| Quoting One Samewise Gamgee: |
[Dec. 26th, 2008|06:37 pm] |
| [ | Mood |
| |  chipper | ] |
| [ | Theme |
| | Chrono Trigger - A Premonition | ] |
"Well, I'm back."
It's been a while since I've posted here, or anywhere, really, and I really hate extended abscences. I loathe them, truly. It's probably more than a little silly to worry that the information here, as it gathers cobwebs and dust, will misrepresent me, but nevertheless, it bothers me that the most recent events, at least in a general sense, are not accurate.
I've been living in Buffalo, New York for the last four months. Long, long, long story short, it hasn't worked out especially well, and I'm moving to Louisville, Kentucky on the second of January. My last day of work here is on the first, specifically for the purpose of complicating my income taxes next year. In deciding the date, I weighed how much more complicated having a fourth state to calculate might be, but considering the difficulty of moving and finding a job before the thirty-first, it seemed more worth my efforts to stick around a little longer.
I'm also very poor right now, and for the first time in a long time, I am relying on public internet access to live my digital life, such as it is. This will end soon, as the selling of my last computer (to a jerk, for food, for way less than it was worth) has birthed the vision of an even greater box of whirling circuits. I plan on gathering the raw materials atop my forge and smelting them into a beast capable of rendering the most visually spectacular feats, and also (if my skill proves great enough) producing hot, toasted bagels. We shall see.
I'm sorry for just disappearing like that. It was rude. But I doubt any of you missed me, so it's all good. |
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| Adventure In The Far Beyond |
[Jul. 5th, 2008|11:46 am] |
It's been more than a few weeks, and I felt it was time to update. I'm home, for the long weekend, and you, the reader, shall benefit! Maybe.
A lot has happened since I last posted, and to sum it all up here would be utter folly. It's too much to say, even, and perhaps especially, in spite of my love for lengthy paragraphs. Work, family, friends, and life in general has been very busy, and even if it weren't entirely egotistical to think any one of you would be interested in all of it, it would be entirely difficult to tell all the stories in a concise manner.
Work has been an enlightening experience, to say the least, and I've learned quite a bit of handy information, particularly on the subject of being handy.
Ha! A joke.
I'll be ready to go on call in a few more weeks, which is a little uncomfortable to me as an idea, but in practice, I should be fine. There's not much that I can't do around the property, and anything that I can't do will most likely require a second person to assist. Said second person will know how to do whatever needs to be done, so it's rather foolproof. Fire alarms, plumbing backups, the pool, that stuff I can handle easily. Hot water tank ruptures are a little out of my ballpark, for now.
I work with a crazy bunch of people, each of whom are not unlike characters from a sitcom, and have their own amusing stories. To illustrate them all, I'll use a brief bulleted list.
- Jerry, aka "One Eye" - Jerry is an older guy from West Virginia with plenty of experience and an easygoing attitude. He takes care of the off-property work orders, and we get along great. It took me nearly two weeks to realize he has a glass eye.
- Randy, aka "Jailbird" - Randy is, I think, in his mid-to-late thirties. He just spent five months in prison for getting drunk, fleeing the police, and assaulting an officer. He handles the on-property work orders, but usually spends more time complaining about how he has too much work to do than he does actually doing the work.
- Chuck, aka "The Recovering Addict" - Chuck is a nice guy who's a few years older than I am, but doesn't look it, at least to me. He's thin as a rail, half from genetics and half from all the drugs he used to do a few years ago. He's newer, so we both get treated like rookies even on simple stuff. He's pretty solid, and I enjoy working with him.
- Mr Lee, aka "The Crazy Korean" - Mr. Lee has a first name, but nobody can pronounce it. He's been working with the company for over twenty years, and could probably be a property manager by now if he'd bother to start learning english twenty years ago. Some of us think he's just acting, but nobody knows for sure. He's okay to work with, as long as he's not trying to teach you something.
- Chris, aka "The AC Tech" - Chris is the only guy on staff who really knows what he's doing when it comes to air conditioners, which the owners hate. He has no license, so whenever a unit breaks down off property, he needs one of us to drive him around, usually me. He's an okay guy, though he's not altogether patient sometimes.
- Doug, aka "J. Jonah Jameson" - Doug is in his early-to-mid forties, I think, and bears a striking resemblance to that love-to-hate news mogul from Spiderman comics. Not a carbon copy, but he looks and acts enough like him that he could probably have a convincing halloween costume without much trouble. He's always helpful and a lot of fun to work alongside.
- Brian, aka "Doug's Sidekick" - Brian is probably a little older than Randy, and used to be in business for himself. There was some trouble with that for some reason, so now he works with us. He re-tiled his entire apartment at his own expense, which looks awesome, and if he ever moves out, we'll have to rip it all out, which will suck. He's also attached at the hip to Doug at almost any given moment.
- Marty, aka "You're The Supervisor Now" - Marty has white hair, so it's hard to tell if he's old but looks young, or young but looks old. Early fifties, I think. One day, he walked into the office for the morning meeting, and the bosses informed him that he was the new Maintenance supervisor. No pay raise and no warning. He's a good guy, and is one of the most reliable people on staff.
It's been pretty interesting outside of work too, concerning my car in particular. Not too long after I moved in, I started to notice some acceleration and starting issues. I thought it might just be a sensor or something, and I sat on it for a bit, rationalizing that I'd see my usual mechanic when I came home for a visit. Then, Memorial day came, and my car indefinitely stalled in front of a local Panera Bread. A little panic set in, since I was six miles from home with no friends or family to rely on.
A nearby auto-zone recommended a guy who billed himself as "A Mobile Car Doctor". Mobile was good, I thought, and I gave him a call, begging his voicemail for help on a holiday. He did call me back, and was happy to help, though I had to wait a few hours for him to be available to drive over and check things out. I passed the time by playing Super Smash Bros. Brawl at the local Gamestop, to mild applause from the staff. Eventually, my new mechanic arrived, and after a quick diagnostic test, determined that my fuel pump was toast.
A fuel pump, much like a heart, will cripple your engine if it dies. No fuel means no combustion, which leaves you with a two-thousand pound paper weight. Thus, the car had to be towed to his shop. Once he had a look at it, he determined the following series of events.
- The fuel neck, between the tank and the filling port, has no splash guard.
- Winter salts, coupled with my tendency to never wash my car, murdered my fuel neck with rust.
- Without a proper neck, dust and grime from the road got into the gas tank.
- The pump filter was eventually overwhelmed with soil, and became too clogged to work.
- I needed to pay him a lot of money to fix it.
I need my car, of course, so naturally I told him to do whatever he needed to do to fix it. And fix it he did, for slightly under what it could have cost me if the parts had all been brand new. Out the door price? Parts, plus labor, plus on site diagnostic, plus towing? $1000. Just a teensy bit more than I was expecting to pay, and although I was glad to have my car back, I was not entirely happy about the bill. Primarily because I did not have a thousand dollars lying around to spend. God bless Paypal, though, and Chase Credit for upping my limit just for kicks. Between a maxed out credit card an an empty bank account, I managed to foot the bill. Another three weeks, and I'll be out from under it, finally!
My apartment is big, and though I've managed to fill it with a little bit of furniture finally, it's more space than I need. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. I'm mindful of the future, and a second bedroom is plenty handy for guests, should anyone ever decide to stop by (read: please visit me). It's clean, it's up to date (and I should know, these days), and it's not surrounded by noisy neighbors. My building is one of the best on the whole property, in my opinion.
