I don't handle illness very well.

I woke up sick Friday morning. Ok, I woke up almost freaking dead Friday morning. I took some tylenol and dayquil and drove to work. It was a horrible, horrible, HORRIBLE day. It was a light day, which is the only reason I survived. I've been on top of it lately. Wednesday and Thursday were my best days this week. I had most of the entire day's workload completed before second shift showed up. By Friday, there was barely enough to last beyond the first half of the shift. Unfortunately, they wouldn't send us home early once we completed everything. So, I watched Bloody Richard change wires on the cutting jigs and tighten bolts on the crane for two hours. At least I didn't have to move, because my body ached every-freaking-where. Speaking of Bloody Richard: he's originally from England. Working with him is basically like working with Vinny Jones' father or something. Every other word is fucking.

"These new fucking gloves they got us are fucking garbage."

They changed our gloves a week ago. Instead of clear gloves, they're blue now. People are still completely losing their minds about it. Bloody Richard is not impressed, though. Anyway, I like working with Bloody Richard. It amuses me greatly.

I came home and Nurse Egg wanted to move furniture. This is probably the last thing I wanted to do. She ordered a sofa, arm chair, and an ottoman about a month or so ago. Apparently, they had to make the damn furniture. Anyway, it was finally going to be delivered Saturday so we needed to move the old furniture out of the way and into the basement for my man cave. We did that and then I self-medicated. Nurse Egg went to the store after I listed all my symptoms of to her and she returned with every health remedy on the market - and ginger ale because I couldn't handle anything else. She made sausages for dinner, which I didn't eat. I took a shower because my entire body really started hurting after moving the furniture. I almost threw up in the shower. That was delightful. I took several different products and slept for... I'm not entirely sure. Friday night and Saturday morning is all sort of a blur. I was in and out of consciousness. I was taking pills and drinking syrups and forcing myself to chug THERAFLU - the nastiest shit ever, by the way. Drinking that was almost worse than how I was feeling.

This isn't the post I wanted to write, but I'm still not entirely back to normal yet. I actually ate today, so that's an improvement. I don't hurt everywhere either, but I have absolutely no energy whatsoever. Oh, and I had Saturday off. How nice. I completely wasted it by being sick, but I'm really glad I wasn't supposed to go to work today because that seriously wouldn't even have happened. I'm actually still really amazed I was able to make it through Friday like that.

I'm glad I have a couch in the basement now. I've been sleeping on it since we moved it down here. Since I've been sleeping all day, I'm going to attempt to get some work done around the house and hopefully be in my right mind enough to write the post I actually intended on writing this weekend before my health betrayed me. So far, I'm succeeding at laundry only. It's a start and way more than I was capable of doing 24 hours ago.

Half a post.

I worked today. Full day of overtime. Again. Yet again. Always. I'm no longer surprised every week when they announce everyone will be working a full day of overtime on Saturday. I was only genuinely surprised when they allowed us the Saturday off for Easter weekend. Other than that one instance, I've been working six days a week since I started. No raise yet, though. My 30 day training/orientation period was complete as of last Tuesday. So... maybe next paycheck will reflect the pay increase. I hope so, anyway. That would be absolutely lovely.

Speaking of Tuesday, Freckles wanted to hang out and possibly go to Nelson Ledges on Tuesday. I haven't been there in a couple of decades. I definitely wanted to go. Unfortunately, it snowed all day while I was working Tuesday. It snowed in freaking April! Un-fucking-believable. Anyway... Thanks for killing my dreams, NE Ohio, as usual. It would have made a great photo post. Also, it would have been fun. It would have been a lot of fun.

Too many variables at the table.

You should come visit me..

Nope. I have dinner with my family from Arkansas. They're here Sun-Thurs.

Whatever...like you wanna hang with family ..lol

I do.

Nope..

Yep yep

Bs....what time is dinner I'm coming

530

At your place?'

Nope. Golden Corral in Hermitage I think.

Well let me know for sure so I can come crash the party.

