Everything fun is wrong? Yes, it is.

I'm in shock. I purchased a pack of cigarettes on Wednesday. It's now Saturday afternoon and I still have one to smoke. It is my last, but after 72 hours... Well, I should have -40 cigarettes left in this pack. Instead, I have this final cigarette in the pack. Don't misunderstand: I'm not quitting. At least, I'm not consciously quitting. But, I have slowed down drastically and not even on purpose. It's weird. I don't know why this is happening, but I'm pleasantly surprised. If I can make a pack last three days instead of only one, then a full carton of cigarettes could possibly last for an entire month. That's madness and extreme savings. Instead of paying in excess of $150, I'll only be shelling out about $50. This is madness. I keep saying that, but it's true. This is madness. Now that I'm actually thinking about it, the pack before this one lasted about as long. So, it's not a fluke. It's more of a phase, I suppose. Although, I'm not sure what prompted it and what is maintaining it. I haven't been suffering through cravings either. Sometimes, lately, I simply forget to remember to want - or need - to smoke. Bizarre.

I did some cardio yesterday. It was a moderate program. I have a goal, too. I would like to try to lose 70 pounds in 7 months. It's intense and ambitious and probably insane and impossible, too. But, I'm going to give it a shot. Anyway, regardless of how achievable/impossible my goal proves to be, I'm definitely going to get an exercise program going and make it part of the routine. We'll see if I'm still at by the time my birthday rolls around again. Like everything else, I get obsessed about something only until I lose interest or get distracted by the next thing. Worth a try, anyway.

You may have noticed that I recycled a former pup background and updated it a bit. I really enjoy that stuff. Alot of my creativity is abstract, so being able to work with something slightly more concrete and immediately observable is lovely.

Since nothing ever came out of the whole third roommate thing, I've moved my bed into what used to be the upstairs office and has now become my sleeping room. Everything else remains in my actual room, which I will no longer refer to as my bedroom since there is no longer a bed in it. Actually, I might refer to the room I moved my bed into as my bedroom or sleeping room - whichever. The other room will just be my other room. The room my bed used to be in is directly over the garage and becomes about as cold as it is outside during the winter months - despite the efforts Nurse Egg and I have made to heat it. So, it's almost November and that room has become a walk-in freezer. So, now I have a sleeping room that's actually warm enough to sleep in.

Just a moment. Marco Polo is growling at me. He very rarely ever barks. If there's a sudden knock at the door or other very loud disturbance, he might bark. Otherwise, he just growls or whines. If he is trying to get my attention, he will growl to alert me to his needs. Usually his only need is going outside, so that's what we'll be doing for a few moments. I'm also going to smoke my final cigarette from this pack. Very, very exciting. Be right back.

I've consumed nearly 500 ml. of coffee from this enormous mason jar. The conversion rate equates this to about 2.5 cups or 20 oz. I'm freakishly energized now. Goodness me. I'm giggling for absolutely no reason at all. Wow. Yes, I'm doing more cardio this afternoon. I'm an atomic riot.

I've been working through my Netflix queue at the behest of Nurse Egg. She thinks we have to consider this with quite a deal of urgency. We've been rapidly watching everything from Gordon Ramsay to Hoarders to Walking Dead. We watch far less movies than television episodes. It's what we do.

I start work on Monday. This will be my fourth new hire orientation of the year. Fortunately, that's as ridiculous as that number is going to get since the technical level of this job will require a training schedule lasting into the beginning of next year. Still, that's four times the number of orientations that I would have liked to sit through. It's also four times the amount of human resources paperwork I would have liked to fill out. Anyway, I'm semi-excited to be starting a job yet again and absolutely excited that I will be employed at least until next year. I do not enjoy job hunting. Interviews I don't mind so much. I'm brilliant at job interviews. That's the easy part to me. Getting these bastards to call and ask for an interview in the first place, that's the worst for me. It's absolutely aggravating. I'd almost prefer them to call and say I'm ridiculously unqualified for the position or they just don't see a point in interviewing someone with my tragic employment history for the past year. I'd prefer either of those to no response at all. I don't want to nag them. I wouldn't want to be nagged constantly. It's one thing to be enthusiastic and driven about pursuing employment. It's quite another thing to be obsessed or seemingly entitled about it. Maybe that's just my experience in management and dealing with staffing needs and the entire applicant process, but I can't possibly imagine someone in management would actually want a potential applicant to practically stalk them in order to seriously consider hiring them. Ridiculous, but that may be just my limited perspective. I don't know. I don't get it. Anyway, I'm starting work on Monday. Semi-excited.

I haven't had too much to do with the family lately. Honestly, I haven't had anything at all to do with them. I've been entirely focused on the employment situation. They're a distraction. They are a huge distraction. I'm sure I'll see them for one of the upcoming holidays, if not both. Oh shit. I just realized that I'll be here for two major holidays. I will be expected to attend these family functions. Oh shit. What a disaster. That just ruined my day. That should be a fantastically horrifying and hilarious series of posts to expect. Lucky us. You don't have to live through it, though. Yeah, I do. Awesome. Probably going to be drunk for that, if possible.

Well, that was quite an update. Decent post here. Outstanding.

My dog is cuter than yours.

Fantastic news! Marco Polo is officially one of the cutest pets of Trumbull County (out of the 76 that entered the contest). He placed sixth, overtaking his arch nemesis "Spa Day" in the final week of the contest - which greatly pleased his owner. Nurse Egg had a serious vendetta against "Spa Day". I honestly didn't think it was going to be even remotely possible to close the gap of 300 or 400 votes that "Spa Day" consistently lead by. But, I think they had a similar mentality and just gave up on the final week of voting. That was a mistake, because we won't stop no matter how impossible the odds are. The more certain our defeat, the stronger our resolve to fight against it. We are stubborn and thick headed, which makes us formidable opponents indeed especially when we combine forces. Anyway, Nurse Egg is thrilled to death.

Unfortunately, the newspaper did not contact her until today to let her know she had to appear in person at the newspaper office to claim her prize (two tickets to Disney's Phineas and Ferb: The Best LIVE Tour Ever!) by 6pm. Also, the show is tomorrow. Well, Nurse Egg was nursing until at least 6pm and no one else could claim the tickets in her place. Also, Nurse Egg's (second step/adoptive) mother is in the hospital in Cleveland being treated for a brain tumor. So, she had already asked for and received the weekend off, but she had very specific plans to spend the entire weekend at the hospital. So, basically, she won a prize she can't use. Fortunately, it wasn't really about the prize for her. She just wanted some external validation that her pet was not only cute, but one of the cutest in the county. I don't know why this matters so much, but it apparently does. Hurray, I guess.

Thinking of reverting back to an older design for this page. It's been a few years since I've changed the layout for this blog. I'll probably already have that done by the time you read this, but I've just been browsing my photobucket albums while posting and found an old background from the pup days. Those were good times. I was a raving, posting lunatic back then.

Nurse Egg wants a house. The condo is a little expensive and we could definitely rent a house or pay a mortgage for far less than what we're splitting now. So, we've been looking. We've walked through several properties. Nothing has wowed either of us yet. We've liked things about a few of them, but we also hated things about those same properties. Anyway, Nurse Egg already spoke to her bank and has been pre-approved for a loan/mortgage. Whatever, I don't know anything about this stuff. It's all very exciting, though. Well, except for the part about committing to living in Ohio permanent like. Horrifying thought, that. Yikes. But, it might be happening.

