenties, when just the day before I was planning to propose to my girlfriend of eight years, after discussing it with my children of sixteen, fifteen, fourteen, and ten. It was all gone, and I just sat there eating my Cookie Crisp cereal thinking about what I was going to do, trying to convince myself that this was not real. I remember this day thirty years ago, when I had the worst nightmare and saw how and when I died, but had forgotten in between the other thousands of dreams I've had.
Whether it was a curse or a blessing, why would I want to relive the same thirty years again? I did not believe in a god, much less in a cruel one that would punish me by giving me a second chance to fix the mistakes that made me who I am, and gave me a choice to lead a different life. I did not want this. Just like that, the last hour of my life was the happiest I have ever been, and I now had to task to have it again in the exact same way, thirty years from now. I finished my cereal and went back to bed where I had much to think about, and much planning to do. I will find her again, and be happy with her again.
The last hour of my life went so fast and I think it was attributed to not knowing that I was going to die. I would have never imagined it, but I realized it at the last possible moment, right before muttering the word "Fuck". If I ever get the chance to meet someone like me, I should definitely ask if when you have a slow death, you still have the same experience as I did. The gunshot was loud and thunderous, and I did not even get a chance to flinch. If I was only facing the other way, maybe I could have had a chance to react, but at that time, my excitement blinded me and I was preoccupied at the moment. One thing that will always stay with me this time around is that you should not hold on to anything, especially regrets, because it is all meaningless.
The last hour of my life could have been one of the happiest hours of my life, instead, it turned out to be the one that took me to my end. My soon-to-be wife witnessed the whole thing. She was not next to me, but I am pretty sure she saw what happened from afar. Across the street she stood, waiting for me, while someone put a bullet in my head. As irrelevant as it is, I wished I could have seen who it was and why he did it. My whole life I have preached situational awareness and I failed because I was focusing on what was going to happen that day. The day that I would ask her to marry me.
The last hour of my life consisted of driving from my hometown, after visiting a jewelry store. I could not afford to buy the ring I wanted cash, so I used my credit card. My job was not the best paying, but it was a stable job with many perks. Not being a big spender myself really helped me. I still remember the song on the radio, Sublime. Ninety miles an hour may have been a bit too fast on the highway, but I was in a hurry to give my love her gift. There were no cops, sheriffs, or highway patrol. It was the perfect sunny day, with eighty percent humidity, partially cloudy with a ten percent chance of rain. As I arrived at her workplace, I could see her through the window, picking up her things, and waving to her co-workers. Checked my coat, made sure the collar was right, no stains or wrinkles on my slacks, and my tie was properly knotted. She stepped out the door about the same time I stepped into the sidewalk, and determined to confront her, I felt the cold barrel of a .40 Smith and Wesson handgun press on my right temple, and I barely muttered the word "Fuck".
I felt what could only be described as the atom bomb of emotions, and the only thing I could do was scream as loud as I could. It felt as if at the same time that my bullet entered my brain, every single piece of information was jammed out of my brain and then reinserted. The pain was not from my brain being splattered, but from feeling everything in my life all over again in a split second. My eyes opened and I was screaming to my lungs capacity. I was sitting up on a bed, and tears filled my eyes. My heart was pounding, my ears were thumping and everything was sore in my body. I heard my mother tell me it was OK, and that the nightmare was over. My father asked if I was OK. I passed out shortly afterward, crying because it had been the most horrid nightmare I'd had since I was a boy. In fact, once I thought about it, it was actually the exact same nightmare, except this time it made sense.