That all being said, it's lonely. I know only one person in the whole state, and considering the forty minute drive it takes to see her, it's not feasible nor fair to want to hang out with her all the time. I'll have a new computer before the middle of next month, I think and hope, and my phone grants me some net access until then, but it's not the same. Not anymore. I find more and more that the internet leaves me wanting for younger years, when such contact was more fulfilling. I'll take what I can get, of course, but I'm craving personal contact like a mosquito craves blood.
It's empty. My apartment, I mean. After working all day, I come home to myself. I cook myself dinner. I wash my own dishes. I sit by myself and watch my television. I set my alarm, and I go to sleep in my bed. Independence is a double-edged sword, and I find myself cut upon it.
Pardon me, my emo is showing.
I've had the nesting itch for a while now. More than a while, really, but more strongly now than ever. It's not just dreaming or wanting or planning anymore. I'm out on my own, with space, time, and love to spare. I have a low paying but viable career ahead of me, and a promising potential path towards a brighter future. I'm young enough and sharp enough to get somewhere in this company, and if not here, certainly somewhere else. We have properties all across the country, and the skills I'll continue to learn can take me anywhere. For once, I'm not really thinking "Where will I go from here?". I find myself most often thinking "Who will come with me?"
Rushing things won't help, I know this for a fact, and I have no intention of trying to do so again. Still, I'm really, really sick of talking to myself all night. I'm tired of cooking for one person, which results in a diet consisting of Chunky Soup and Malt-O-Meal. I'm tired of rolling over in bed and finding nothing but a cold pillow. I'm tired of sleeping by, living by, and living for myself.
Any takers? |
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| Bold Face |
[May. 18th, 2008|04:13 pm] |
| [ | Tags | | | future plans | ] |
| [ | Mood |
| | excited | ] |
| [ | Theme |
| | Lost - Leggo My Eko | ] |
It's just after four o'clock, as you can see from the datestamp. My things are packed, and I'm about to leave. I've only got to load my car and say goodbye to my mother and sister.
I won't have a computer for a while, so unless I feel inclined to update from my phone, this space will get a little dusty for the next month or two. I'll still be checking my e-mail, but I can't say how often. Probably once a day, at best. If you need me, your best bet is to call my cell, which will still be on.
Wish me luck, friends and readers. Take care. |
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| Vertical Motion |
[May. 12th, 2008|10:20 am] |
Let us be forthright about my circumstances: I am moving. I shall pause for your rejoicing.
It happened much faster than I ever anticipated; inside of thirty-six hours, from phone call to paperwork. It started with a friend of my dad's, named Ray. Ray is, as far as I have ever known, a good guy. Some family issues I'm not fully briefed on (they're none of my business, after all), but on his own, he's pretty solid. They used to work together at a steel pipe manufacturing factory back in Ferndale, where we used to live. His noteworthy adventures include being a demo-man in the Vietnam war, and almost sinking his boat out on lake St. Clair while fishing with my dad.
Also, there's my uncle Pete, who is one of those uncles who aren't really uncles. He and my dad were childhood friends, and because they had the exact same last name, everyone thought they were brothers. They lost track of each other for a long, long time, and every time we would travel down to Texas to visit dad's family, he and mom would go looking for him. About ten years ago, they finally tracked him down, and after not seeing him for about twenty years, we went to see him in Ohio. He and his wife have been close friends ever since, even though they've never lived close, especially now.
Pete eventually got work as a maintenance man for a group of apartments in Columbus, Ohio, and after receiving plenty of training and certification, he was promoted to a manager's position out in New Mexico. Very recently, I overheard that my dad had been talking to him, and Ray had been given a job in New Mexico. My gears immediately started turning, and as a sort of offhand joke, I asked if Pete had any jobs for me. I laughed, of course, because I have no applicable skills for being a maintenance man. I can carry things and do what I'm told, but I'm not qualified on paper to fix anything.
Tuesday, the sixth, six days ago, I was told to put my resume together and fax it to my uncle, who would forward it to his old boss in Columbus. I figured that I'd have a better chance at best with a recommendation on my side, but wednesday morning, right after I get up, I got a call. It's my uncle's wife, and she asks me if I can come to Columbus today to meet with my uncle's old boss. I can't of course, because I have youth group, and it's a long drive. This is fine, of course, but I'm asked to come tomorrow before eleven in the morning, because the lady has to leave for Germany before noon. I can do that, I say.
"Great. You start on the ninteenth."
At this point, I'm having two distinct thoughts.
- Holy crap!
- Troy is going to be sooooo mad.
Troy is, of course, my current boss at the group home, and two weeks ago I offered to cover some shifts for one of my co-workers. She went on medical leave until July, and I picked up two days a week. I'm flabbergasted at this point, because not only am I already hired, not only did I not even have to show my resume to anyone, but I'm being given a two-bedroom apartment with no utilities or rent as part of my employment. I gave the shock about half an hour to wear off and I call in my two-weeks notice to Troy. He doesn't sound upset, but not especially happy, either.
Thursday morning, I left a little after six and after one painful stop for gasoline (in the tiny village of Vanlue, Ohio), I reached my destination at approximately ten thirty-five. I filled out papers, got my keys, and took a quick drug test at a nearby facility. The breathalyzer replied immediately that I was a straight arrow, and the urine test will undoubtedly do the same when it comes back. I returned to my building, the very same one my uncle used to live in, and after parking at the completely wrong end of the building, I located my apartment. Those of you who want it can ask for my address privately.
The apartment is on a corner of the top floor. Next to me is Joyce, a single older lady from the main office. Across from me, I have no idea, but door decorations suggest someone is there. Below me, I found another maintenance man painting the ceiling, which might be necessary work or prep for someone to move in. Either way, it's nice and quiet up there, and the view is great. There's ten buildings owned by my boss, and they're all on a nice, secluded road thar runs off of the main road into Columbus. When I was here before, several years ago, it was winter, and I recall taking a nice long walk in the nearby woods.
There's a lot more to talk about, but for the sake of brevity, such as it ever is with me, I'll stop here. More details will be forthcoming, possibly including pictures, and if you're lucky, an explanation of exactly what I plan to do with all that space. |
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| Like Pasta, But Angrier |
[May. 6th, 2008|02:03 am] |
I have always believed that the internet, as far as personal sites and everything else under that massive umbrella, should ideally be like a glass house. As the saying goes, people who live in glass houses should not throw stones. And as copycat sayings go, people who live in glass houses should always wear clothes. By this I mean that if you're going to put information out there, on the net, you shouldn't say anything you'd be embarassed if someone read.
I understand and agree that there should be some expectation of privacy. Privacy is good. But why post info on the biggest public network on earth and then try to hide it? You may as well write it down on paper and stick it in a safe. On the internet, unless you completely restrict access to only yourself, someone is going to see that information. Odds are, that someone will, in some form or another, pass it on. It's one of the best and worst things about living in the information age. Knowledge is power, and can be used for good as well as evil, depending on who knows it. A fair and balanced opinion educates the reader and encourages discussion; this is good. A mushy rant about how the boy or girl you like totally ignores you at the football game will probably come back to hurt you in the long run.
I have said things in the past that I wish I hadn't, and it serves as a reminder of how far I've come in the years since I started this blog. Frankly, I wish I could take some of them back, and as the administrator of this page, I certainly could erase them. But I never have, because the idea of doing so feels like burning a book. I say that with no intention of comparing my simple life to anything particularly worth reading; I just don't believe in destroying information. It's a part of me, and like every word contained here, it's meant to give the reader insight into who I am. I'm not going to hide who I am simply because it's inconvenient or embarassing in retrospect.