"That bitch! She has like a thousand votes already!"

Nurse Egg has entered Marco Polo into a photo contest held by our local newspaper for the cutest pet. Here's a delightful widget that will take you directly to the voting page where you can register in order to vote for him. You can then vote for him 20 times EVERY day until the contest ends. When registering to vote, use the link directly above Marco Polo's photo to ensure you are registering with the animal hospital sponsoring the event to gain permission to participate. Registering with the newspaper website will not permit you to vote. I did not know this and ended up registering for both. Learn from my mistakes, readers. While I was casting my 20 daily votes for our little hooligan, I scouted out the competition. Nurse Egg was not impressed. "Awww. Spa day is actually really cute." "That bitch! Princess has like a thousand votes already! No! You vote for Marco!" "Fine."

Nurse Egg is not only determined to catch up with Spa Day, but she wants to completely destroy and embarass both pet and owner by winning this cute little pet photo contest. I don't know if it'll happen or not, but I'm showing my support by voting as often as I can tolerate and by pimping out the voting widget to the three or four people who read this. Maybe if we combine our forces... Well, I still don't know. I guess we'll all be surprised.

Nurse Egg got a little side-tracked while completing her own daily 20 votes and has spent the last twenty minutes laughing hysterically at this gif image which she stumbled across while checking out the webpage for a local dog waste removal company named Wholly Crap. There I go again, pimping out links. I'm such a giver.

Feeling almost semi-human again.

"What about the part of you that secretly yearns for something else, the part of you both of us knows is there?"
"My house has many rooms. I occupy but a few. The rest go unvisited."
"Who said that?"
"I did."

Ocassionally I am completely amazed by dialogue. Not only amazed by it, but haunted by it. It is simply perfect. It speaks directly to me of me. It also pisses me off in a truly narcissistic way - damaging my inflated self-importance, ego, and basest vanity. Those words should have been mine. I wish they were. I desperately wish they were. My only consolation is that I can quote these quotes and share the unspeakable magic within them.

I could easily use this opportunity to identify - or at least ellude to - my own secret rooms, either unvisited or fully occupied. But, I'm still not entirely over this illness and pulling thoughts together is still not a terribly successful process for me yet. I have, thankfully, progressed beyond the raging asshole phase of it. I was very fortunate to only claim two victims during that time, which I've already discussed in the previous post, and only one of those received the full extremes of my rage. He seems to be alright now and since I have no intention of apologizing for it, that's just as well. Besides, illness induced madness not withstanding, I did mean every terrible word of it and stand by every horrifying syllable even now. I doubt it'll change anything, but at least he knows exactly where I stand now. So do I, actually. I understand it far more clearly now than I had. It was a learning experience for everyone. Hurray.

Why the haggles?

As part of our efforts to clear out the upstairs office in anticipation of a third roommate for our condo, Nurse Egg and I have been selling off redundant furniture and items on Craig's List. We have successfully offloaded my futon and her grandparents' love seat. We are still hopeful about selling off both our stereos and some miscellaneous crap I've been holding onto for far too long. Like my mail safe.



I purchased the mail safe as part of my better management initiative a few years ago. The plan was to offer employees a discrete and even anonymous method of bringing things to the attention of management. It... failed. Unless you consider the offerings of ketchup packets, napkins, and other miscellaneous lunch materials that were stuffed inside a success, it seriously failed. It has been retired to my closet for nearly three years now and has made the journey with me as I moved from state to state. Unfortunately, I don't actually need a mail safe. In fact, I never should have purchased it in the first place, but I was trying to incorporate all the amazing ideals they installed in me during a management seminar and I was incredibly naive.

The original purchase price was $75. Yeah, I know. Yikes. I used to have that sort of disposable income. No longer, however. The success of our selling campaign on Craig's List has been in large part due to the way I've marketed it. "Amazing $25 house moving sale!" where "Everything we list will cost you only $25!" It's been incredibly effective. The original plan was to simply drag it all out to the curb and let waste management take care of it or allow dumpster divers to take their pick of the lot. But, if we can make a little extra cash by simply making a few posts online, why not? Again, it's been incredibly effective. You can't argue with that price point for the things we're offering. At least, not until I posted the mail safe. I received the following email shortly after doing so:

you must be outta your mind. Lowes sells those and similar ones brand new for $30 with hardware and 2 keys.

please

its worth $10

I only have one of the two keys that came with the thing, since my previous employer demanded she be included in my better management initiative and then never returned the key when it failed. Also, I threw away the mounting hardware during one of my purging cleaning phases. I had never intended to use or sell the thing. I'm not entirely sure what I intended to do with it, but I had paid some money for it so I kept it around while I tried to figure something out.

Anyway, I read this response and wondered if it could possibly be true. Had the price dropped that low on this item? It was worth investigating. After browsing the store's site, I responded to the email with this"

Then go to Lowes where you'll spend $65 on this exact (not similar) item according to the current lising on Lowes.com.

http://www.lowes.com/pd_30825-1622-LMSK00000_4294856644_4294937087_?productId=3032303&Ns=p_product_prd_lis_ord_nbr|0||p_product_qty_sales_dollar|1&pl=1¤tURL=%2Fpl_Mailboxes%2B_4294856644_4294937087_%3FNs%3Dp_product_prd_lis_ord_nbr%7C0%7C%7Cp_product_qty_sales_dollar%7C1&facetInfo=

I'm offering the item with a more than 50% price reduction for a few missing mounting screws. Yeah, I must be out of my mind.

I haven't received a response as of yet. If I do, I'm going to raise my asking price to $45. That's an asshole tax. If you're going to be deceitful and just make up numbers in order to try to negotiate or haggle a lower buying price, the number one rule is not to get caught in your own lie. It took me all of ten seconds to search the site for the listing and type out my rebuttal. I shouldn't be surprised to get this sort of half-assed attempt at bartering from an Italian. But he shouldn't be surprised to be outmatched and called out on his bullshit by an efficient, resourceful German.

In other news, I'm sick so my tolerance of bullshit is almost non-existent. I told someone off that same day for throwing himself a pity party. I can understand the ocassional emotional crisis or neediness or whatever, but when it's every month? That's excessive. I don't respond well to that. Normally, I can at least refrain from acting on my impulses to do exactly what I did the other day. It was incredibly brutal, but it was completely honest. I laid out some very tough truths and force fed them to him. His response was rather predictable for someone who has never been on the receiving end of my insanity and rage. He withdrew and hid for 24 hours. I gave him quite a lot to think about and sulk over. Half of that was meant to inspire him or light a fire under his ass, the other half was meant to make him shut the hell up and stop using pity as a way to get attention. I really hoped that my better intentions would trump my lesser ones, but I'm not sure that'll happen. I guess I'm just not interested in playing along anymore. It's become nearly impossible for me to simply maintain the status quo and allow things to simply roll off my back.

No one has to listen to me, but you'll damn sure hear me.

Sort it out.

