Jacob Paul Patchen's Blog, page 2

Lessons From Week One Of Sobriety. Idiot.

Well, week one of not drinking is over with. Am I a new man? Hardly. But, there are a few things that this week of excruciating sobriety has taught me.

#1. Stress is my trigger. Which I pretty much already knew. But to sit back and watch it from a “not giving in” kind of perspective is, to say the least, eye opening. I mean, I already know about my anxiety and other issues related to being uncomfortable socially… but when you always give in, you know that you have a way (an unhealthy way) to cope.

But now, not allowing myself to reach for that coping mechanism has shown me that I’m, pretty much, an idiot… well, ok, kind of. In reality, it’s made me have to deal with this stress and anxiety in other ways. Like imagining people naked. Wait. No. That’s only for when I’m publicly speaking, right? I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out.

#2. Restaurants need more drinks that are healthy for you. I’m tired of water, I’m getting tired of tea, and I don’t drink pop (we call it pop ‘round these parts).

So what options are out there? If I’m trying to stay away from something that is unhealthy for me, then I sure as shit don’t want to drink something that is loaded with sugar, or carbs, or calories, or whatever else that makes my teeth rot and pants too small. What do sober people drink?????

#3. This is hard, but do-able. Obviously, this is difficult. While I’m not the type to get shitfaced every time I have a drink, I am the type that likes to drink a couple of drinks with anything that I do. (Except working out. Alcohol and workouts are a horrible mix. Just… trust me.)

So, yes, this is bullshit. I don’t enjoy it. And I want to quit.

But, I’m not going to. Because that is exactly why I’m doing this… to prove that I can, to be faced with a challenge and overcome it.

Oh, and to fit into last year’s jeans.

Lessons From Week One Of Sobriety. Idiot.

Well, week one of not drinking is over with. Am I a new man? Hardly. But, there are a few things that this week of excruciating sobriety has taught me.

#1. Stress is my trigger. Which I pretty much already knew. But to sit back and watch it from a “not giving in” kind of perspective is, to say the least, eye opening. I mean, I already know about my anxiety and other issues related to being uncomfortable socially… but when you always give in, you know that you have a way (an unhealthy way) to...

(DAILY LOG) 30 Days Of Saving Myself: 30 Days Without Alcohol

This will be my daily log of each sad… lonely, boring, and pathetic day, of me, not consuming, one single sip, of glorious ALCOHOL. Check back daily for each post. Enjoy.

Jan. 2nd, 2016.

-Day One-

Well, I didn’t die. I’m not sure if that’s because I was still drunk from the Holiday festivities, or if I’m just more of a man than I thought I was. But, hey… that wasn’t so bad.

I chose to start this brave endeavor on a Saturday night because, well… because I’m an idiot… or maybe, courageous, or...

30 Days Of Saving Myself (From Myself)

If you know anything about me, then you will know that I am a shameless drinker-inner of the good times and the good booze. Matter of fact, if you creep my FB page, search the internets for shirtless photos of me, or randomly bombard any social event that I am attending, then you will most likely find me laughing, singing, dancing (or something like it), or tucked away into some corner observing the room, or on my phone, with one hand firmly grasping the cozy covered drink in my hand. It is i...

Meh… Christmas

Was it just me, or were there others who found it a little more difficult to get into the Christmas spirit this year?

I don’t know if it was the 108 degree weather, here, in Ohio, or maybe the sunburn I got from taking out the trash shirtless the other day, or perhaps, the lack of a special little snow bunny to spoil this year… but my jingle bells weren’t jingling, and it certainly didn’t look a lot like Christmas, from here.

To be honest, I’ve never felt as pathetic as I have, this year, when it came to giving gifts. The lack of money, and time to shop, sent me scouring the house, late Christmas Eve, for something to wrap and hand out on Christmas day.

So, everyone got .22 bullets. I know, how exciting. How pitiful. How tragic. How embarrassing.

I did it to myself, you know… stubbornly chasing dreams and wild ideas of the perfect job. Meanwhile, my wallet, bank account, and gift-getters suffered.

But in my Christmas Eve search for something amazing to give, I found something worth more than what money can buy. In the sad, heartbreaking swirl of the last little bit of cheap-tequila-margarita and past Christmas gift ideas, I found a childhood memory.

While thinking about what to give to my deserving mother, I stumbled upon the memory of how excited I used to get, at 12 years old, to read my new poems to my mom. I would burst out of my room, so excited at the crap that I just scribbled into stanzas, and I would interrupt her motherly duties just so that she could listen to said crap. And God bless her, she acted like she really enjoyed it!

I wanted to capture that memory, in a story, for my mother.

So, at 8:43 pm on Christmas Eve, I swallowed my last little bit of margarita, grabbed a half-empty Gatorade from the fridge, and wrote my mother some stupid, goofy, retro, throwback of a story to when my number one bleacher fan became my number one poetry fan.

And, as I sadly, handed out identically shaped, newspaper wrapped, baggies of ammunition, I may have felt a tinge of a tight lipped grin stretch the outer flanks of my cheeks, and possibly, just maybe, felt a small stir of excitement as I watched my mother open her oddly shaped package, pull out the small, crayon illustrated book called, Jacob and Maw Become BFF’s, and read it out loud.