My eyes opened once again in the morning and in a daze of confusion, I looked around the room and realized that I may still be in fact dreaming, since I sat in a Mickey Mouse blanket, wearing blue flannel pajamas, and staring at a wall of toys that seemed very familiar. Outside I would hear the birds and feel the breeze from the open window, watching the curtain dance with the draft. My feet touched the ground and it was cold concrete, and I noticed my tiny little feet, around size eleven in boys. My heart raced as I tried to make sense of things. I hurried outside the door, took a right, then another right, as if I had been here before, little footsteps tapping on the hard cold concrete floor into the kitchen, where my mother and father who had been divorced for the past twenty years sat eating breakfast. Aside from being about thirty years younger, they looked very familiar, and I realized this was the real deal. I was standing in my five-year-old pajamas, with my parents in their mid-twenties, when just the day before I was planning to propose to my girlfriend of eight years, after discussing it with my children of sixteen, fifteen, fourteen, and ten. It was all gone, and I just sat there eating my Cookie Crisp cereal thinking about what I was going to do, trying to convince myself that this was not real. I remember this day thirty years ago, when I had the worst nightmare and saw how and when I died, but had forgotten in between the other thousands of dreams I've had.
Whether it was a curse or a blessing, why would I want to relive the same thirty years again? I did not believe in a god, much less in a cruel one that would punish me by giving me a second chance to fix the mistakes that made me who I am, and gave me a choice to lead a different life. I did not want this. Just like that, the last hour of my life was the happiest I have ever been, and I now had to task to have it again in the exact same way, thirty years from now. I finished my cereal and went back to bed where I had much to think about, and much planning to do. I will find her again, and be happy with her again.
Friday, May 31, 2013
On Pressure
Every day we face pressure. From our friends, family co-workers, and worst of all, from ourselves. We pressure ourselves to do things that we really do not need to do. We feel the need to relieve that pressure by either appeasing the pressure maker or ignoring it. Both of these do not work, because it does not fix the root of the problem. Step one is to identify the root of the problem. Step two is to make a plan to fix the root cause of the problem. Step three is to execute and commit to the plan. Step four is to re-evaluate.
If one does not know the root cause of the problem, pressure will overwhelm oneself, since there is no direction, purpose, or motivation. It's like being lost and not caring to find a way out. If one knows the root cause of the problem but does not have a plan, then one is procrastinating the inevitable, either the pressure maker will win every time, and not only is there no purpose, but self-esteem will be affected since the feeling of hopelessness will come about. If one knows the root cause, and has a plan, but does not execute, then that is a sign of weakness. It is a sign of a lack of confidence, non assertiveness. All that is required to execute is the right motivator and a clear view of the purpose and direction one must take. The last step will reinforce the process and make it stronger each time it is repeated.
The only thing it takes is doing it once.
If one does not know the root cause of the problem, pressure will overwhelm oneself, since there is no direction, purpose, or motivation. It's like being lost and not caring to find a way out. If one knows the root cause of the problem but does not have a plan, then one is procrastinating the inevitable, either the pressure maker will win every time, and not only is there no purpose, but self-esteem will be affected since the feeling of hopelessness will come about. If one knows the root cause, and has a plan, but does not execute, then that is a sign of weakness. It is a sign of a lack of confidence, non assertiveness. All that is required to execute is the right motivator and a clear view of the purpose and direction one must take. The last step will reinforce the process and make it stronger each time it is repeated.
The only thing it takes is doing it once.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Go Away
Go
Do your thing
That you call life
Whenever you cannot fall
On your own because you
Are ready to fall apart
Swim through someone else life
Stare down to what you like
Send a message, open your eyes
Leave a piece of the puzzle, for someone else
What happened to my heart
Delayed by pain
And consumed my life
Staring through a tunnel
Everyone watching
except for me
Nobody knows, what I have been
I have feet, and I have seen
I have walked and stood
Swimming in the ashes of my life
with no real reason
to change some things
but I want to
Do your thing
That you call life
Whenever you cannot fall
On your own because you
Are ready to fall apart
Swim through someone else life
Stare down to what you like
Send a message, open your eyes
Leave a piece of the puzzle, for someone else
What happened to my heart
Delayed by pain
And consumed my life
Staring through a tunnel
Everyone watching
except for me
Nobody knows, what I have been
I have feet, and I have seen
I have walked and stood
Swimming in the ashes of my life
with no real reason
to change some things
but I want to
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
On today...