In preparation for the possability of accepting an additional roommate into the condo, Nurse Egg and I have started emptying out the office to allow for a third bedroom. This inevitably lead to rearranging furniture in the living room to incorporate the desk from the office. We are getting rid of a few pieces of furniture and both of our stereos as well through Craig's List. I also have to start listing a few stacks of text books on Amazon. We are definitely cleaning out the place. As Nurse Egg keeps reminding me:

"We're going to have so much more room for activities!"

I won't buy you flowers.

"I hate my fucking life."
"I know."
"Maybe I'll have an accident on my way home from work. If I'm on my deathbed, people might have some more compassion for me."
"I seriously doubt it."
"Well, it's worth a try right?"
"Not really."
"Tree or ditch?"
"Fuck off."
"Which one... would be less likely to kill me?"
Every time the coversation goes this way, I withdraw. I just stop engaging. I'm tired of coming up with the reasons. I'm tired of trying to fix broken, desperate people. I'm fed up with giving a damn about people who care less about themselves than I do. I'm tired of being a lifeline.
"You coming to my funeral? I mean my house?"
I haven't been returning the texts. My phone rings. I silence it and throw it across the room. After a few minutes, I pick it up and listen to the short, sad voicemail. Then, I delete it. I set it down and a moment later there's another text.
"Guess you don't even give a shit."
"I'm not coming to your fucking funeral after you kill yourself. You're the one who doesn't give a shit."

I have very serious issues with suicide. I have extremely serious issues with people who like to joke about it as a way to get attention and pity from me. I understand that you're hurting and lost and crazy and sad and desperate and broken and miserable. I understand that this is one of many ways people cope with bullshit. It's not how healthy, rational people deal with it. It's not how I deal with it. But, it's how people like you choose to deal with it. I also understand that one day it won't be just something you say to get attention and pity. I understand that a thought can become reality. I understand that one day I'm going to ignore you and that it'll be the last thing we ever do together. The last thing I ever say to you might be "fuck off" and I won't take it back afterward. It scares the fuck out of me understanding and knowing and believing these things. It scares me to be completely hopeless and powerless. It saddens me to realize you're not nearly as strong as I thought. It makes me physically ill to know that I've always been the stronger one and that'll never change. It kills me to know I'll probably outlive you and that you'll die a stupid, pointless death at your own desperate hands. I also have come to accept that it's not my responsibility to constantly defuse the situation. I can't be the one person holding back the tidal wave of your self-destructive impulses. I can't be the catcher in your rye. I can't allow myself to fall into that role no matter how bad I secretly want to and - even on some desperate level - need to save you from yourself. I can't fight your battles for you. I can't kill your demons. I can't.

All I can really do anymore is draw a very solid line and refuse to cross it. I won't come to your damn funeral. I won't bring balloons and cake to your pity party. I won't cry... at least, not out of sadness. Any tears from me will be filled with salty hate. It's better that you know that in advance. I will hate you forever. I will spit on your grave. I won't romanticize who you were when you were alive. I won't relive all the amazing moments and completely disregard the bad. I won't adjust the final score in your favor. I will eventually forget your face. I won't talk about you. I won't write about you. I will delete and erase anything I already have. I will match my value of your life with your own final appraisal. I will stop caring. I will force myself to drown everything that once cared or loved for you. I will euthanize your presence in my mind and heart. I will purge your memory. I will probably vomit involuntarily and punch whatever might be within my reach. I will do terrible things, but none that compare to your own last, ridiculous act.

No, I'm not coming to your fucking funeral.

Hoarding, for the Disinterested Minimalist.

Every time I watch Hoarders, I am overwhelmed by the compulsion to throw things away. Anything really, but usually in bulk. If it's not a substantial purge, the compulsion lingers. I have to say I've already done a fair amount of downsizing as far as personal property is concerned. I moved from a three bedroom house with garage into a two bedroom apartment with no garage into a single room of this condo. My piles of crap used to fill the entire space of each of those larger residences. I have no idea how I managed to reduce so drastically while transitioning between each. Well, I have some idea. I donated a ridiculous amount to Goodwill. I also donated a ridiculous amount to the landfill.

There's a point to this, I assure you. I'm in the midst of another purge cycle. I recently watched my new all time favorite episode of Hoarders. It involved two sets of animal hoarders. They were also very unstable, aggressive people.

It should be noted that every time I watch an episode of the show I also think of a certain group of relatives of mine. I think of how they have amassed all the discarded furniture and trinkets of our combined family past and how the growing bulk of that bullshit is no longer able to be contained in only one home. It has migrated to two now. I used to be really upset whenever I'd see something of mine - my dresser from childhood with the car stickers I attached, the missle casing my uncle saved for me from his time in the Navy, my office chair which mysterious dissapeared from my room while I was still living in my grandmother's house - but I've realized that I simply don't care about things. I don't have any attachment to the things I've lost in this way. For the most part, I wouldn't even remember half of them having ever existed or played any substantial part in my life if not for this museum of ancient family artifacts that has been created for that precise purpose. The office chair was rather more recent and what I would classify as a real bitch move since I was still using the damn thing, but I'm not sure they can help themselves when it comes to helping themselves. Anyway, I don't need it anymore. I've done perfectly well without. Maybe better than that because I learned not to allow them into my home if there's anything I don't want to mysteriously vanish and just as magically reappear in their monument to other people's second-hand bullshit. They might not know any better, but I do. It's difficult for me to be in that environment. I don't like feeling as if all the things piled up around me are trying to hug me as I try to walk by without disturbing the precarious way it's all been stacked. It's like a deranged version of Jenga. If you lose, you're going to be crushed to death by half-empty photo albums, dirty clothing, broken clocks, old telephones, entire dish sets, and all the miscellaneous things As-Seen-On-Tv. I feel somewhat claustrophobic in those houses. I am able to fully cope with the situation only when I'm fully inebriated. Which might explain... nevermind. I'm not even going to attempt to psychoanalyze anyone in my immediate family. It's not worth it. We're all fucking crazy in our own special little ways.

Back to my original point, I'm in a purge cycle once again. This time I'm discarding another round of clothing that I'm fairly certain I've never worn. It's nice clothing. It's not exactly what I would define as my own personal style, but I could see myself wearing it someday. Of course, someday is just code for never going to happen. So, there's another Goodwill donation. Perfect timing, too. It's all winter clothing. I'm also discarding all my management propaganda. All my binders and files and charts and manuals - relics of another career and another life. I also found a birthday card to me from my former babysitter and failed tenant of the yellow house - ripped that shit up into tiny pieces. It's absurd the things you keep for years without realizing just how much dead weight you're dragging along with you. I don't think that's something worth saving for seventeen years - especially since the bitch always put ketchup on my sandwiches. A Ziggy birthday card is not going to make that all better.

I don't know. Sometimes I don't understand why I have so many things. Things I don't need or want or use or even know I have. No matter how many times I try to purge myself of the useless and irrelevent, I always manage to keep an entire stash of things to surprise myself with later. "What the hell... Why do I still have this? ...and what is it? ...or what is it a piece of?" I don't know.

I also have a problem with discarding computer components. That's the real issue I'm going to address tonight. I believe that I had kept these components for spares in case I needed to replace one in my desktop computer. This never happened, but it could have. Still, it didn't. Of course, I've upgraded and rendered that ideology obsolete and slightly absurd now. I just found three 3.5" floppy disk drives and a whole gang of diskettes to go in them. I think I missed my window of opportunity for transferring whatever the hell is on them onto a better media format. As far as that goes, I think it's about time to let go of the VHS and audio cassettes, too. I don't even own the devices necessary for utilizing either and couldn't see myself purchasing them even if I did manage to locate any that still function. So, those are all going to be added to the discard pile tonight.