Jacob and Maw Become BFF’s

Once upon a time, there was a very ornery little boy named Jacob. Jacob drove his mother crazy doing some of the most foolish things. Jacob would climb the highest trees and hang from the branches, he would climb up on top of the roof and hide from babysitters, and Jacob would speak out in class and make all of the other kids laugh out loud. Jacob was the class clown.

But one day, probably after receiving 20 lashes from his mother’s whip and being confined to his sleeping quarters on half rations and hard labor, Jacob decided to pick up his #2 mechanical pencil, grab a piece of college rule notebook paper, and write down his thoughts and feelings. Jacob was onto something….

He wrote, and wrote, and wrote, and scratched and scribbled out words, and then wrote some more, until he was almost completely satisfied with his work. Then, he picked up his paper, ran to the bottom of his mother’s bedroom steps, and yelled, “MAW!! THE MEATLOAF!!” (nonono, that’s not what Jacob yelled.) He yelled, “Please, lovely mother, come listen.”

And listen, she did. She listened closely. She listened well. And she listened with a smile. She was proud. She knew that Jacob was special… not the “special” kind of special, but actually, truly, special. From then on, whenever Jacob would write something new, he would rush out of his room, his paper flapping in his hand, and with excitement on his breath, he would read it out loud to his mother.

No matter what she was doing, she would stop, listen, smile, and either, give her approval, or tell Jacob not to use all of those curse words.

But Jacob was stubborn, Jacob was ornery… and Jacob used all of those curse words, anyway. He wrote poem after poem after poem, reading them all to his mother first.

And, like a proud mother, she decided to look passed all of those curse words and ornery references to things that she didn’t quite care for, and she instantly became Jacob’s BIGGEST FAN.

All of a sudden, Jacob went from being his mother’s ornery little shit, to his Maw’s favorite son, I mean, poet. The End.


It’s not my best work, by any means. It’s not attractive, or extravagant, or powerful, or even amazing, but knowing my mother, she would rather have something as silly, and goofy, and from-the-heart like that, than a gift card, or necklace, or brand new car… well, ok, she might rather have a brand new car. But you know what I mean.

And, knowing my mother, she will probably store this away with the other goofy shit that I wrote her or made her, and some day… open it up, pull it out, smile, read it again, maybe laugh… maybe cry… maybe wonder who in the hell I am (who knows). But she will remember a stupid gift like that, some pretty cool memory from my childhood, way more than she would remember something that I bought her.

What I’m trying to say is, even when we feel that we have nothing of value to give, we still do. We will always have a smile, laughter, kindness, some fun memory, or just a small, simple, little gesture that says, “I appreciate you,” to offer.

No matter how broke you are, how worthless you feel, or how poor your mood is, you always have the ability to show someone that you care.

Meh… Christmas

Was it just me, or were there others who found it a little more difficult to get into the Christmas spirit this year?

I don’t know if it was the 108 degree weather, here, in Ohio, or maybe the sunburn I got from taking out the trash shirtless the other day, or perhaps, the lack of a special little snow bunny to spoil this year… but my jingle bells weren’t jingling, and it certainly didn’t look a lot like Christmas, from here.

To be honest, I’ve never felt as pathetic as I have, this year, whe...

This Is What We Sacrifice For

This Veterans Day, as I think about and reflect upon the sacrifices made, not just by the brave men and women that I served with, but also, by the long line of courageous and honorable men and women who have kept this country free from the start of our Independence, I can’t help but to think about exactly what we were all sacrificing for.

I think, that for some, it was for freedom and liberty; for the safety and well-being of their loved ones back home. And for some, it was to stop evil injus...

Halloween Sluts and Creepy Creeps

Well, it’s upon us, folks. Another spooky Halloween. The one weekend out of the year where all of the half-naked ghouls and goblins, sexy mini-skirt zombies, and cleavage clad whatchya-ma-call-its, come out to play.

And, let’s just be honest, forget about Christmas and Thanksgiving, Halloween has become our new favorite holiday. I mean, what other time of the year is it socially acceptable to go out into the community and put your male parts and lady bits on public display? I damn sure, I don...

The Dead and The Dying

What has happened to our hometown? What has happened to our friends, our family; our prom dates and teammates, our jungle gym buddies and secret keepers, our brothers, our sisters, our daughters and sons? What is happening to the people that we love?

Folks, what have we done? Why are we not talking about the issues that lead to drug use in the first place? The pain, the anxiety, the loneliness, the heartache, the pressure, and the stress. These are all factors that WE, as a society, can contr...

LMFAO!! (Lick My Face All Over)??

Look, could we pleeeease stop making up new acronyms for every single little phrase that we say on social media.

I’m over here scrolling though different social media feeds, trying to see what all of these strangers have to say, but I can’t even begin to creep because they’re writing out encrypted code and shit. Like, why do I have to be a Harvard graduate to know what you just said about your cute little kitty cat?

HMU, ROTFL, SMH, AFAIK, AMA, ICYMI, IMHO, LMK, NSFW, YOLO, IDK, IDC, IRL, JK…...