For example, as a baby, I would strip off my pajamas at night and lay behind the door. Have fun with that one for a while.
In regards to my last entry, a nameless party posted an annonymous comment that was meant as an attack on me. I have already deleted it, so don't both looking for it. That may seem hypocritical after a long paragraph about the sanctity of information, but I reserve the right to paint over graffiti, as it were. I refuse to give much credence to a malevolent opponent who intends to harass me from the shadows. You, the genuine reader of my thoughts, have no need to become involved in such shameful smearing of my character.
The comment insinuated that I was a rapist, and cited the fact that I felt sympathetic for the defendant in my court case as proof, because rapists apparently stick together like that. That statement isn't even remotely accurate and, although I couldn't care less about the baseless accusations and opinions of a coward, it bothers me that they didn't even bother to read my entire post. I clearly stated that the charge against the defendant was sexual assault while incapacitated, and not rape. Also, I have never raped anyone. You can even ask people! You can walk up to anyone and say "Did Dan rape you?" and they would reply "No." Try it sometime!
Astute readers would also notice that I never said I felt sympathetic for the boy. Much in the same way that I never said I thought the victim deserved to be assaulted because she was only sixteen and getting plastered. If she was charged with underage drinking, or her family members charged with providing alcohol to a minor, I wouldn't bat an eye. Lots of bad decisions were made that night, and although it's extremely unlikely that any of the previously suggested charges will be brought against the victim and her family, the law was still broken. As I stated in my last entry, we're all accountable for our own decisions.
That all being said, just because a child thinks it's fun to play in the road doesn't mean they deserve to be hit by a truck. Just because the victim decided to drink a lot doesn't mean she deserved to be assaulted, and just because the defendant might not have been Hitler doesn't mean he deserves to go free. I haven't the slightest bit of sympathy for him, and I had figured that the guilty verdict I returned might have suggested that pretty concretely. Some people are just dense, I guess.
Really, calling me a rapist? That's the best you can do? Come on now, friend. This is the internet, after all. That's the best you could do? I've been called far worse things across the web, and far more eloquently, to be brutally honest. Heck, I got worse than that when I was in junior high school. Thirteen year olds have hit me with better stuff, and that was over a decade ago. Thirteen year olds are way less shy nowadays.
If you think it bothers me in the slightest, think again. You're a whisper in the wind, a voice from the ether. Show me your face and fight me fair, and maybe then what you say, think, and do might matter. But if you're trying to indimiate me, scare me, or otherwise get under my skin, you may as well give up. I'm not afraid of anything.
Least of all you. |
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| Upon Golden Glass |
[May. 4th, 2008|12:32 am] |
| [ | Mood |
| | relieved | ] |
| [ | Theme |
| | Chrono Cross - Life (Faraway Promise) | ] |
Jury duty is, after two short and exhausting days, over with. I have some mixed feelings about the ordeal, but taken as a whole, it was overwhelmingly positive. Now that the case is decided, I am free to discuss the details, as the deliverance of the verdict makes the case public knowledge, and the need to remain impartial is removed. That's really the reason why I'm not allowed to talk about things; not so much because it's against any written law, but because my sacred and sworn duty demands that I judge the alleged crime on a fact only basis. I wasn't supposed to talk about it with anyone, including my fellow jurors.
On day one, I reported for duty promptly at nine in the morning, along with the other thirteen members of the box. Judges are busy people, and they juggle a lot of bowling pins at the same time, if you follow me. Sometimes, certain things require immediate attention and schedules get backed up. Such was the case Thursday morning, and we entered the courtroom no later five after ten. Frankly, I would have preferred to sleep an extra hour, but the nature of the courtroom, to be brutally honest, is one of complete inconvenience for nearly everyone involved. Much groaning is elicited as a result, but after momentarily placing oneself in the shoes of the victim or defendant, such frustrations are easily tolerated.
It doesn't take much thought to conclude that the victim, the defendant, and/or their respective families would probably not enjoy me plastering the intimate details of this incident onto the internet for everyone to see. Even on such an unobserved place as my blog! It's only polite for me to summarize and avoid direct referrences, and I intend to do so as often as is possible without minimizing the accuracy of my description. As I mentioned in my previous post, it's not a happy case, so if you don't like to think about the reality of crime, read no further. God only knows I'd rather just pretend that it's something that only happens to other people, but my family has beaten the odds quite a bit lately when it comes to things that we didn't expect to happen.
The charges against the young man were two counts of criminal sexual conduct in the third degree. In plainspeak, it was a sexual assault against a victim that was unconscious, asleep, or otherwise incapacitated and unable to resist. Two counts, in this case, means two separate violations of the law, and not two separate assaults. The crimes occurred in succession, and the only distinction is in what the defendant allegedly used to assault her. I'll let you ponder that as to it's literal meaning.
The victim was a young girl from Virginia Beach, aged sixteen (at the time), who, with her mother and brother, was visiting her extended family as they did at least once a year. On the night of the incident, she had been spending time with said family in the city of Warren at a pool party. After a late Tiger's game, some step-cousins arrived and together they went to the residence of another family member for the evening. Along with them was the defendant, the boyfriend of a step-cousin who was not present at that time. After an exhaustingly long day, an hour long drinking game, and a fair amount of rum, the five friends/relations decided to call it a night. It was sometime around five in the morning.
After being shown to her room by a male step-cousin, the victim went to sleep. Admittedly, she had drank quite a bit, and for a young girl of small size, it was certainly more than enough to intoxicate her. The three step-cousins were sleeping downstairs, and the defendant was upstairs sharing a bed with a young family member. At some point, the defendant entered the victim's room and assaulted her to the point of consciousness, when she pushed him off of the bed, redressed herself, and went downstairs to sleep in a chair. So ended the assault, neither violent nor lengthy, but simply unlawful.
Afterwards, her family noticed she wasn't acting normally and got the story out of her. Their primary concern at the time was STD's and pregnancy, and they took the appropriate steps with an OB/GYN before returning home approximately thirty-six hours after the incident. Police were later notified and the criminal process was started. Other details were provided, but for the sake of brevity, I am omitting them. After a little over thrity minutes of deliberations, after jurors one and six were removed from the pool, the verdict of guilty on both counts was delivered. It was a decision we reached, but as it pertains to the law, it is not our opinion. The verdict, unless appealed and re-decided by another jury of peers, is final. He was, and is, guilty.
Afterwards, the judge spoke to us and answered any questions we had in regards to the process following the verdict. Sentencing will occur in late June, and as the sentences must occur concurrently, the maximum is fifteen years. As I understood it, he'll serve at least one, and I'm guessing he may likely get anywhere from three to six. The judge also told us that the defendant was offered a polygraph test before the trial, which is inadmissable as evidence in court, but was suggested under the stipulation that if said test was passed, the case would be dismissed against him. The defendant declined to take the polygraph. Testimony as to his character, specifically that he was aggressive when intoxicated, was ruled inadmissable as well. Certainly such information would have helped people make a decision under less legal circumstances, but our job as jurors was to judge the case based on evidence alone. It's not lawful or proper to lock someone up for a crime because they're a jerk. Think about it.