I like throwing stuff away. It's been my favorite thing to do ever since I moved out of my grandmother's house and I no longer had to worry about her digging through my garbage and trying to salvage everything I had tried to throw out. If you've never seen a hat made out of crushed soda cans or a purse made out of plastic shopping bags all twisted up and woven together, you can't possibly begin to comprehend my anxiety about throwing things away in my grandmother's house only to get them back reincarnated in some craft-time insanity for Christmas. I wish I was joking about that. Don't even get me started on The Great Food Expiration Date Debate. I don't eat anything that has an expiration date on it that has expired. I don't care if that date was yesterday. I'll shave my head and eat my own hair before that will ever be an option. Of course, if I were to try to throw out a food item with an expiration date that has expired, I'd have to not eat dinner at my grandmother's house for the next week. Because if it's not magically back in the refrigerator, it's in the crockpot. It's not much of a surprise after the first time. Fool me once, shame on you - but it'll never happen again. Believe that. As far as that goes, I don't typically eat at my grandmother's house anymore. I only brave it on special ocassions and when someone else is cooking - not that it's any safer, it's actually more dangerous for completely different reasons. But, I actually didn't eat there for the majority of the time I lived there after that first revelation. You're not going to win me over to your side of the argument by quietly revealing to me that the dinner I just consumed was created solely from all the food ingredients I had thrown away for being expired and half-rotten after they had laid at the bottom of the garbage bag for a few days at room temperature while cultivating an entire colony of food borne bacteria which are now rioting in my digestive system and will soon be expelled from my every cavity. I don't respond well to that shit. If you're not related to me and you try a stunt like this, you won't survive to tell the tale. If you are related to me and you try a stunt like this, you should be prepared for some old school, Shakespearean tragedy to befall you. I'm a fairly dangerous person when I'm properly motivated. Just something to remember, but you'd be better off not testing me on that point. So, yes. I thoroughly love throwing shit away now and never having to see it again. It's simply delightful.

I have resisted my family's attempts to plant the seeds of hoarding in me - other than the outdated media components, of course, which will be rectified shortly. I guess that makes me a survivor of sorts or a rebel. I may make it look easy, but it was a long, cluttered road.

Life in limbo. Still.

It's incredibly difficult knowing what I want and how exactly to get it, but being trapped indefinitely in this bullshit universe of incompetence and bureaucracy. It is purgatory and I'm floating hopelessly in limbo thinking I have a chance of simply riding it out. It's incredibly difficult being equally cynical and optimistic.

[To be continued. I just got ambushed by some interesting people with interesting theories. Check the other site for that later.]

Labels.

I've reconfigured refined the post labeling system. At this point, there are only four five active labels for posts.

Posts labeled Kingsgrave House will feature my interactions with various other members of my family. Chuckle It Up presents some of my more humorous personal mishaps and anecdotes. 1000 words will still feature some sort of media element and may or may not offer an actual, related post as well. Link Me All Over will feature external links in an effort to direct web traffic to my other projects or - possibly in rare circumstances - pimp someone or something out. Prose will direct you to posts that are more creative/serious in nature, which will eliminate the necessity for me to maintain yet another seperate site for those works.

Shortcuts are located on the menu bar to the right and labels will be enlarged based on frequency of use, so you should be able to easily find whatever you're looking for while waiting ever so patiently for me to update and provide you with more content.

Enjoy!

I will add additional labels as necessary.

Live this day. (2004)

It's a brand new day. I'm sure you've said that before. Can you count the times? I won't even try. Maybe you can't remember having actually muttered the words. Doesn't matter. You have heard it said. How many, many times, so have I. Welcome to today; it's brand new. Uncharted territory. The only frontier left to us undiscovered, pure, original. A brand new day.

Dog shit.

I know the theory of today far too well. I know the logic of that flawed argument. Yesterday ended, tomorrow has yet to come, welcome to today by default and a play on verb tenses. The real truth is - it's all an illusion. Time intervals are tricky fallacies we trap ourselves in to separate moments, events, lives. In reality, yesterday hasn't ended and refuses to do so. It continues forever. Day after figurative day it grows more monstrous and unrelenting. It's a collection, a limitless dumping ground for all our spent moments of life. Tomorrow never comes. There is no such thing as tomorrow. It is a lie. Even in our deaths, as our consciousness fades into the infinite void and we slowly rot away, we can not touch the tragic and failed legend of tomorrow. There simply is no morning after, no next day, no future. Today is the never-ending story of our whole lives and beyond. There is no escaping this day. Today is forever and ever and ever.

We confuse the complexity of this truth in so many ways. We watch our shadows move around us in small arcs until they finally stretch and explode and envelope our worlds in the darkness of a dead day. We make our observations and measurements and calculations. We mark the hours. Add. Multiply. Divide. We fancy ourselves brilliant masters of time management and believe our basic mathematical competency makes any moment more special than the last. We develop systems, routines, behavior, science. We divide our days into hours, minutes, and seconds. Everything is timed and carefully calculated. We mark off the progress of the Earth's rotation versus its revolution around the sun and call it 1 of 365. We dress this imagined progress up with titles, numbers, subgroups, and more numbers. We give each rotation it's own signifier to further the charade that every day is in fact different. Monday, Wednesday, Saturday... Fill-in-the-blank day. We reference the Good Book and group them by 7. If it was good enough for Him, we will shape our days in His image. New days. Brand new days. One entire week of them. But it's not enough. We need more ways to compartmentalize and divide and exploit our new fiction of time progression. We invent months to group our weeks and days. 365 is such a harsh number to swallow. 30 is much easier number to play with. If we can just chop it up into small enough pieces we may not ever have to chew the bullshit that we're swallowing now. January, February, November. They are so deliciously imprecise and awkward. We weigh them out like an apprentice butcher. This one has 31 days, this one only 28. We have a 25% success rate and that's good enough for us. We can't even divide evenly and we think we've actually accomplished something. Delighted with our own ingenuity we count each revolution to chart our success. 1, 500, 1999, 2005. We've come a long way now. Something ended, something began, something changed. We made something happen. What? What changed? Nothing. We imagined it all and reveled oblivious to our own arrogance and ignorance. Yesterday, today, and tomorrow. The divine trinity of time. A perception we taught ourselves to marvel. How magical it all seemed once to think there were these convenient compartments to stuff the imaginary and random segments of our lives into and desperate try to hide them behind a simple expression and a travesty of language.

To what purpose, to what real effect do we make these distinctions? Order to chaos. Things must be made more manageable. We can not allow the infinite nature of time to continue unchallenged. We can not possibly be expected to confront the magnitude of forever without some expert practiced method to simplify and degrade it. We can not possibly be expected to handle thoughts and ideas larger than our fragile lives and worlds. So we cut it all down, reduce, package, label. We take it all in small doses. We build up our tolerance until we become immune. We think less and micromanage reality. We embrace the casual expressions that mock our limited grasp of our own inadequacy. Rome wasn't built in a day, afterall. There's always tomorrow. Remember the good ole days? It's a brand new day.

Lies. Propaganda. Yellow journalism.