Hahaha. You're not that bored.

I might just be..lol you never know

I seriously doubt it.

Haha we shall see....

You're a crazy person.

Yep..lol
Not the first time ive heard that..

I bet it's not. Is it the first time today?

Yep..lol

It won't be the last time today if you keep it up. LoL.

Haha....mmm Golden Corral....

After this text exchange, I'm freaking out the entire drive over to my grandmother's house because this is an entirely new level of insanity and I can't manage this situation. This was weeks ago and it's taken me this long to relive it. That says a lot right there. All I knew for sure when I got home was that my aunt from Arkansas wanted "a combined family dinner". Then he text me and I thought I had the perfect excuse for being unavailable. I had no idea what the hell "combined family" meant, though. I knew where it was happening and when, but not the who of it. I was excited, intrigued, and slightly cautious. Who did "combined family" refer to? Apparently, Freckles was putting himself in that category. And, I couldn't help but wonder if this might be some gesture of my aunt from Arkansas to extend an olive branch to my local aunt. This could be an epic disaster. Why not add Freckles to the mix? A slip of the tongue and I could come out... again... in public... to the few people who don't already secretly know. My grandmother would probably die. First she'd die because of the information and then she'd have to come back to life and die again because everyone else already knew before her and then she'd have to come back to life and die again because of the embarrassment of it all happening in such a public setting. I'd only have to kill one other person to be technically declared a mass murderer after that. Oh, Freckles. He'd die after being exposed as not just the lifelong friend. Mass murderer status achieved even easier than I had imagined. Suddenly, I wanted to ditch the whole thing and actually go see Freckles instead. Maybe it wasn't too late. Fortunately, my sister drove because I was having enough trouble breathing and not jumping out of the moving vehicle. Too many variables were about to be gathered in one location.

It's not that I need to control everything, but I do feel a lot better when that's the case. Or I even feel better as long as someone is in control of everything. No one was going to be in control of anything at this "combined family dinner" and that scared the holy shit out of me. Seriously. This could be a legend in the making, a cautionary tale whispered to children in restaurants all across America to frighten them into acting right in public. We are not a peaceful people and things go horribly wrong - people say crazy, random things - in the heat of battle and passion.

My phone was dying when we got to my grandmother's house. I brought the cord for the charger, but not the rest of it. I could plug it into my sister's car, but the car had to be running for anything to happen. I didn't realize that. I left it plugged in for a few minutes while hanging out with my family on the porch only to return to it to find it that much closer to dead than before. At that point, "combined family" included me, sister, grandmother, aunt uncle & cousins from Arkansas. The local aunt uncle & cousins were not included and would not be. I could actually relax once I realized this. This wasn't the disaster situation I had thought it would be. Also, my phone dying wasn't actually a cause for crisis either. If it died before I could text Freckles back... well. He wouldn't drive an hour to a place we might be having dinner, I don't think. Problem resolved? Possibly. I liked that plan.

It turned out "combined family" also included my uncle's parents. I was thoroughly relieved. Dinner was amazing. I ate... basically everything offered except for salad. After weeks of mainly eating just chicken and rice, I fell off the wagon and ate everything I hadn't been eating. It was amazing and delicious.

Then I saw him. I think I might have actually abandoned the plate I was filling up with food right on the buffet line and followed him to the bathroom. This was going to be awkward and horrible afterall. What the hell was he thinking? I was about to find out.

"What the fuck are you thinking?! Why are you here?! This is insane!"

"Excuse me?! Who are you?!"

"That is so funny. This is so the perfect time and place for that joke. Why do you love to fuck with me so much? I... is that a tribal tattoo? What the hell... When did you get... Your eyes are brown. You're... you're not... Wow. You could be twins or something. Ummmm. Yeah. Shit. Nevermind. Try to forget this moment happened. Totally thought you were someone else. Sorry. Yikes. I..."