In the end, in my opinion, I determined that it was a crime of opportunity. In his lack of sound judgement, the defendant most likely looked at the victim and saw a chance to get something he desired. She was young, quite inebriated, and from out of town. With any luck, he may have thought, she wouldn't be aware of his actions and would write it all off as her mind playing tricks on her, or as a strangely vivid dream. She might not see him again for a year or more, long beyond the point of speculation. I determined as well that there was a point, based on the victim's testimony, that if the defendant had stopped, he may very well have gotten away with his crime. It was more than likely that the same lack of judgement that caused him to commit a crime of opportunity also caused him to miss the end of said opportunity. He was caught in the act, and as a lawyer has no choice but to do what a client wants, he chose to fight a losing battle with a poorly constructed defense.
It's not my place to judge the boy, only his crime. For all I know, minus the alcohol, he could be a decent guy. Based on what was testified, he was employed, had a long term girlfriend, and in spite of some issues with his parents, was endeared by his girlfriend's family. This will come into account when the judge sets his sentence, and as I doubt he has any priors, he probably won't get the book thrown at him. The crime could have been far worse, and although he pretended to be asleep when he was caught (which didn't fool the victim), he knew when his house of cards had fallen down. He made no attempts to force himself on her while she was conscious, and no attempt to silence her afterwards. I do not believe that the defendant was, essentially, a bad person. Like all of us, he just made a bad choice.
Like all of us, he is accountable. |
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| The Tin Thunders |
[May. 1st, 2008|09:55 pm] |
So, it's been a few weeks again. Sorry?
I got stuck with jury duty yesterday, and just when I thought I was going to get paid a cool twenty-five bucks to sit in a room all day long, my number got called. Along with another thirty numbers or so, we all went down to a courtroom and sat still while the judge explained some stuff. If you haven't done jury duty before, here's how it goes:
1. You show up early and hope your number never gets called.
2. Your number gets called.
3. You proceed to a courtroom with some other unhappy people.
4. Depending on if it's a criminal or civil trial, the record person calls fourteen or eight of you (respectively) to sit in the box.
5. Both lawyers and the judge ask you some questions, hoping to exclude you if you happen to be bias, or insane. We had five bias, and two insane.
6. Excused jurors go back upstairs for a while, along with everyone who dodge the bullet and didn't get called up. Everyone else is on the jury.
7. When the trial is over, two people are excused if they aren't needed. They're only there in case another juror gets sick or eaten by a grue.
That's the gist of the selection process. I was assigned to a criminal trial, which I am legally and ethically bound to not talk about at all... until the trial is over. I'm still debating if and/or what I'll write about the experience when it's over. There have been positive and negative things so far, though mostly positive. Some things have been eye opening. Some things have been sad. It's not a happy trial. I know that you're probably thinking "Heck, when are criminal trials ever happy?", and you would be right in doing so. But this one is less happy. I'll leave it there for now.
On an entirely different and infinitely more positive note, I'm eating monkey bread. Hurrah! My mom and sister decided to use up some frozen bread dough we had, and through some form of ancient byzantine alchemy, they have managed to successfully meld it with brown sugar and an undisclosed amount of simian DNA. Truly, it is a marvelous feat of modern culinary science.
One of the older women at work is going on medical leave as of yesterday, so I've volunteered to cover her shifts on Sunday and Wednesday nights. At least until she comes back in July, which will put me at forty hours a week until then. Odds are also good that since youth group is ending for the summer, I'll be able to stay on those nights without worrying about missing my commitments. I still plan on looking for new work, but for the time being, I'm not looking as hard. My current situation demands something more substantial than my usual leapfrog maneuver. That is to say, finding a job with another fifty cents an hour (or even triple that) will not quite suit my needs.
If you're aware of a full-time job that pays substantially better than nine-fifty an hour and requires little or no experience or is willing to train the right candidate, let me know. I'll go anywhere, and I'll do pretty much anything. |
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| Schlock Therapy |
[Mar. 31st, 2008|06:42 pm] |
It's not entirely accurate to say that I am tired, because I've slept a lot lately, but the dreaded midnight-to-day shift has left it's mark upon me once again. One of my residents had a seizure saturday morning, you see, and that sort of thing can muck up the works a little. With some preparation, it's not especially gruelling, because all I really do on the midnight portion of the shift is play Pikmin. No, the real trouble comes in the sudden change of sleeping habits. Not only am I staying awake all night, morning, and early afternoon, but I'm doing so immediately after staying up all day long. The result is a series of odd naps that affect my bio-rhythm much in the way that a hungry wolverine affects a steak.
I haven't explained yet what the deal with my sister has been, which is what has kept me away for the last few weeks. Did you check out the link I left in my last post? It contains all the relevant information, and I'm simply not going to repost it all. Such a quantity of vocabulated information would take my already length posts into the realm of the super-ridiculous, and people complain enough as it is.
The short version of the story will now be presented in a handy ordered list!
- Mom noticed some facial paralysis when Sis smiled
- Sis got an MRI
- Docs spotted a tumor
- Docs kept Sis for three days observation
- Sis came home for the weekend
- Sis had surgery the following monday
- Tumor was benign, and is 95-99% gone
- Surgeon had to cut her facial nerve
- Sis recovered for seven days in the hospital
- Sis came home the monday after surgery, thirteen days after the initial MRI
- Everything is returning to normal
The whole ordeal was rather whirlwind in nature, and we're all still recovering, though clearly not as much as my sister is. She's in good spirits, and is happy to no longer have what we in the medical community call "a case of the lumps". A lot of people have reacted strongly to this news, from beginning to end, and for whatever reason, I don't fully share their reverse-enthusiasm. My response to the oft asked question "Is she going to be okay?" has typically been "Sure. It's just a brain tumor." Not everyone sees the humor in this statement.
There are lots of reasons why I might not have worried at all throughout the process of diagnosis, surgery, and recovery, and many of them are, theoretically, deep. Denial that it could all be happening, for instance, is one good guess, but considering that I was active in consulting with the surgeon and the architect of the hospital blog, I presume that that one is pretty much shot to pieces. It's hard to be in denial if you're issuing what basically amounts to a series of press releases.
I've mused on the subject myself, and having come to no other real conclusion, I simply chalk it up to faith. I won't claim to be perfectly faithful to my beliefs in God, because I'm not. I've screwed up in the past, and in ways that have caught up to me in the present. I still worry often, even though I really don't have to. Oddly, I've discovered, it's more about the small things than the large. I worry most often about money, which is common enough, as I understand it. But brain surgery? Nah.
Sis was diagnosed with a very treatable, very operable tumor. She had exceptional doctors and exceptional odds. From the beginning, everything was optimal, and this soothed me to know it, but I was calm before I was given the details. It's not as if I heard everything would probably be okay and felt relaxed about it. Certainly it helped the latter end of things, but to claim it as an ultimate cause would be flawed. It gives me hope for myself, knowing that when it came down to something that might have easily been life or death, there was no doubt in my mind that God would continue to provide life for my sister. Maybe there's hope for us worry warriors after all.
The converse of the issue, strangely enough, is that people of faith and not still became extremely worried about her, even in spite of every evidence to the contrary. Through the aforementioned hospital blog, I was relaying information from the doctors who almost literally said she would be "just fine". It makes me worry and wonder about how well equipped the average person is to deal with a crisis situation. Though my sister is well liked and in many cases loved by friends and people she's only had fleeting contact with, the idea that these people would so burden themselves with worry for her is in itself worrisome. How might they deal with a situation that involved someone even closer to them?