Tomorrow never comes. Yesterday is spent. There is only today.

[revised on September 20, 2009]

Coma recovery.

I slept nearly an entire day in this enormous hotel bed. It's weird sleeping in a bed designed for humans. If I toss and turn, I won't suddenly find myself plummeting from my bunk and falling the five feet to the floor of the sleeper berth. It's stranger still not to feel the world rapidly turning beneath me as I dream about a world I'm moving through and beyond. Until only recently, it felt as though I'd been swimming for a prolonged period of time and hadn't managed to convert back to being a land-based mammal. Perhaps that's why I've been sleeping all this time, it's awkward getting around. Speaking of aquatics, I've also managed to take three showers in less than 36 hours. It's simply too much for me to pass up another opportunity to shower without having to make a fuel purchase or leave an absurd towel deposit.

You might be surprised that I'm posting here. I've decided that I still need this blog to discuss things that aren't particularly relevent to my pursuit of a new trade/career. To that effect, I've moved the Father's Day posts to this blog along with the associated media. I've actually been meaning to do that for some time now, but the process of trying to cut and paste on my palm is far more aggravating than I can tolerate. I've also been toying with the idea of an improved indexing system. As it stands, my current system is a little... redundant. Alot of the tags mean exactly the same thing and that's if I even remember to utilize them. I definitely want to get back to my idealistic roots and post original work as well as continue to keep everyone up-to-date with my life and whatever shenanigans I happen to get into. It's ambitious, but so am I. Balancing my work schedule with wifi availability will be the real challenge. The indexing system shouldn't take long to redesign. I should probably be able to get that done tomorrow sometime. Of course, leave all the important things to my last day off. Procrastination! Love it. Speaking of which:

I have several posts that I need to get typed up and posted to the other blog. The last two weeks of my "training" were somewhat stressful and simply making it through each day of that time period was almost more than I could handle. I'm really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really glad that I'm no longer in that truck. Really. There are many things I need to rehash and work out of my system before moving on with the next phase of my adventure.

For the moment, I'm in Dallas and not doing a damn thing other than relaxing. Also, I need to do laundry. Tomorrow.

Cake, anyone? Part 1

I left Indiana some time after 4pm last Friday - after packing up my hotel room, taking a shower, and having a quick bite to eat to finish up the little food I had left in my tiny refrigerator - and I arrived back home some time after 8pm. My original plan was to just go home and relax, but that's not what happened. I knew some of my family was visiting from Georgia and I figured my sister would probably be sleeping before work (if she had to work, I wasn't sure), so I decided to keep on driving a few more miles and pay the family a quick visit. It would be a very quick visit. I didn't want to stay more than hour. I think I did, anyway, but it was a good try on my part.

The visitors weren't around. Actually, no one was around at first except for the grandparents. I talked to my grandmother for awhile and then she tried to get me to watch Burn Notice. Fuck Burn Notice. As I was about to leave, my local aunt and uncle showed up. So, I talked to them for awhile and met my new cousin.

"Do you remember your braces?" My aunt asked me as I looked at the little gnome in his car seat.
"Braces? They come with teeth?" Is what I almost said until I noticed the little boots and straps covering his tiny legs. I had completely overlooked those. No one had said anything was wrong with the child. I just knew there had been some tension because some of the visitors had made some remarks that had pissed my local aunt off and it had gotten to the point where if one more person made fun of her child... Fill in the blank. I honestly hadn't even noticed. I guess I don't really care about babies enough to distinguish much between them or even look to try. But all of this was overshadowed by a new thought in my head. "I had braces?"
"Oh god, yes. Full body cast and braces all over you. You don't remember that?"
"No, I don't. I don't remember most of surgeries either. I remember the last two only." I remember the second to the last most of all since I actually woke up during the surgery. The anesthetic wore off or something. I came out of unconsciousness and freaked right out because I awoke to find myself strapped to a table with masked people surrounding me with horrifying looking surgical tools and this strange futuristic brightness that didn't quite form a room around us. It was shocking and horrifying. I seriously thought I had been abducted by aliens or something. I remember one of the men telling me that I needed to calm down. He told me to take deep breaths and relax. I remember someone else saying that they were going to lose me. That really scared me, because I believed it. Instead of continuing to panic, I took long deep breaths and surrendered to whatever was about to happen. I could have very easily gone into shock and died. Luckily, I didn't. "No. I don't remember most of them. Definitely don't remember the brace. He won't either until you remind him."
"Oh, well that's a relief."
"I suppose."

I left quickly after that moment. I had gathered enough information about the visitors to know not to come back the next day like everyone kept asking me to. The visitors were loading up a rental truck with all sorts of antique (meaning heavy as all hell) furniture and boxes of random fragile bullshit. Not something I really want to be a part of, so I waited until Sunday to return to visit them. I was mostly successful in my attempt to avoid being recruited as free labor. When I arrived, I had a brief conversation with my visiting aunt and uncle. My visiting aunt took her daughter somewhere shortly after that to visit whoever and my visiting uncle recruited my local uncle to assist him in continuing to load the rental truck. My grandmother decided she needed to go grocery shopping since there were plenty of people around to look after my grandfather while she did so. She asked me to go and I did. I didn't even think about it. There's something genuinely unsettling about that house these days. It's mutating into something strange. I can see the very core of it is still the same as I remember, but everything else is different now. Anyway, I definitely wanted to get away from that house.

Shopping with grandmother was sort of fun. She did her shtick where she was to have funny little awkward conversations with everyone that only she understands or finds humorous. These people look to me for guidance or assistance and I just smirk and shrug. I can't help you. Deal with it. Finding the things on the list was entertaining enough because there is a reason for every brand that she chooses and a story behind it. Fascinating stuff. The last item was a cake for grandpa - actually it was more for everyone else, but it was in his honor being Father's Day and all - and she wanted an ice cream cake. Unfortunately, the grocer only had these tiny cheesecakes left. I would have suggested going over to the other town grocer practically across the street, but we don't speak of that place in any close proximity to my grandmother. Not after the great turkey incident of 2005, anyway. So, the cheesecakes were our only option, unless...

I googled Dairy Queen on my phone. The DQ in town had lost its franchise rights due to inability to upgrade equipment and then had been converted into a burger place after no one would return to the newly christened "Dairy Oasis" which still carried all of the same products but with the DQ logos removed. Anyway, the next closest DQ was near the airport and it was only a walk-up concession booth type deal. I didn't think they would even sell cakes, but I decided to try. We were in luck. Not only did they sell cakes, but they had someone cancel an order that had already been completed just a few moments ago and we could have it at a discounted price. Freaking brilliant, I am. The cake was three times the size of the mini-cheesecakes we were looking at and about the same price with the discount. It was perfect.

That was the last perfect moment of that day, of course.

Cake, anyone? Part 2

I was feeling pretty pleased with myself at that point. It was going to be a great day and I was partly responsible. Hurray for me. We returned to the house and unloaded all our groceries including the awesome discounted ice cream cake. As a reward for helping grandma do her shopping, she gave me something out of her refrigerator to eat for lunch. I was in such a great mood that I ate it after only mild inspection. I did cook the crap out of it in the microwave though - just in case. I obviously wasn't thinking clearly, because I should have realized that by assisting in obtaining the ice cream cake I was silently agreeing to stay for dinner as well.