I walked into the handicap stall and locked the door. I had wanted to explain or apologize or say something, but... Well, I decided just hiding was the best way to end that situation and keep it from getting steadily worse. That's the best I could do. Also, it turned out I did have to go to the bathroom. So, not a total loss. I just hoped no one was waiting to confront me about the man I just mindfucked in the bathroom when I finally did decide to leave it. I went back to the buffet and tried not to laugh maniacally like the psychotic I obviously am while I made a new plate of food. Maybe I could play this off as some kind of binge-induced insanity. At any rate, I'd probably never see that poor bastard again.

When I returned to the table, I saw him again. He was sitting with his family on the other side of a wall of frosted glass. I decided I should just avert my eyes from that general direction and be incredibly thankful he hadn't reported me to management. I'm not sure I could explain the situation to either them, the police, or my family. I wouldn't even try. I'd just happily surrender to the authorities and take full advantage of my right to remain silent. That's something I should probably try to do more often anyway.

In my desperation to prepare for and counter all the random variables of that evening, I had forgotten all about the most dangerous, reckless variable of all: me. I'm my very own crisis situation waiting to happen.

You're never going to forget me (again).

"I'm calling for Josh Gaw... Um, Gōsnail?"

"It's pronounced Gawznell." Sort of like Go to hell which is probably what I should have said and ended the call. The trouble with driving is I'm so relaxed that I forget to screen my phone calls. It's true. If you ever want to speak to me on the phone, wait until you know I'm driving and then call. It's a reflex I wish I could curb, but I answer every freaking time. "Who is this?"

"My name is Dick Whoreallycares. I'm a district manager for Pizzazaza."

"Oh yeah. I remember you. What do you want?"

"Well, I've been reviewing applications for assistant managers and store managers."

"Still or again?"

"Excuse me?"

"Nevermind. And?"

"Well, yours keeps catching my interest."

"How delightful. Or not really, actually. What happened to you not believing in leaving people hanging?"

"I don't understand."

"Of course you don't. That's the point. I interviewed with you... what? Two months ago maybe? Three perhaps? I sat not more than two feet in front of you and you looked me right in the eye and said 'I don't believe in leaving people hanging. I'll contact you with my decision either way within a week.' Remember what happened after that? I sure do. Nothing happened after that. You either lied to me - to my face in person, lied to me - or you forgot about me. I'm not sure which is worse. Probably lying to the face of a prospect, but forgetting about one is just as bad in different ways. It's funny because I was quick to return your calls and emails in an incredibly prompt manner. In fact, I was the only one at that time to even respond at all to you. Remember that? Probably not. But you remember my impressive resume? I doubt that. So what happened? The person you chose over me didn't work out and now you're scrambling."

"I'm sorry. I-"

"Save it. Your word is bullshit. Obviously."

"There's no reason to make this personal. I made a simple mistake."

