[cross-posted, and slightly reformatted, from Facebook]

This morning I spent a little time on one of the many long-standing, unfinished projects that just seem like they’ll never near completion: properly archiving and then printing hardcopies of the now defunct LiveJournal pages. This is easily the most daunting of the long-term tasks that never seem to near completion. I know it won’t take as long to complete as finishing Gaudi’s Sagrada Família, but it certainly feels that way.

While copying-and-pasting entries from November 2002 into a Word document, the number and size of the posts once again astounded me. Coincidentally, today marks the 15th anniversary of my very first LJ entry — a fact I didn’t properly recall until reviewing the site earlier today. The Word file dedicated to the 2002 posts is now complete through November 26, and is currently over 50 pages long. I’m fairly certain that’s far more than my combined posts to Facebook, Brick à Brac, LJ, and Twitter for all of this year.

Although a change of priorities is a primary cause for the decreased volume over time, the timestamps (as well as my own recollections) for most of the LJ posts make it clear that the overwhelming majority of the posts were written while goofing-off on the job. Looking back, it’s easy to see how that dynamic quickly transpired. Though qualified and possessing the necessary skills, I hated my job and was often happy to procrastinate and put forth the minimum necessary effort to complete the work. Combined with the ability to sense where corners could be easily cut, this resulted in a need to find something that would create the appearance of looking busy. Make sure you do your writing in Word, and it’s very easy to create that illusion.

Although that dynamic is no longer at play — the current paying gig is far more agreeable and provides more than enough work to keep busy — it’s disappearance doesn’t account for all of the decreased pixel generation. It’s not a coincidence that the first notable decrease in output corresponded with Facebook becoming my preferred social media platform. It’s a nice tool for keeping in touch with friends and family, but its design discourages the type of writing most frequently found in blogs and online journals. I adapted, but I also believe that my ability to write long, thoughtful entries suffered as a result. Taking the time to compose posts such as this just feels more difficult; that it takes more concerted effort than in the past. Like so many others, I often find the path of least resistance most tempting, and deviating sometimes seems non-rewarding — especially when Facebook allows readers to reward you with “Likes” and the feedback on a forum like this is much more limited.

It’s important to ultimately remember that writing on site such as WordPress or LiveJournal should primarily always be a personal endeavor. Though the work is harder, it’s also more personally fulfilling. Though you won’t get the rewards of posting frequently to Facebook, you will find that your voice is better used and understood. I won’t pretend that this particular entry will result in more frequent kinds of post. Simply, I’ve made and broken too many similar promises and resolutions over the past 5-10 years to foolishly express even a hope of this. However, reading some of those LJ entries from 2002 makes it clear that I’ve really lost something by not setting aside time to write more often in this manner.

A little over a week ago, I received an email stating that Manchild made his Little League’s All-Star team. It was an exciting moment, and I couldn’t have been more proud of or excited for him. He loves playing baseball, and receiving this honor easily rates as one of his biggest childhood achievements. Amazingly, as great as the honor was in of itself, at the All-Star Game on Saturday he had one of the best days of his season: he went 3-for-3 with a double, two runs scored, & an RBI. Furthermore, he made a great play in the field that I will detail soon.

I too had a role in the game (aside from being a proud, supportive parent): I volunteered to keep score and count pitches for his team and thought little of it. It was an extension of a role I filled all season; ideally, I would’ve have volunteered to help coach his team, but the fact he played in Montgomery County, where his mom lives, meant I would miss at least half his practices. Luckily, my work schedule allowed me to attend all his games, where I frequently volunteered to assist in any way possible. When the All-Star coaches started looking for someone to maintain the team’s scorebook, I readily accepted the role. It meant I couldn’t simply enjoy watching the game and take pictures, but I truly wanted to help if possible.

I did get a few pictures, but I needed to rely on Manchild’s mom to perform the yeoman’s work of getting as many as possible. She didn’t disappoint (nor was there any concern that she would), and a large number of those photos, as well as videos of his at bats, ended up on Facebook. Next time I see her, I plan on providing her with a thumb drive that she can then place all the videos and pictures on it.