To that end, I've had a reaffirmation of my desire to enter the medical field more deeply. It may be temporary, but my desire to see "action" has abated some, and my desire to be a pillar of strength to those under the weight of grief and fear has risen sharply. There are some situations when people just can't stand on their own, and it's my heartfelt desire to be there to help hold them up. It is ever clearer to me that my muscles, no matter how much I exercise, will never be what makes me mighty.
Also, and lastly, since I have more or less decided that I'm not going to pursue Cutco much longer, I decided that I should complete the rest of my set before I have to pay full price. It still wasn't cheap, but the UPS man delivered a very large box with some very large knives in it today. I think the Cleaver may now be my favorite piece, right in front of my samurai bread knife. |
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| Wounded By A Coward! |
[Mar. 19th, 2008|01:44 am] |
| [ | Tags | | | cutco, family, home | ] |
| [ | Mood |
| |  tired | ] |
| [ | Theme |
| | The Beatles - Fixing A Hole | ] |
It's been kind of a long week, and if you're close enough to me, you know why. If not, go to http://www.carepages.com/beaumont, register an account, and visit the page "MismatchedSocks". It's important that you put that last part in exactly as it's spelled, so just cut and paste, folks.
Long story short, my sister has a brain tumor.
Well, she had a brain tumor. It's gone now.
Anyway, I'm not going to post a full update about the situation in this space until it's all over with and she's out of the hospital. I'm doing enough posting on her care page, and that's why I haven't been posting here. As you can perhaps imagine, a crisis like this tends to keep one away from home on a regular basis. It's completely true that I've been updating the aforementioned page entirely though my phone, so I could have done some normal blogging, but really, what else would I talk about? It'd be silly to write about it twice, and my thumb board is tedious at best.
I'm home right now, and I haven't been here since early monday morning, before we left for the surgery. I came back to go to work, and in the morning, I'll wash some laundry and gather whatever items my parents and sister want or need. We forgot a few things on the way out, and due to the hole in her head, Sis gets whatever she wants, for now.
I'm very tired, and I haven't slept great for a few days. Not for lack of relaxation, no! On the contrary, I've been pretty mellow throughout the whirlwind that has been the last seven days. No, I'm only tired because I haven't had much time to sleep, and also because my brother's couch is just a teeny bit too short to properly stretch out on.
That being said, I'm going to depart for my sheets now, and I'll muse on medical details, Cutco, and why I haven't been the slightest bit worried all week at a later time. Also, my current musical selection is eerily appropriate.
Oh! I completely neglected to address the title of this entry, and such is proof that I am mere seconds from a biological blue screen of death.
On my way to work today, as I was leaving the hospital and travelling north on Woodward Avenue, I was driving a straight line in the rightmost lane. This is completely normal, and at any given moment, thousands, if not millions of Michigan drivers are doing the very same thing! But as I was doing this, a car to my left attempted to change lanes. This is also entirely normal! But unlike most people, this particular driver did not seem to care that he was attempting to merge his vehicle with mine. Perhaps they were a fan of Voltron as a child.
I managed to lay on my horn, but by the time this had occurred, my side mirror had become smashed against his passenger door. And in their abundant foresight, the engineers at Chrysler had decided it would be silly to give the '99 Neon positional mirrors. No, mine are fixed, or at least they were. All I have left now is a dangling appendage, and I limp down the road like a wounded animal. This would have been tolerable, but the coward kept on driving, as if he had just left his de-tumored sister at the hospital and was late for work or something.
Oh. That was me. My bad.
So, if you own a silver sedan with no spoiler and a boxy back end, I don't hate you. I am upset, but I forgive you for whatever foolish reason you chose as an excuse to run. I'm glad that you only destroyed my mirror, and not the whole side of my car. Perhaps, had my mirrors been positional, you might have really messed my Neon up, and possibly caused a pile-up. I suppose it's remotely possible that my busted mirror saved lives.
But you still should not have run, and if you don't turn yourself in, I hope your car was a nice Cadillac with nice, expensive door panels. |
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| Escape Plan |
[Mar. 10th, 2008|04:06 pm] |
| [ | Tags | | | introspection, work | ] |
| [ | Mood |
| |  lonely | ] |
| [ | Theme |
| | Katamari Damacy - A Crimson Rose And A Gin Tonic | ] |
I think it's very clear, if you have the opportunity to sample today's musical selection, that my taste in music is peculiar at best. I have spent many an hour pondering the underlying reasons for it, and the resulting theories about the relationship between music and human emotions are like deep, twisting psychological rabbit holes. Katamari Damacy, a game I have never played, is essentially a program that simulates a magically sticky ball of garbage. Why the developers chose to include this particular song in the soundtrack probably makes more sense to them, as they can understand the lyrics. But why a piece of Japanese jazz has any significance to me, I cannot say. It makes very little sense at all, and such is often the nature of music. It affects us all deeply, and in some cases profoundly, for reasons we can rarely express with concise words.
Working the midnight shift at the group home is, for lack of better terms, a large waste of time. It's not that it's not necessary for someone to be there as a contingency, because if something catastrophic should happen in our abscence, there would be death. A fire, for instance, would probably result in complete devastation; both John's would stay in bed until the sheets caught fire, Sean would collect every shoe within reach and walk circles through the kitchen, and Ian would probably talk to the flames instead of escaping because it's cold outside. I love them all dearly, but they're simply not that bright. This is not their fault, and as such, having someone in the house while they sleep is an absolute requirement.
During the week, the midnight staff has more of a useful purpose, besides simply saving lives in an emergency. Work, school, and the workshop all begin early in the day, so clothes must be put on and breakfast must be served. This is not so on the weekends, and on a saturday night, the only thing that really needs to be accomplished is the passing of some pills to one person at six. If no one is awake, if no breakfast is served and no clothes are changed, if nothing is done besides the swallowing of a half dozen pills, my boss will still be satisfied. Plainly speaking, my biggest concern the other night was whether I should take my Gamecube or my laptop with me to pass the time. As it happens to be working at the moment, I opted for the laptop, and Dwarf Fortress kept me busy for many hours.
The snow had kept my assistant supervisor (Freudian slip alert: I just typed the word "supervirus" by accident) from coming in for his usual double-shift, so I was drafted to cover his shift. This was not a problem at all, or it normally wouldn't have been, save for the fact that a blowing snow warning was in effect and that my home is surrounded by farmland. Driving my little Neon home after my usual dayshift wasn't too bad, and simply moving slowly worked in most cases. When I reached the big fields immediately surrounding my street, however, I was confronted with a problem. Not only was the drift to my left, where the wind was blowing from, taller than my vehicle, but it stretched nearly halfway across the road.
Now, for those of you who aren't aware, snow drifts behave a lot like ocean waves. As they grow, they develop an upward slope that crests over an area that is protected from the wind and therefore has a much shallower amount of snow. Were there not a risk of being buried alive in fresh powder, it would be entirely possible to lay down and take shelter against a large drift. This all being said, the large drift that took up half the road, left the other half mostly passable. There was snow there, of course, and it was deep enough to cause trouble, but it wasn't three feet deep. The real problem stemmed from my inability to let anyone pass if I should get stuck. If I were to lose traction or veer into a snowbank, I would literally disable the only entrance to that area for miles. In this weather, such a detour might cost my neighbors an extra twenty minutes on the road.