"Are you staying for dinner?" my local aunt asked me.
"Um. Yes, sure. I guess I am."
"Then can you help your uncle load the rental truck so I can take my husband shopping for what we need for dinner tonight?"
"Um. Yes, sure. I can do that."

Damn. It wasn't so terrible, though. Most of the furniture had already been loaded and I had assisted on a few of the larger items already. Nothing that was left to load was all that heavy. The remaining pieces were just large and awkward. We also took alot of breaks, like when it started raining and after I climbed over everything to secure straps and ropes. I talked to my visiting uncle quite a bit. I can't remember ever having an actual conversation with him, which might explain why I became hysterical when he asked:

"So, what's new with you?"
"Since when?" I asked. "Since the last time we talked? I'm not sure we have time for all that."

We talked about the things I had been learning in truck driving school and we exchanged war stories from our lives as middle management in the wonderful world of retail. It was shocking and surprisingly enjoyable being able to relate and discover this common ground between us. Grandma joined us at one point after receiving a phone call updating her on the status of one of our senior relatives. She was in the hospital my sister worked at.

"What floor does your sister work on?"
"The shittiest one according to the stories she tells me when she comes home every morning."
"Oh, come on. Gut en Haben. What number?"
"I don't know. It's the shittiest floor, whatever number that is."
"Well... So-and-so was on the ninth floor but they moved her to the second floor. You think that's good? Does that mean she's getting better?"
"I don't know. Why don't you ask one of the many functioning nurses in this family? I guess that sounds right. I mean, the closer they put you to God, the closer you probably are to meeting him. Right? So, lower floor probably means she's getting closer to the lobby and she's closer to getting the hell out of there. I have no idea, though. Maybe."

Actually, no. My sister later informed me that the closer you are to the lobby, the worse off you are. In case of an emergency like a fire, they want all of the most critical patients closer to the ground floor to make evacuation easier. The healthier patients are all put on the top floor and left to fend for themselves during the catastrophe. Which makes more sense than my "closer to God" theory, but we didn't have that information at the time and everyone seemed pretty content to believe mine.

When my local aunt and uncle returned, I could tell my aunt was already pissed off. She was very short with everyone and she was talking to herself. I immediately regretted agreeing to stay for dinner. They unloaded their groceries and my local uncle fired up the grill to begin making kielbasa and porkchops. My aunt and cousin began making side dishes in the kitchen. My grandmother had been talking about getting grandpa out of the basement and outside for hours previous to that point. I would have helped make that happen, but I'm not entirely sure how the pieces of the impromptu ramp fit and stay together. I'm also not entirely comfortable using a winch on living things, especially people I happen to be related to. So, now that the creators of the transportation system had returned, my grandmother began working on them.

"Your father would love it if he could sit outside and see everything that's going on."
"Do you want me to do that or make dinner? Because I could just go home."
"Oh, well. I just thought..."
"I have no problem leaving and someone else can do all this. You wanted this dinner!"

My grandmother, having been confronted, retreated in her typical fashion and began the process of shunning everyone. Since I had been stuck in the kitchen and had witnessed the event, my aunt turned to me.

"What do you think?"
"I... honestly don't care either way. I can leave, too. I can eat at home. It doesn't matter to me at all."
"I can't do everything."
"I know. She's been talking about it the entire time you were gone though."
"Well, tough shit. I can only do so much."

I also decided to retreat to a quiet place outside to smoke and text my sister who was missing the eventful day.

"She's probably going to poison the food." she replied when I caught her up to the most current event.

I returned to the house and kitchen to find most of the preparations for dinner were complete. Everything just had to finish cooking. My local uncle bounced between the grill outside and the oven inside. My local aunt had relinquished all cooking responsibilities to him. She sat angrily nursing her newborn. I wanted to do something to help out, but I didn't want to step on any toes. I decided I would clear off and set the table, but no one would give me a definitive answer as to where we would be eating. Both the dining table and the picnic table on the front porch were piled high with boxes of random bullshit. It would be quite an ordeal to clear off either and there was no way to tell if the shit belonged here or if it was supposed to be packed up in the rental truck. It was exhausting to even think about it, so I gave up. My local aunt had been muttering and then she finally spoke out loud and to me.

"I'm not going to eat tonight. Is that weird? I made all the food, but I won't eat it. Is that weird?"

I immediately recognized the tone. My mother uses that tone when she's insane about something. It's not really a question. It's a test which is worse. If you answer in the manner that she wants you to, you are given immunity to the current emotional shit storm and recognized as an ally. If you answer in any other way, you are immediately added to the ranks of the enemy in the current raging battle. I am quite familiar with how to play these games, but I haven't actively engaged in them in quite some time. I believed I could still manage it, so I made my best effort.

"No, it's not weird. When I used to work in the food service industry, I used to spend the better part of nine hours making food for other people. By the end of the day, I was so sick of seeing, smelling, and touching food that eating any of it was the very last thing I wanted to do. So, no. It's not weird. I totally understand." Most of which is a lie, because I'd still be hungry and I would eat after that every day. But, I can be fairly persuasive and cunning. So, whatever. The ends justify the means, I suppose.

"Good. I didn't think so." After a brief pause and a look around she added, "I didn't poison any of the food. I'm going to eat it tomorrow. I'm just not hungry tonight." Then she went upstairs to hide out for the rest of the night. I sat there not entirely sure what to believe at that point. Why did she have to say that? Now I had serious doubts about whether she did poison something or not. I did eat when dinner was ready, though. I guess I'm reckless like that. The children and grandparents also ate. None of my aunts and uncles did. My visiting uncle was still loading the rental truck. My local uncle had disappeared somewhere. My local aunt was hiding upstairs. My visiting aunt hadn't returned from her visit yet. My grandmother and I were alone in the kitchen. She was making a plate for grandpa and I was making a take home plate for my sister.

"What is that sound? Is the farmer working the field next door?"
"Sounds like it. That's definitely a tractor, but it sounds a little closer than it should be."

I also made myself a second plate and sat down at the cluttered kitchen table to eat it. Then I saw him. My local uncle was riding the lawn mower around the yard. He wasn't eating because he was now mowing the lawn. My visiting aunt returned and instead of getting her husband to stop and join her for dinner, she joined him with loading up the rental truck. That's when I realized every single one of these people was completely insane. I honestly didn't even care about the damn ice cream cake at that point. I was ready to leave. But, my grandmother insisted we serve it even though only half of the people there had eaten dinner. We brought the cake outside to the picnic table. She had gathered tiny plates, spoons, and a butter knife for me to cut the frozen solid cake with. Of course she would, why not? Why bring me an actual knife that was the appropriate size and suitably sharp and thick enough for the act at hand? I shouldn't expect that on this day.

"So... who wants cake, then?"

No one answered. I sighed. I was getting to my own personal breaking point now. The novelty of my dysfunctional and extended family had worn off. I started cutting pieces of cake. I probably cut 10 to 12 pieces of it. I arranged them on the table and selected one for myself. No one else did. I was beyond caring. I ate the cake too fast and gave myself a delightful ice cream headache which only added to the migraine they had given me already. I then selected a piece for my sister and started toward the house to wrap it in tinfoil and deposit it in the freezer until I was ready to leave - which would be not soon enough, honestly. But, I didn't make it that far. The phone rang. It was my mother. Grandmother allowed me to complete my current objective before handing me the cordless. Naturally, at this point everyone suddenly decided they were on board with the whole dinner and celebratory ice cream cake scenario. They also became very loud. I tried to find a quiet place to use the phone, but every time I almost found one it began to roar with static and threatened to cut out. It was obnoxious even trying to have a conversation at that point, so we gave up. My mother was very tired anyway and I was aggravated.

