Everything is Different

To those who want to know how Trentmas went, don't worry, I'm going to be reconstructing a full account shortly. I have other more pressing concepts pressing on my brain in the meantime. Foremost of these is this:

Everything is different.

Normally, Trentmas is a much needed break. For a few scant days I'm kind of a big deal, and then I go back to being just some guy on a phone. The process leaves me refreshed and ready to weather the storm until my next Botcon. I dream about it. I long for it in my metaphorical heart. The friends, the events, the sense of freedom and joy... they all mix together with the sense of unbridled discovery of an unknown place.

This year, however, Botcon/Trentmas isn't a much needed break. It is a sea change.

There has always been this lingering, nagging voice in my head. This voice would say that every place, every life, would be roughly the same, and as such weathering my current existence was the best I could hope for.

But I've seen, first hand, that there are better things. My humid pit of misery and failure is a unique prison, and there are things beyond it, greater in scope and magnitude, that I have but to reach out and grasp. My soul-crushing job is a fetid, meaningless lie that is beneath me. And in this realization, the shackles begin to crack, and my ascendancy begins.

As such, I reintroduce myself to everyone here.

Hi, I'm Trent, maybe you've heard of me. I'm kind of a big deal.

My Uncle Truman

I know everyone is waiting for news of my trip, and it will come in a large, well-thought out post. I don't have internet very much out here and so I have to keep things short until I get back to Tulsa. This, however, warranted borrowing a computer.

My uncle Truman died yesterday at about 3:30 in the afternoon. I say died for a reason, because "passed on" fails to express the loss that I, and the world itself, is faced with. My uncle Truman (actually my great uncle) was a remarkable man. He lived longer and better than any human has a right to hope for, and was my inspiration in many things. Even in the twilight of his life he was teaching watercolor painting to the others in his shared community. He was a strong, noble man, and is worthy of remembrance.

He is survived by his wife, Mildred, and a large family that includes myself.

In other news, my sister was in a car accident. Fortunately, she is alright, even though the airbag failed to deploy. I am relieved beyond all knowing that she is going to be well. 

-Trent