Worse, the tracks in the road, previously blazed by other brave souls, were completely obscured thanks to the steady stream of blowing white. For nearly a half mile, I simply prayed, and it was not at all unlike riding along the cliffs of Quito, Ecuador. Granted, a simple mistake wouldn't send me several thousand feet to my explosive doom, but nevertheless, I was concerned about getting through safely. In the end, it wasn't that bad, and as I returned that night, my headlights easily illuminated my driving path, and there were no problems.
It was a little unintentional, but as you might have discerned, my post sort of has a theme. We all do what we must in order to acheive the desired end result, and where we lack foresight to plan every detail, we do what we can. I find myself in a predicament at the moment that requires a dramatic change in my long term plans. It's not a bad thing, necessarily, and I welcome the challenge that it presents. I feel, in a way, that it's something that I was made for.
I'm going to quit Cutco tonight, sort of. I love doing it, don't get me wrong; I'm working with a great group of people, I'm selling a great product, and I'm having a great time. A great time, except for when I have to get on the phone and call strangers. There are lots of reasons why that's hard, and I've listed most of them by now, so there's no need to repeat the list. The straight truth is, it's not that the job isn't working out for me, because it is, and I make very nice paycheks when I actually get out there and sell things. No, the fact of the matter is, I'm not working out for the job, at least not at this point in my life.
I'm going to talk to Joe and see if I can go on an extended hiatus, maintaining my status as an active rep without having to show up for meetings or call in every morning. I still want to be able to sell if I happen to schedule an appointment or if a customer gives me a call. I still want to be able to turn orders in, just infrequently so. I hate the idea of quitting, and that's not what I want to do. If I can't do what I'm hoping to, I'll have to quit, unfortunately, because it's bleeding me dry. It's been a definite source of personal growth and a satisfying learning experience, but I have yet to make a profit from it, between all the gas I've spent that I can't claim on my tax returns, and other things. That's entirely my fault, mind you, but I'm not upset about it. I just can't keep it up anymore, and I'm looking forward to explaining why. |
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| Succulent Tension |
[Mar. 7th, 2008|01:32 am] |
The internet is, for lack of a better term, presently empty. At least, my various instant messenger buddy lists would seem to suggest so. I haven't seen this few souls in the digital abyss since the great blackout of 2004. Not that it carries any great significance, I think. It's just unusual, you see.
I have a habit of speaking too soon, and if you read far back into the annals of this journal, you'll likely notice it. In the heat of a moment, I am very likely to become passionate about something, and such passion typically burns out within a few days or weeks. For some things, I have held onto said passion, and it has served me well. Others... not so much.
Selling Cutco is something I enjoy doing very much. When I am in person, showing someone a product demonstration, for instance, I am relaxed, excited, and entirely comfortable. It's a product I'm proud to sell, and were it any lesser consumer good, I would probably have left the job by now. Were I with any other group of people, working for any other company besides Vector, I would probably have given up, or been fired. My job there is something truly unique and special, and I'm blessed to have it.
This may come as something of a shock to you, but I have social anxiety. Not in the traditional umbrella sense, where social situations or crowds or mass attention can give someone a panic attack. I'm not the least bit afraid of talking to people, meeting strangers, or speaking to crowds. It's a long-term goal of mine to become a better public speaker so that I can do it more often. No, I have social anxiety over the phone; I suffer from telephonetic anxiety, which I have invented just now, and almost certainly does not actually exist.
Sometimes, calling a stranger on the phone is easy. If the connection to the person who recommended me is strong enough, for example, the mother of someone I sold to, it's no big deal. Most people are polite enough to listen to me, and in turn, I'm polite enough to not try and con them into buying knives, even if they're totally, like, the best knives ever. Which they are.
Other times, though, the very sight of that referral list is enough to tie my stomach in knots. I'll stare at it, knowing that if I don't call, I won't do any appointments, and thus, not make any money. Even this is not motivation enough, and although I potentially attribute it to the fact that I have my other job to pay my bills with, I shudder to think that were selling my only vocation, I might still have this problem. God knows I stared at a blank canvas in college all the way to the day I filed drop out forms.
Once again, I find myself seeking out excuses to not do what needs to be done. I busy myself with important tasks, of course, for all things that need to be done are important to some extent. I rarely sit still and do nothing, instead of making phone calls. This hardly matters, of course, because I could do those other things at any point in the day, and not just at the office while I'm supposed to be scheduling demonstrations.
I want to stay here in Michigan, but frankly, I'm being pulled away. The only way I'll stay here any longer than the beginning of summer, most likely, is if I get over my issues with phoning and Cutco starts to pay off big. Not big in the "move out of my parents basement" big. Really big. And I hate to be a pessimist about it, but I really don't think I have it in me. Sometimes, I think I might be able to pull it off. But I have more important things to think about than my own well being, honestly.
I have a plan, either way, so we'll have to wait and see which one works best. |
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| Goal Tending |
[Feb. 27th, 2008|10:29 am] |
It's a funny thing, to me at least, how I can be so motivated for one thing, but at the same time, not for another, even though both things will cumulatively lead to accomplishing something important. I have a weird way of pursuing opportunities, and maybe it's not unique, but I certainly don't think it's the norm. Jobs, for instance, are sought one at a time. I find a listing in the paper and I go after it exclusively. Focus and dedication are good, don't get me wrong. But if said job doesn't pan out for me, I'm back where I started. I'm under the impression that most people go after more than one job at once when they're looking for new work, but not me. One at a time.
I place all my eggs in one basket, I suppose. And if they don't hatch, I go and get some more and put them in another basket. Eventually, I'll have a basket full of chirping chicks.
Maybe chicken illustrations was the wrong way to go with this.
My recent, lengthy pursuit of the job with Sunoco is what brought this to mind. Since December, I've been putting my focus on getting that job, and my other opportunities were suffering as a result. I went after it with confidence and enthusiasm, and those things are not altogether frequent in my character. At least, not historically. I've been working for Vector/Cutco since the beginning of November, but until last Sunday, I'd only made three sales and done a dozen demonstrations. Which is, as you may have already spoken aloud, pathetic.
It's not that nobody would fit me into their schedule, or that I was hung up on. No, apart from some initial demos when I was still very green, I do fine when I actually show someone the product. I get above average orders, and I've sold three of my last four appointments. Selling is no big deal to me. My problem has been on the phones. In the last few months, there were times where I felt a literal ache in my gut when I looked at the referral sheets I'd been given. I wanted to put them away and have nothing to do with them. Obviously, if I don't call people, I don't schedule appointments and I don't make money.
But at the same time, I was also driving two hours to compete with thousands of more qualified people for a position that I had very little chance of getting. I smiled, I plowed through tests, I spoke confidently and clearly, and I went far. Not far enough, mind you, but after a while I began to ask myself a question: why can I go after this with passion and gusto, but not do the same on the phone? The answer, I decided, was that my heart was not in it. I didn't want to do the work required for it. I wanted to easy way, which would've actually been a lot harder in the long run.
When I got the letter last Saturday that said the company was no longer interested in pursuing me, the change was immediate. I was a little relieved, even. I had been putting off the work at Vector/Cutco because I was under the confident, perhaps cocky impression that I'd be working for Sunoco in a few months. Selling knives wasn't for me, in the long term sense; it was just something I was busying myself with until I got my oil career. I had myself convinced of that, and nothing was going to change my mind, except for what I hadn't counted on.
I'm very, very excited right now, and I wish I could express that better here. I've got goals that I'm fired up about accomplishing, and I've got plans in place to do just that. I'm on track to hit three promotions in the next two months, the first one by monday. My ambition is about as high as it's ever been; definitely higher than it's been in years. I'm motivated to achieve, and it even scares me a little. It's unusual for me to be this way. It's not necessarily a bad thing, though.