One thing I can say that I did not miss all day was you. I can not believe how you still attempt to get under my skin. Maybe this has worked for you before, but no more. Now, I do not care about your tactics, and in the end, that's all you ended with. I hope you find someone like you, so you can truly mirror actions, emotions, and reactions. That way, you can see what you did to me. Pride may not let you admit it though. Pride will eat you alive because to you it is more important than your potential family. Sorry to say I have you to not thank for keeping this family together. I am happy to say that I do not miss you anymore nor think that I will ever feel the same way about you.
You took away everything that I loved and enjoyed. I am no longer a happy man, I see other happy people and think 'What total dumbasses if only they knew love is just an excuse to be weak'. I am no longer motivated. I feel like there is no point in doing things that I enjoy because since half of mine is yours you will take half of my enjoyment and turn that exact half into sour moments and they will fight for the environment we live in constantly, just because you feel like that at the moment.
Do you know why you feel like that? Surely not, since all in your scope is revenge and satisfaction when you hurt someone who (used) to love you. Smile when I raise my voice, 10 points for you. Laugh when I insult, 20 points for you. Act surprised when I speak out of line, I definitely shouldn't have said that. 50 points. And in the end when you start crying and tell me how horrible I treat you, 100 points. You win.
But you still do not know why you started to feel like that. I do. I'll tell you, but you would never believe me. It is because you are so angry at yourself. Your heart tells you to let it go, the anger, the shame, the vengeance, while your Pride talks to you and demands you attack, he's lying, you are trying to compensate and make a dumbass out of me again.
What really happened, was that I said I love you because it was how I felt, and made you a sandwich. What you did afterwards was unthinkable and led fro a chain of events that created a tear in my self-esteem and my emotions.
As 7 years of this continued, there was no fabric of emotions, just raw ingredients to make myself some new ones as I saw fit. Love became anger and regret. Passion became Contempt. Trust became lies and not-give-a-fuckness. At this point, I am not the same person, so scared of change, you try to relate to the old me and treat me nicely, kiss me, and do things that were unspeakably corny for you. They did not work, because your actions fucked me up so much that I did not respond how you would have liked.
You are rejected. Something your pride cannot have. Pride comes out and brings wrath. With all your wrath you accuse me that I am not the one putting my part in this relationship. I am a bad person who is cold and does not enjoy your company therefore you do not want to be with me.
I do not want you. I do not know what I am doing with you. You can leave. And you said you will.
I will not be fucked over again by some crazy unstable bitch. We will be separated forever. No turning back.
Oh, wait, what is that? You were kidding? You really did not mean what you said of wanting me out of your life, because I do not raise a finger to help you? You actually want things to work out. I can see the vicious cycle start over again and again as it has been happening for 7 years. I want out. You have decided to win me back until you decide that religion has the answers or proof. Religious beliefs led you to believe that I did many atrocities you had always suspected but gave you no proof. Just what you wanted to hear. The 7 years of proof of love from me were not merely enough to counter the 20-minute session of religious lies with no proof. You want out now as well. Very well. But you want to take what I worked for all my life to achieve in work and sacrifice. I did not have the privilege of spending countless days with my kids, playing and learning with them, seeing them laugh and enjoy. But to you, it is one of my negatives how I spend less time with my kids. Maybe you do not understand because you have not worked or sacrificed anything in your life. So I gave you the ability to live legally in the US, so you can work and help support our family. I worked hard year after year so we could have two vehicles and so you can have the freedom to not work. To go out and spend my money (because you are still not contributing) and a house that may not be the best, but it held the 3 most important people in my life. Yet you think you deserve it because? Maybe you should have gone to Iraq and lived where I lived and done what I done, so I could have blamed you for not being here with the kids on their birthdays. It didn't seem to bother you when you would go out on dates behind my back. And in the end, It is my fault, and as my punishment you take everything that you deserve.
In the end, you do not actually deserve any of that, because even if you did not work, you did not put in half of my required emotional assistance, or any type of support from you. You got very good at excuses as to why you are with me and why you don't want to do anything.
I hope all you learned in these past 7 years will help you fuck your own life up. I dare you to try that on someone else, and you will quickly realize that what I had offered you once was real, but now is dead and you are on your own like you wanted.
I will get over this shit you pulled, and hopefully someone out there has some backbone to admit when they do something wrong, and speak with the truth, even if the truth means it will hurt.