"Personal? If I wanted to make it personal, I'd call you up at random - after promising not to forget/abandon you and then doing so for a few months - and mispronounce your surname. Then I'd re-offer you the job I gave to someone else instead of you now that they haven't worked out after you've probably been unemployed for the duration of this ridiculous timeline. Then I might claim all of that was merely a simple mistake. That's something you could definitely take personally if I ever did it to you. Or... If I really wanted to make an impression and take it to an entirely new level of personal, I might suggest that your dress shirt has buttons on it for a reason and you should probably use all of them and not just the bottom three regardless of whether you're wearing a nasty, crusty wife beater underneath. Small digression: you might want to do laundry more often or at least steer clear of anything white that absorb all stains until you're wearing this obscene collage of spilled food and sweat. Bleach it or wear much darker colors. Those are your choices. Back on point, though, with the need for buttoning up the over shirt: No one needs to see that mess of chest fur squeezing out over the deep cleavage your man tits form. It's really hard to maintain professional composure when you're faced with a sight like that. I keep expecting to see three college students running through that horrifying, tangled forest of chest hair while screaming about how they're so, so scared as they try to film a Blair Witch documentary. Oh, Blair Witch man tits! That reminds me: while interviewing people in one of your fine establishments, you might avoid setting up office in a booth. I barely had room to breathe on my side once your 400 pounds of useless dead weight was accommodated for. You're definitely not the Biggest Loser, but trying to share a booth with you that day made me feel like I might be if I somehow managed to survive. It's really difficult to tackle those tricky interview questions when you've got a table lodged between your ribs and internal organs because the man across from you ate last quarter's profit margin. Speaking of a loss in profit, I fucking hate Pizzazaza. You realize you're fighting a losing battle against the legions of mom and pop pizza joints in this area. They outnumber you 10 to 1. That's just on Market Street - there are literally ten other pizza franchises on East Market and they are all better than you. Each and every one of them makes a superior product at a highly competitive price. You can't compete. They've already won. Had you called me back, I might have taken the job out of panic and desperation. But, luckily, you allowed me the time to come to my senses and realize what a terrible mistake that would have been - especially considering upper management. Yikes. In a way, I should thank you for preventing me from embracing the same miserable fate as you must have so many years ago. How's that working out for you, by the way? Saying any of that would be personal on a seriously epic level. Anyway, I do appreciate the call and continued interest - I guess. That's definitely a one-way street though. So. But, I'm very glad you called so I could help you with that memory problem. At the very least, I'm willing to bet you're never - never, never, never - going to forget me again. Right? Damn right. Goodbye forever, Dick."



Was any of that necessary? Probably not. But, I have a fierce legion of anger monkeys within me and if I don't release them to occasionally throw cacti at cars that cut me off in the parking lot of the store where I just bought said cacti and it was the only thing handy to chuck out the window and make explode across their rear window (true story) or verbally assassinate assholes like that, they'll simply overwhelm me and take total, permanent control of me. Then, there will be no stopping them. So, I let them play now and then which keeps them satisfied and well enough behaved the rest of the time. Despite this unexpected call, I've been fairly calm and collected lately. I'm really happy working at the cheese factory. I had a brief run-in with an asshole there as well, but I stepped up to him, too, and now everything's perfect. Some people need to see your teeth in their flesh before they'll respect you enough not to provoke the same again. Fine. Done. It's all "please", "thank you", and "you're welcome" between us now. It's prison rules. You either punk them or they punk you. Or you punk each other a little and come to this impasse and default to civility. Anyway, love the cheese factory. It's the least stressful job I've had in a very long time. Also, I am making a killing with the mandatory Saturday overtime they keep throwing at us. I don't think I've ever really had the opportunity to work overtime and actually get paid more for doing so. This is much better than having a salary. It's an incredibly easy job, too. I'm glad I did the temping thing at the warehouse first so I could fully appreciate what a good deal this new job is. I'm also glad I have a job so I can turn down terrible job offers like the one addressed earlier in this post. I did have to turn down an equally appealing job to the cheese factory. There was this vending thing near Pittsburgh, but it's twice the transit and in a week or so I'll be making more money at the cheese factory and working less hours - even with Saturday overtime. I only regret that I don't get to work for the old school Italian with the baseball bat behind his desk that runs the place. That would have been interesting. Anyway, job is good.

I haven't seen Freckles since I told him off and moved back home except for one day when he came over to collect on the money I owed him for the tennis shoes he bought me and he showed me his new underwear. We're sort of alright again, maybe. I don't know. Like I said, haven't seen him lately. He did ask about how he could get a job at the cheese factory with me while he was still unemployed and having no luck with finding anything. "Welcome to 2011 of my life." I told him the link I had bookmarked for the job posting was no longer good and that they must not be looking for any more help. Which, is just as well, because he got another job a few days later anyway and one he wanted more as well. So, let's not focus on whether what I said was really a lie or just fate speaking through me and allowing him to find his own path. Somewhere else. Somewhere I'm not. We'll just be happy for him instead of analyzing everything. And me, too. Definitely be happy for me.

Whatever else you do, don't forget me.