On the way home from work tonight I took a sort of a step back and looked at myself - my life and my personality.

And then it hit me: I really like me.

I couldn’t think of a single person in the whole world I’d rather be.

That, my dear readers, is quite possibly the most satisfying thought one could have: I’m cool in my own book. Often that’s all that matters…

…Because everything else follows. :)

There’s a little story I sometimes tell. It’s a story about my life in Bosnia. More specifically, it’s about my high school classmates.

In that story I didn’t leave Bosnia on best terms.

In that story I never felt like I fit in, anywhere. In high school in Bosnia I thought I could belong, but I eventually realized I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to be like them, I didn’t want to hang out with them. I was glad I was different, and I was glad I was now elsewhere.

I can’t exactly recall when I started telling this story. All I know is that it started at some point after I moved here. I imagine it was my subconscious self-defense mechanism that had to cope with the uprooting of my life and everything I built over there. In any case, only the first line of the story is true - I really did leave Bosnia on crappy terms.

Sadly.

I miss that place. I miss the streets on which I grew up. The bloody knees, the countless free throws, the hours of walking around… I miss the people, too. When I’m reminded even of those I never liked, usually via pictures on Facebook, I still kind of feel like it’d be nice to walk by them on the street and just nod. I miss playing basketball in P.E. and cramming for quizzes during those 5-min breaks. I even miss the lack of central heating, though not too much. I miss the cliques, the drama, the gossip, and the teasing.

I miss walking pretty much anywhere and seeing at least one familiar face on the way. I miss knowing every corner, alley, and questionable shortcut. I miss feeling like I have a home. I even miss complaining about the damn place.

I miss it all, at least a little.

However, Prijedor is no longer my home, and I’m afraid to feel even this bit of nostalgia. Here I am, writing this in English, as if hoping nobody from there will understand it…

And if you do…well, sorry it didn’t work out too well. I suppose life sometimes follows Newton’s first law.

I like being busy since, as most people, I dislike boredom.

However, I don’t like being busy weeks ahead of time. It gets in the way of having a life.

Spontaneity is a nice thing. Why is it so hard to find time for it?

(Translation: I’m really busy these days, but I’m still alive…I think.)

I think I’ve reached a whole new level of tired.

I’m completely drained - physically, mentally, and emotionally.

I can barely move, think, and feel.

This is not that worn-out post-allnighter exhaustion. This is not how you feel after a long workout. This is not what a nasty cold might do to you.

This is a result of several (I think at least three) weeks of not getting more than six hours of sleep per night - not once. In that time period I’ve worked hard at work and in the gym, thought way too much for a sane person, and gone through quite a few emotional ups and downs.

This is…strange.

(Watch out, this is about to get personal.)

It’s been a long time since I last blogged something personal. The past few weeks have been quite interesting, so here we are again.

I’ve completely forgotten about that post. I suppose it makes quite a bit of sense, seeing as how it’ very much alike a New Year’s resolution, and we all know I don’t do those. However, I’ve actually owned up to it.

No, I haven’t really acquired any spiffy new toys since then. I haven’t actually really done much of what motivated me to write that post, at all. I redid my priority list, though, and have done rather well at checking off some of the boxes on it. I’ve dumped some more weight and, even importantly, waist. I got a haircut and I’ve gotten better at shaving regularly. It’s nice to be presentable on a regular basis. I cleared some more prerequisites for transferring to CSULA, and have in fact gotten accepted and decided to go there this fall. Yay! I’ve started following the Lakers like I used to in high school, though these days I rarely get to watch the games - scheduling conflicts galore. Whatever, it’s good to be back in the zone (and title contention). I’ve found a group of pretty damn cool (and rather likeminded) people with a common goal in The Noise Academy and we’re on our way to getting filthy rich (or so I say). I’ve learned a thing or two about people in the past few months, too…

Amidst all that, I think the most important thing is what I learned about myself. I’ll avoid the specifics here, but I feel compelled to mention a bit or two about it.

In short, I’ve learned that I actually really like myself. When I look at people around me, both those I respect and those I despise, I can’t help but feel that I’d rather be myself than any of them. I think that for most of my life that wasn’t the case. The grass was always greener on the other side. That, my friends, is no longer the case.

I like to think I’ve met some pretty impressive individuals. Some with astonishing brains, some with looks to kill, and some with hearts of gold. I may - and likely do - envy them all on something, but I envy none on everything. I like none better than myself.

It’s a bit of a new feeling, and a very rewarding one, at that. And it looks as if 2008 really might be my year after all. :)

Cheers to that.

Around every New Year’s Eve I end up writing an introspective post, though I’ve omitted publishing some of them in the past. The purpose of them is really more to provide me with a venue for thinking out loud than for your reading pleasure. This one is for both you and me.

I don’t do New Year’s resolutions. I simply don’t. Every time I’ve attempted to make some in the past they lived up to the moment I was tempted to break them, and then it was all over. No use in making myself promises I know I won’t keep, right? Instead of doing something so symbolic I let myself get inspired by other things. For example, I moved from SD to LA and decided that I’d get myself into great shape by next summer, no excuses. It is now six months later and I’ve gone from 269lbs to 229lbs, with about 25lbs left to go by June. It works much better for me than using a holiday according to a religiously-motivated semi-arbitrary calendar system. Make no mistake, I make sure to properly party it up ever year, but that’s a different story.

So I sit here today, on January 3rd, 2008, after about two days of pondering the state of the union that is my life, and I just realized that I’ve subconsciously made a faux New Year’s resolution: to be better to myself. We all do things wrong to ourselves and others, but I talk and promise myself all kinds of fancy things (material and not) all the time and then discard the ideas for one reason or another. It’s time to end that.

How, you ask?

Easy - I need to start taking promises to myself seriously. If a friend promised something and didn’t own up to it I would be quite disappointed. In the past, however, the same rules didn’t apply to myself. I’ve been promising myself a camera for years now and do I have one? Take a wild guess. I’ve been on many weight loss marathons and they’ve all failed except for the current one, though I’ve slipped lately. Yesterday I decided to completely quit consuming anything at work and today I pushed myself one step further at the gym. It’ll get better in a matter of days, I’m confident. I’m mad at myself for slacking off with exercise the last month or so. I should always be mad at myself for failing like that.

I have goals of all kinds. The fact that they’re still unaccomplished is virtually solely the result of my not trying hard enough. I’ve got some toys on my shopping list. I’ve got some discipline on my to-do list. I’ve got some health issues that need to be taken care of, stat. And I’m apparently still single.

It’s time I start doing good things for myself. I did one just recently and thinking about the effects puts a smile on my face.

This year will be my year. My fucking year. I promise.