I'm still a little worried. It's in my nature to look at that side of things heavily, and it's a difficult habit to break. But I know what I want out of life, and I know how I'm going to get it. I can't wait to look back to this day in two months and see how far I've gone. With a little luck, I'll be even further than I'm intending. |
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| Broken Bonds |
[Feb. 24th, 2008|06:06 pm] |
It's been a long time since I posted here. Super long. Livejournal reports my hiatus in the neighborhood of forty weeks, which is almost a year. I've missed blogging. Have any of you missed me?
I doubt anyone who matters reads this space anymore, which was precisely the reason why I stopped writing. Someone who didn't matter still knew how to pop up and derail me. I'm sure that most people out there have someone in their lives like that, who has a strange power, an innate ability to take an otherwise good day and turn it upside down. She knows who she is.
I've reached the point where my desire to write, to get things in order, and to move forward in a big way, outweighs my desire to hide. It's not worth the trouble anymore. Not the worry, not the fear or trepidation. I'm taking control of my life back from the people I've given it to. I know I've made talk before about how I'm turning my life around and getting things together and all that, and I don't suppose it's fair to say "just trust me" again, so I won't. Time will show the fruit of my labors and prove the change in my heart.
That all being said, let's get this ghost audience up to speed!
I still work for the group home, but I'm planning on leaving soon. I love it there, but I think I'm starting to overstay my welcome. Internal politics are beginning to really cheese me off, and I can make way better money for way less work at my other job.
In November, I started working for Vector Marketing, which mean I am an authorized Cutco dealer. If you aren't aware, Cutco is the number one selling brand of premium kitchen cutlery in America. It's sold like Tupperware, which is to say that you can't buy it in stores; only from an authorized representative like myself. It's long and probably boring to explain how the finer points of the job, but needless to say I can make very good money, as long as I don't mind going into the home of a stranger. Which I don't.
In December, I started pursuing a job with Sunoco, the petroleum refining company. They were hiring for their refinery in Toledo, Ohio, and I thought that making seventy thousand dollars after taxes was exciting. Four times I drove down to Toledo, and four times I had a great feeling about the tests I went through. Two hundred question personality assessments, complex management skill testing, group survival and priority situations, math tests, and a panel interview. These things all went well, and I was confident that I would get the job. The letter came yesterday, saying that I was no longer being pursued as a candidate for the position. Meh.
I still drive the same car, but now it has over 120,000 miles on it, which is a lot. I've put nearly fifty thousand of them on there myself. Some significant car repairs nearly broke the bank for me last month, but it's all good.
Snow camp was last month and went great, except for the fact that I forgot my suitcase. My backpack and bedroll made it onto the bus, but somehow the largest item in my inventory got completely neglected. Thankfully, my toiletries ended up in my backpack, and my sister had a spare towel, so I could at least shower still. Apart from that, best snow camp ever.
That's all for now, I guess. |
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| Brass, Crass, and Class |
[May. 17th, 2007|10:38 am] |
As you may have noticed, I have not posted in a while. Hold your applause!
I finished my training classes on Tuesday, passing with what I believe to probably be the best grade in the class. This is not a statement of boastfulness or pride, but a simple assumption based on the fact that I finished first every single time we had a test, and never with more than a single question wrong. It's entirely possible that somebody got higher scores than I did. Certainly so. But I'm definitely up there, which was cool.
My teachers actually took to calling me Doctor Dan, on account of my frequent interjections with reasonably accurate medical info. For example, while we were taking our group quiz on first aid for seizures, one of the final steps involves talking to the person after they wake up. It's important, because seizures occur outside of memory, so the person who has one is probably going to be confused and a little scared when they come out of it. Most everyone did fine on this step, but when asked what I would do (during the dramatization we all did), I responded that I'd ask standard brain surgery questions: What color is my shirt? What shape are my buttons? What's your name? What day is it? Which hand is your left hand? Etcetera.
I won't deny that sometimes, perhaps often or frequently, I can be a bit of a know-it-all. I know a lot of stuff, and I like to share it with people. I mean, how am I supposed to know what everyone else knows? The more we all know, the better off we are, I say. At the very least, if they're already aware of something, they can tell me to clam up, which is fine. I understand that it can be threatening or insulting, and that's okay. On the other hand though, some people need to learn the difference between stupidity and ignorance, then get over it. I'd rather be informed or told that I'm incorrect than not, but then again, I'm pretty easy-going.
At any rate, my teacher remarks at the brain surgery statement, and suggests that I probably watch a lot of House, which is entirely true. I do. I watch a lot of TV, and more importantly, I pay attention to a lot of TV. I doubt the average person on the street would have any clue what a pericardial effusion is, and neither would I, unless I had watched so many old reruns of ER. It doesn't really matter in everyday life, but it's still fun to know.
After my final was over, my teacher's both remarked that I should seriously consider a career in nursing. Clearly medical things are of interest to me, and my personality seems suited to it, they said. There's going to be a severe shortage of nurses in the coming years, especially male ones. Murses, if you will. I can't say that the idea hasnt occured to me in some form or another in the past few weeks. My indecisiveness is still prevailing at the moment, but I've been feeling the itch to get back into school for a long time now, and this is becoming a real possibility for me. I'm not completely sure yet, but the idea of being a nurse, or perhaps an EMT is becoming very attractive to me.
In other news, I gave up six hours of my life and a ton of money to have my car repaired yesterday. I noticed Tuesday afternoon, after my mother borrowed the car (something always goes wrong after she drives it, I swear!), that something wasn't quite right with the way it drove. On the left side, in particular. When I hit a pothole with the right wheels, it would make the usual bumping sound. When I hit a pothole with the left wheels, it would make an angry sounding *THWACK* sound, and this did not make me happy.
I was on my way to work, of course, so I couldn't do anything about it, but my unhappy feelings only grew as I drove home, and after I took my sister to school wednesday morning, I drove straight to the Belle Tire in Chesterfield where I had my previous wheel work done. I suspected that perhaps it was my struts, which they had suggested I replace before, but I declined to do so for financial reasons. Basically, I was broke at the time. My diagnosis was quickly confirmed: my left rear strut had broken loose, and needed to be replaced.
Of course, it's best to fix these things in pairs, so I had both rear struts replaced. Oh, and it was over $200 cheaper to replace the front ones while they were at it, so I had that done. And they replaced all the mountings. And balanced my wheels. And did an allignment, because all my tires had to come off to do the job.
See where I'm going with this?
They do good work, so I didn't mind it being done, because even with the price, as I mentioned, I still saved several hundred dollars by having it done at the same time. And since I'm planning to go on a road trip in July, I'd rather be safe than sorry. But after all the work, I was still out a huge amount of money, and much like I was in December, I am pretty much broke now. And no, you don't want to know how much it cost me. No, really. Don't ask!
I have been thinking a lot lately about things gone by. Music, as often as anything else, has prompted me to reflect upon my past, and upon myself. I was watching the 11 AM Fox news broadcast the other day, when they ran the "Ablow A Day" segment. It's a brief bit of psychoanalytical advice from Dr. Keith Ablow, or as I refer to him, "The other bald guy on TV". By which I mean, the other guy who chooses to be bald (Howie Mandel being the other other guy I'm referring to).