After the phone call, I gathered up all the food for my sister - I took alot more than I had originally intended since no one was eating anything and I decided it was their own damn fault and it was just too fucking bad for them because they had ample opportunity and I no longer gave shit if they ate anything at all - and said my hasty goodbyes. I was never happier to leave anywhere than I was then.

The damned cake.

The edible graphic reads ''King for a day.'' Grandma had them add ''Thanks to the queen!'' in orange icing.

Wayward Lexicon

Wayward Lexicon has been reactivated (and moderately redesigned) in anticipation of my latest adventure on the open road. I will be chronicling the epic on that blog as it happens, even if it's just a simple, quick update via my Palm. So... let the adventure begin.

Five days remaining until my departure. Get excited.

Wanderlust.

Mother's Day is fast approaching. Are you ready? My celebration of my own mother will be incredibly low budget this year. Incredibly. Think indie film and then make it a radio monologue instead. Low, low budget. Still. It's all in the gesture, right? Let's hope so.



I'm not getting a tattoo. Well, maybe I am, but this wouldn't necessarily be my first choice. Nothing wrong with it, except... well... I would eventually like to get laid. This tattoo wouldn't help in that effort and this digression isn't helping in my attempt to celebrate the special occasion. So, back on point: Happy Mother's Day, punk!

I may or may not be leaving in eight days. I will know for sure either way in three. Doesn't really leave me a whole lot of time to prepare if I am leaving, but I guess I really don't need much. I've been ready since December to do something - read as anything that pays - but I can't say I haven't enjoyed being a jobless bum. It's boring, but it's very calming. At least, it's calming when I'm not completely freaking out about my financial situation. I'm a little excited about this job and a little anxious. It definitely pays what I want - not just what I need - which is more than I can say for most of the jobs I've been reluctantly trying for recently. It will mean getting out in the world and putting distance between myself and the rest of it. I definitely like not being part of the collective. I can't imagine going a day, much less a week or possibly months at a time, without having to be polite and fake for the sake of keeping a job. In fact, my contact with the general public will be rather limited. I can't even wait. You have no idea. All of this is very exciting, but there are hoops to jump through just to make it through the screening process. I've cleared all of them so far with the exception of previous work experience which is what I should get a verdict on next week (Tuesday). Then I'm off, hopefully, to begin rigorous training. My only concern is the physical and only because I have no idea what my blood pressure or any of that is doing. That would be devastating, to make it all the way there and then be disqualified because I have an irregular heartbeat or diabetes. I don't have either of those. Those are just random health complications that could screw over if I were to have them. Which, again, I don't. I just like freaking myself out. Anyway, that will be an experience. That's exactly what I need, an adventure. The only real downside is going there will mean spending my birthday in a small hotel room in Indiana. Yay. That wouldn't be nearly as disappointing if I hadn't just moved back home - I use that term loosely. But, there are a number of sacrifices I would gladly make in order to start making real money once again. It's quite an impressive list actually. I won't be sharing that with anyone ever.

I spent Friday morning with the grandparents. That was prompted by a rather rudely toned voicemail I received on Thursday morning which I didn't return until late Thursday afternoon. Again, I really didn't care for the tone of the voicemail. It was from... (hmmmmm. I haven't named him yet. I just realized that.) It was from Toolbelt. (I'm going to take a few moments to smoke a cigarette and giggle like mad before coming back and finishing this post. You won't even notice the delay, but I had to underscore my amusement. The break is for real. I'm doing it. Be right back with you after the parentheses close.) He said something to the effect of:

"Hello, Mr. J. It would be so nice if you could find the time in your busy schedule to call your dear grandmother. She would love to hear from you. Today. In case you forgot the number, it's ###-###-####."

I could be more certain if I hadn't immediately deleted the message upon hearing him actually reciting my grandmother's phone number - including area code - to me. There may have even been more of the message. I'll never know. I don't actually care. It wasn't so much the phrasing and the attempt at invoking guilt (which is most definitely an inherent family ability that you can't just marry into and expect to pull off with the same passive-aggression or subtlety) as it was simply the tone he used. Actually, it was equal parts of all of that. I didn't care for any of it. But the tone was especially enraging. Also, the Mr. J thing is peculiar. He's technically my uncle now by marriage, so... I don't know. Whatever. It's bizarre, but none of my aunt's husbands have ever been anything but that. I do have to say that Toolbelt is a slight upgrade from Soup, but only very slight. They were friends at one point, afterall. Wow. Even I sometimes get completely lost and confused in my attempts to explain the ever changing ranks of my family and the various allegiances and relationships of the people within it. I'll just move on, I think. In summation:

Toolbelt called me and left me an asshole voicemail. He and my aunt were going out of town to retrieve his son from college in Toledo. They wanted to know if I could be at my grandmother's house on Friday morning to assist her in moving my grandfather about. Which I very well could having absolutely nothing to do ever. It was an interesting and horrifying experience. I now know that I could never be a caretaker for the elderly. I possibly could, but I won't. Anyway, I didn't have to look through thousands of photos having already taken care of that on a previous visit. I was prompted to look around and take anything I wanted. I had also already taken care of that on a previous visit. But if I hadn't, that would have been the perfect opportunity to remove something from the house without the intervention of the family hoarders who have taken up residence there - namely my aunt and Toolbelt. I should also mention that I was a little late arriving that morning. I had woken up two hours before I was scheduled to arrive and decided I could go back to sleep and still wake up on time. I was obviously wrong. I woke up half an hour after I should have already been there, but I have a valid excuse. When I went back to sleep, I had a very lucid sort of dream. In this dream, I did wake up at the appropriate time and was actually engaged in a very heated argument with my grandfather at his house when I woke up to realize I was alone, still at mine, and late. The fact that I was exchanging words with my grandfather was what alerted my unconscious brain that my subconscious, while very cunning and deceitful, wasn't entirely educated in my personal current events and family history. In short, my subconscious is a tricky idiot. At least I finally did show up and perform my duty with varied levels of enthusiasm. I suppose that's something. My sister had intended to go as well, but she also slept in and did not wake up until I returned from the visit.

I haven't spoken to the subject of my last post since the events of the last post. Before yesterday, I had only an idea of when I might be leaving. Now I have a very defined, but not yet confirmed, time frame. I think it would be fitting to simply leave it as it is. It won't be the first time I've simply exited his life for an indefinite amount of time. It may or may not be the last. Alot of my life can be summarized as a sentence fragment concluded with a comma or hyphen. To be continued? Fuck if I know.

I've just been baking.

That's a fairly appropriate movie reference which parallels my whole life right now. If you have any idea what I'm talking about then you already know far too much about me to be allowed to live. We'll simply move on and I'll try to stop smirking.