Fuck you for the time you abused me and talked to me like I owed you my life. Fuck you very much.
You took away everything that I loved and enjoyed. I am no longer a happy man, I see other happy people and think 'What total dumbasses if only they knew love is just an excuse to be weak'. I am no longer motivated. I feel like there is no point in doing things that I enjoy because since half of mine is yours you will take half of my enjoyment and turn that exact half into sour moments and they will fight for the environment we live in constantly, just because you feel like that at the moment.
Do you know why you feel like that? Surely not, since all in your scope is revenge and satisfaction when you hurt someone who (used) to love you. Smile when I raise my voice, 10 points for you. Laugh when I insult, 20 points for you. Act surprised when I speak out of line, I definitely shouldn't have said that. 50 points. And in the end when you start crying and tell me how horrible I treat you, 100 points. You win.
But you still do not know why you started to feel like that. I do. I'll tell you, but you would never believe me. It is because you are so angry at yourself. Your heart tells you to let it go, the anger, the shame, the vengeance, while your Pride talks to you and demands you attack, he's lying, you are trying to compensate and make a dumbass out of me again.
What really happened, was that I said I love you because it was how I felt, and made you a sandwich. What you did afterwards was unthinkable and led fro a chain of events that created a tear in my self-esteem and my emotions.
As 7 years of this continued, there was no fabric of emotions, just raw ingredients to make myself some new ones as I saw fit. Love became anger and regret. Passion became Contempt. Trust became lies and not-give-a-fuckness. At this point, I am not the same person, so scared of change, you try to relate to the old me and treat me nicely, kiss me, and do things that were unspeakably corny for you. They did not work, because your actions fucked me up so much that I did not respond how you would have liked.
You are rejected. Something your pride cannot have. Pride comes out and brings wrath. With all your wrath you accuse me that I am not the one putting my part in this relationship. I am a bad person who is cold and does not enjoy your company therefore you do not want to be with me.
I do not want you. I do not know what I am doing with you. You can leave. And you said you will.
I will not be fucked over again by some crazy unstable bitch. We will be separated forever. No turning back.
Oh, wait, what is that? You were kidding? You really did not mean what you said of wanting me out of your life, because I do not raise a finger to help you? You actually want things to work out. I can see the vicious cycle start over again and again as it has been happening for 7 years. I want out. You have decided to win me back until you decide that religion has the answers or proof. Religious beliefs led you to believe that I did many atrocities you had always suspected but gave you no proof. Just what you wanted to hear. The 7 years of proof of love from me were not merely enough to counter the 20-minute session of religious lies with no proof. You want out now as well. Very well. But you want to take what I worked for all my life to achieve in work and sacrifice. I did not have the privilege of spending countless days with my kids, playing and learning with them, seeing them laugh and enjoy. But to you, it is one of my negatives how I spend less time with my kids. Maybe you do not understand because you have not worked or sacrificed anything in your life. So I gave you the ability to live legally in the US, so you can work and help support our family. I worked hard year after year so we could have two vehicles and so you can have the freedom to not work. To go out and spend my money (because you are still not contributing) and a house that may not be the best, but it held the 3 most important people in my life. Yet you think you deserve it because? Maybe you should have gone to Iraq and lived where I lived and done what I done, so I could have blamed you for not being here with the kids on their birthdays. It didn't seem to bother you when you would go out on dates behind my back. And in the end, It is my fault, and as my punishment you take everything that you deserve.
In the end, you do not actually deserve any of that, because even if you did not work, you did not put in half of my required emotional assistance, or any type of support from you. You got very good at excuses as to why you are with me and why you don't want to do anything.
I hope all you learned in these past 7 years will help you fuck your own life up. I dare you to try that on someone else, and you will quickly realize that what I had offered you once was real, but now is dead and you are on your own like you wanted.
I will get over this shit you pulled, and hopefully someone out there has some backbone to admit when they do something wrong, and speak with the truth, even if the truth means it will hurt.
Fuck you for the time you abused me and talked to me like I owed you my life. Fuck you very much.
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