During this short segment, Dr. Keith was saying something about women who have been mistreated and how they can develop unsafe and lifelong habits of seeking out broken men and getting hurt worse in the process. There was much more to the segment than that, but it struck a chord with me. It was as if he was describing almost exactly what happened between Shannon and I. As if he had reviewed the tape, consulted a book, and without difficulty, classified it as textbook.
This of course brought up a sobering thought: I was one such broken man. Not just the other men in her life. Me too. It's not a new thought, but it's one that I'd put down for some time. It got me thinking, and as usual, I came to a conclusion: I am not broken.
But wait, there's more!
I do not believe that most people can be broken, because to be broken typically implies that something is beyond repair. There are some cases of people who are absolute nutjobs or are so bizzarely messed up that they cannot be fixed by conventional means, or by any means currently within our medical understanding. But for the most part, people do not become broken. They just give up. So I came up with a new way of describing people: puzzles. This is probably not so new as I think, nor revolutionary at all, but it's new to me, and right now, that's what matters.
Jigsaw puzzles come in pieces. They do not come assembled! Sometimes, you'll get a few pieces stuck together right, but usually not. I was one such puzzle, and my problem was that I wanted someone else to put me together. Now, jigsaw puzzles to not assemble themselves, but for the sake of the analogy, disregard that.
Shannon hurt me. She cut me deep, and I'm really starting to realize that I'm going to be hurting from this for years to come. Perhaps even my entire life. But still, looking back on our failed relationship, I am compelled to thank her.
Thank you, Shannon. I was a puzzle, and you shook me up. It hurt bad, but you gave me the courage to put myself together. |
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| Colated Cubicles And/Or Savage Semolina |
[Apr. 16th, 2007|04:32 pm] |
I have a laptop again.
Well, technically, I never stopped having a laptop, but for the last ten months, I was unable to use it. As I understand it, computers enjoy electricity, and tend to be very tempermental without it. Thus, for a slight cost, my sadly aging (but not yet ancient!) accessory, my faithful though inanimate friend WIL-S, is now satisfied. With a few dozen hours downloading Windows updates at trickling speed, some tinkering with system settings, and a concerted effort to restore the proper programs, all will be well again. At least until I figure out whether or not I've got to spend $130 on a new battery.
The Black Mages, nerd band extraordinaire, have had their latest album, The Skies Above, available for sale for some time, but I have only recently procured it. I use that word, procured, to imply that although I would gladly purchase it with money, I have not actually done so. I feel bad, truly I do, but if you are not already aware, Japan is really far away, and jet fuel is expensive. I don't ascribe to the theory that they're still sore about World War II, and are sneakily getting back at us by making cool stuff and charging enormous shipping rates, but certainly there are some who would suggest such a thing as moderately plausible. At any rate, the music is superb, as usual, and I wholeheartedly recommend it for those of a similarly geeky persuasion.
It is not a new subject, but I am forgetful. Perhaps absent minded is a better statement. As my new job is affiliated with Macomb County, I have certain official obligations that I did not previous have, when working at a private care home or detox facility. In particular, I was supposed to get my finger prints taken at the end of last month, on the 27th. But wait! I have an excuse. I was given the paperwork, which I promptly placed in my coat and took home. This was my heavy coat, and for a short time, as many of you fellow Michiganders may fondly remember, it got warm. Warm enough to switch to my light jacket. Warm enough even to warrant the abscence of a coat entirely for a few days. You can probably guess that I left the papers in my heavy coat until two days after I was supposed to go.
This was bad, because setting up the appointment costs the company money. Oops. So I tell my boss, and he reschedules the appointment for the 13th, which was fine. Fast forward two weeks, to the moment I am sitting in my car, driving down the road towards work. A stray thought triggers a small series of memories to surface, and I dig into my laptop bag with the eagerness of an eight year old on Christmas morning.
The papers.
Was it the 15th? Isn't that Saturday? Monday?
Actually, the 15th was today, Sunday, and I was supposed to be there on Friday, which at the time was the current date. The appointment was twenty miles away, and two hours prior, I suddenly realized. This is bad. Again. So I drive to work, and tell my boss with regret that I have completely dropped the ball, this time without even an excuse. He's got no choice but to reschedule it again, but he informs me that if I miss again, he'll be forced to fire me.
This is bad.
I fully intend to call in the morning and find out exactly when I need to be there, but the idea is slightly unnerving. This is not like me, to forget something so important. Obviously, I'm not choosing to blow it off; I take my work seriously (or, as seriously as possible), and it's not like I woke up, thought about the appointment, and decided to roll over and catch a few more hours. I'm almost worried that I might just screw it up again and that... that would leave me in a heap of trouble.
Speaking of trouble, I got a library card a few weeks ago. My sister needed a signature from a legal guardian, which I was apparently not enough of, so I let her check out some books on mine. This was the dumbest thing I've done in a long time, save for the aforementioned fingerprinting disaster, and I'm finally paying for it. Literally, I mean. I found one of the two books, and when I took it back, I had to pay a fine in the amount of $9.40. She can't even find the other book. I'm surprised I haven't gotten a brick thrown through my bedroom window yet.
Worse, when I went to the library, across from the librarians desk was a strawberry blonde-ish woman who, from behind, looked remarkably like Jeana. I was terrified, and had she not turned around and revealed that she was not my ex-girlfriend, I think my heart might have exploded. I'm fairly sure that this sort of terrible dread is usually associated with seeing an ex from whom you were painfully separated, but that didn't comfort me much at the time.
Don't get me wrong; I'm glad that it's over. I definitely wish that I had chosen a better method of escape, but it was a bad relationship that kept getting worse. That being said, I feel really awful for leaving her like I did, and despite the relative lack of harsh words, there are bitter feelings in abundance. I don't mean to sound like I've got an ego issue, but I gave that girl hope. I was a better future than what she settled for, and I stole that from her when I left. I stole that from her daughter too, and as bad as I feel about hurting Jeana, I feel even worse about the sort of life Megan is going to have. That little girl deserves so much better than she's got. I really loved her.
Winter isn't going to last forever, and when it gets warm enough, Jeana is going to start walking again. Jeana, Megan, and probably Steve too. Memphis is a small city, and at some point, there will be no avoiding it. There aren't many dirty green Dodge Neon's in the area, and sooner or later, it's going to happen. Some day, I'm going to see her again. I'm going to have to face her, and I would give anything not to have to look her in the eyes again. The worst part is, not only can I not avoid it, but I know that I deserve every bit of it. She might even hate me, and I don't blame her at all.
I have come across a solution of sorts to my previously posted issue with the game Animal Crossing. On the one hand, my mother doesn't watch me much anymore, which is good. I tried to explain the reasons and the process through which I was travelling through time to obtain music from the singing dog that plays guitar, but rather than confusing her, it only seemed to generate more interest. To the point, she no longer watches me. However, the catch (because there couldn't not be one) is that she now watches my sister.
My sister.
This is worse, in some ways, because although my sister is more capable of understanding and remembering the intricacies of the game, she desires to talk about it constantly. For instance, she stole all of my pears from the orchard and sold them, then wrote me a letter of apology. This letter also contained a drinking bird as a gift, perhaps as a sort of peace offering. I would have rather had the pears to plant, thereby increasing the output of my fruit operation. Also, she informed me that the giant purple monkey likes me, a fact that was clearly supposed to be discussed within the confines of girl talk.
On the one hand, I'm glad that my hobby has reached a state of acceptance amongst my family. On the other hand, I'm not entirely sure that I'm ready for them to embrace it so thoroughly. |
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