In a misguided attempt to take some form of control over my ridiculous and unraveled existence, I decided to cook a number of dishes from a fascinating cook book that has been on my shelf (maintained in prime and mint condition and only once skimmed over) for possibly the better part of a decade. I suppose my state of mind was something to the tune of "It's soooo much better to do something than not. Right? I guess." Yeah, I was seriously just as motivated as I was sarcastic. Status quo for me. After skimming through the cook book several times, I chose three dishes to make. The first dish seemed simple enough for my purposes and possibly just as delicious. One of those assumptions proved more correct than the other. Anyway, I started with pepperoni rolls. Chopping the pepperoni was fun. I think I just like the act of cutting things up into tiny pieces. Observe:



After adding all the other ingredients and rolling everything into tiny balls of dough, I was ready to do the actual baking. I was under the impression that at some point during that baking process the tiny balls of dough would grow into something that didn't look like the product of an absurd Easy Bake oven experiment. Again, assumptions making an ass out of me. You, too, if you went with me on that one.



The finished product was... disappointing. Extremely disappointing. I had a stockpile of bite size mini pepperoni rolls that were incredibly dry and nearly tasteless. Not a very inspiring start to my sudden impulse to submerge myself into the wonderful world of cooking. Still, I had some momentum and could make it through another dish before submitting to frustration and total failure. Hopefully, my next dish would be slightly more successful and allow me some sense of accomplishment to build on.

Stupid pepperoni rolls.



I decided not to attempt a main course after my appetizer set back. I skipped ahead to dessert instead. I would make an apple pie, but not just any apple pie. No, this could be the most amazing apple pie of all time. At the very least, it would be the most amazing apple pie I had ever made. It was all about the crust.



Chocolate chip cookie dough infused with oatmeal to form a delicious layer of crispy cookie crust and then filled to capacity with sweet apple goo. I would completely lose my mind and start destroying the kitchen if this didn't end in absolute confection perfection. Fortunately, it did. This was the most amazing apple pie of all time and I made it. Hell to the yes.



Thanks to my amazing pie success, I was sincerely motivated and ready to tackle anything - except more pepperoni rolls, which I will never make again from that recipe. For the main course, I had selected '50s-style creamed chicken. I was a little apprehensive since I have a varying tolerance for mushrooms. Luckily, they were barely noticeable. Actually, the dish tasted very much like beef stroganoff. Probably alot cheaper to make, too. I wouldn't know, but maybe someday I'll find out.



Overall, I'd consider my kitchen experiment a success. Since then, I've tried a few additional recipes with similarly varying levels of success and failure. It's an exciting process of continuous trial and error.

One more ridiculous week later.

It's Monday. I should be getting a call sometime this week about my interview. I'm trying not to allow myself to feel anything either way about it - at least, not until I know anything either way about it. I obsess too much about these things. That can be good and bad. I mean, I didn't sleep for two days over a simply interview. It's nice to be excited about something. It's nice to have something to anticipate and experience. On the other hand, it's not productive to get all worked up about something just to be completely disappointed by the outcome. Not that I'm pessimistic, mind you. I'm just realistic. Yes, but more than that. Ambivalent would be a more appropriate appraisal. I think I have the job and I think I don't in equal measures. That sort of conflict used to drive my overly-analytical mind of absolute reason completely mad. I couldn't manage any possible paradox. I couldn't manage the conflicting data. I understand the duality of existence much better now. I accept it. It's more reasonable to me to accept two contradictions as both being true simultaneously and in spite of each other than simply denouncing both because a stalemate occurs with no foreseeable possibility of absolute resolution.

Did I mention that I have a tendency to obsess? I believe I did.

Anyway, it's a lot less stressful to simply wait for clarity and closure than to rack my brain trying to determine which - if any - is more likely. As it stands, neither seems more so. So, why worry about it? I'm not. It is what it is. Will be what it is or isn't, anyway.

Spoke to my landlord last week. He was distressed about the situation. I'm a model tenant, after all. He offered to talk to someone in the area for me. His contact owns and operates a chain of fast food establishments in the area. He offered to speak to him and put in a good word for me if I'm interested. I could fast track into management if I was determined to stay in the area. If I was determined to stay in the area, I might actually consider it. Then again, maybe not. Ok, definitely not. It's nice to know I've got options, though. Similarly nice to know I've got people concerned about me and willing to offer some form of assistance even if it's less than helpful and desirable. I do appreciate it. I do realize the gesture is more about my continued contribution to my landlord's financial stability than it is about any form of sentiment. I'm not an idiot and neither is he. It's just good business. Regardless, I still appreciate it.

I've been focusing alot of my free time - abundant as it has been lately - to preparing the apartment for its impending return to vacancy. I've repaired the damage my futon did to the wall in the living room. I replaced all the vents and ceiling tiles I removed during the cable theft incident. I haven't put the smoke detectors back in place because they're still overly sensitive and I may still cook yet, but I know where they are and will return them on my way out. I've been cleaning like mad and I'm completely packed except for the things I need to simply live for the time being: 10% of my wardrobe, 25% of my kitchen collection, 75% of my entertainment/multimedia components. I have very established priorities which I will maintain with a nearly militant determination. I really prefer the spartan look. I honestly don't think I need any of the shit I have boxed up and stacked in my bedroom. Whatever happens, I think I need to start cutting down on the vast collection of bullshit I've amassed. I've been working on that for awhile, but I could definitely commit even more to that effort. Hopefully, I will at some point.

Maybe tomorrow I'll know something that matters - assuming any of this actually does.

Dress appropriately.

I've slept now. It makes such an unbelievable difference. I removed the post I made yesterday morning just before I got ready to go to my highly anticipated job interview in Charleston. I just get so excited, nervous, and anxious before interviews, tests, competitions, performances, whatever. I never sleep the night before the big day. I can't. My brain unhinges and my mind goes nearly psychotic and hyperactive.

The interview went fairly well. It was obvious I didn't know a whole lot about the organization, but I was completely upfront and honest about that. The job posting was confidential and I didn't even know who had placed it until they called to set up the interview. I had time to do some research and I probably should have. But, that all depends on just how much importance they place in organizational participation and awareness. On the other hand, I've got job knowledge and experience in the bag. I can do this job and I can do it very well. I have, actually, in a federal capacity. Working for the state might be a little different, but not much.

One awkward thing about the interview: the woman who contacted me to schedule it had mentioned something about a physical being necessary. I've never really had a physical and wasn't entirely sure what she meant by "dress appropriately". I imagined that I would be directed to a physician and would have to disrobe to an unknown extent. The whole "turn your head and cough" thing. I had no problem with that and decided to dress to impress rather than worry about what "dress appropriately" might mean. Well, it turns out that I interpreted "physical" incorrectly. Basically, it was a physical wellness challenge that I was entirely over-dressed for. I was uncomfortable and barely able to move in the first place - which is usually a prerequisite for looking professional and polished - but I made the best of the sudden and very awkward situation they presented me with. Did I mention how awkward it was having three people watching me do various physical activities? It was. It was very awkward.

I like the job. It seems like a perfect fit for me. I would very much enjoy it if they decide to offer it to me. I would enjoy it more if they take into account previous experience and offer more than the starting salary to me. They mentioned that would be a consideration before approaching any of the candidates with a serious offer.

Anyway, I should know something next week. Which leaves me, in the meantime, to continue much as I have been in this ridiculous state of limbo. Looking so very forward to that.