As much as I would have enjoyed taking my own pictures, my involvement in the game meant I was closer to the field than most of the other parents, and it allowed me to interact with Manchild at various times during the game. This most notably occurred while he was catching. He doesn’t particularly enjoy it, but he’s a consummate team player and will play any position the coaches tell him to field. During his first inning of work while behind the plate, there were a couple pop-ups that he couldn’t locate quickly enough to make a play on. On both of them, I very good-naturedly gave him guff, telling him, “Carlos Ruiz would have made that play.”

He persevered, and I received my comeuppance on his last play at that position. The bases were loaded with one out when the batter hit a routine grounder to second that resulted in an out at first. The runner on third scored, and then the runner originally on second attempted to score as well. Manchild took part in well-executed rundown and while running the runner back to the third, he noticed the runner who was originally on first scampering back to second from third. He made a perfect throw to second, and the fielder covering the base was able to apply the tag for the inning’s third out. As he returned from the field, Manchild emphatically pointed to second base and exclaimed to me, “And, Carlos Ruiz would’ve done that!” Once again, I swelled with pride, while simultaneously guffawing.

After the game, his mother and I took the time to speak with the coach of his regular team to thank him for all his hard work this season. Then, to my surprise, he thanked me for everything I did during the season, and pointedly stated that my volunteering to keep score during the All-Star Game was an example of the type of things most parents don’t do. Although not officially a coach for the team, my contributions were just as valuable, and he wished there were more parents like me. It always amazes me to hear things like that. Yes, I know that many parents are happy to simply show up and watch the game — those that actually do stay and watch, rather than just drop off and pick up — but I just cannot fathom how a parent wouldn’t volunteer if there was something they could do to help.

Anyway, Manchild has two more remaining games this spring before the season ends. No matter how he performs in them, I will view his All-Star game as the fitting end to his season. I’m looking forward to see how he’ll handle himself when he moves up to the next age division during the fall season, and I’ll continue to help his team in whatever capacity I can.

Let’s be honest with ourselves; being irresponsible on a work night when you’re 21 and being irresponsible on a work night when you’re 45 are two very different things. At 21, you typically don’t have a mortgage, career, and car payments, nor are you saving for retirement and/or college for your child(ren). Your body is in its prime, and you can stay up to the wee hours of the morning, having far too many drinks and eating copious amounts of tasty, salty, fried food. After a few hours sleep, a decent breakfast, and a nice, steamy shower, you’re usually good to go.

That just doesn’t play when you’re 45, and you’ve already learned it the hard way.

I bring this up as a prelude to the following thoughts, statements, and chain of events that began around 10:30 last night – when Sally and I were in the middle of a second drink in an hour, while rewatching the sixth season of Game of Thrones:

• “I want to be irresponsible and have another drink. Damn it, I think I will! I’ll just skip the gym in the morning.”
• Resignedly uttered the word, “fuck,” pulled myself back together, and then happily went to the kitchen, drank a tall glass of water, and then got a third alcoholic beverage for each of us.
• Split a bag of chips (the lower fat variety, of course) while consuming drinks and finishing episode of Game of Thrones.
• Grumble to myself, “I’m going to need to somehow make up for not going to the gym in the morning. Maybe I’ll just walk on the treadmill for 30 minutes during my lunch break tomorrow.”
• Consumed another tall glass of water while considering a fourth drink — a process interrupted by a glance at the the candy jar containing various “Fun Size” candy bars. Said to myself, sotto voce, “That size is anything but fun, even when you aren’t fretting about eating too much.”
• Caved and grabbed the fourth drink, with full knowledge there would be a mild hangover. The fact it would be a mild one, at worst, did nothing to stop me from thinking I was truly being irresponsible. Inner 21-year-old mocks me.
• Rejoined Sally in the living room, and watched portions of a couple Golden Girls reruns. That’s when I had the uttered the sentence that started this post. Posted that thought to Facebook, and looked at the clock, which now read 11:45.
• “I hope I don’t pay too much for this in the morning” went through my head as I had yet another full glass of water. We cleaned up our slight mess, went about our bedtime routines, and turned off the light at approximately 12:15.

And that is how my being irresponsible on a work night at the age of 45 usually plays out these days. As much as my 21-year-old self would’ve mocked “irresponsible” 45-year-old me, there’s one element he would’ve been jealous over: last night I spent the entire evening with an amazing woman whom I had a great time with and then shared a bed with her.

I’ll take 45-year-old irresponsible over 21-year-old irresponsible every single time.