In the spirit of adding a little variety to my life, I walked down the cracker isle in the supermarket today. I don’t know why I like just reading the labels.
Although 99.9% of the boxes cost way too much and I start whispering the amounts under my breath. I wish we could all be on board with realizing that they are just charging way too much for this stuff. Who is paying four dollars for Chicken in a Biskit? Somebody’s keeping it out of my reach.
I’m avoiding responsibilities by turning to writing my journal right now. My mind and body are refusing to work. We all know what needs to get done. The Id and the Ego are just through with "doing things". Even my Superego is sprawled out on the couch, eyes glued to the TV, with a half-gallon jug of ice cream propped up on his stomach. I'm letting him just zone out for now. The TV's not even on.
There are papers to grade. There is food to cook. But we’ve got nothing left.
I feel like Djimon Honsou in the movie Amistad where he’s stretching his chained hands out from the prisoner’s box and yelling, “Give me free!!!”
This maybe slightly overdramatizes my situation, but you feel how you feel.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
An Attempt At An Explanation
5 AM. My body has a long standing rule to be perfectly willing to get up early on mornings that I don’t have to get up early and crave like the living dead to sleep longer on days that I do have to get up early.
For some reason, I started to think about my inability to maintain even a shred of normality in social situations. Or at least my perception of this.
I’m an introvert which means I look at parties or get-togethers the way many might look at war. My aim is not to have fun. My aim is to survive, keep all of my limbs in tact, keep all of my vital organs fully functioning, to not be dragged away in a straight jacket to an insane asylum, and to keep the odd misbehaviors from drawing so much attention that you don’t get invited to the next war.
From the looks I see on faces, I am absolutely sure I’ve frightened a lot of people out there. I would like to say that I don’t know myself half as well as I would like, but I do believe there is a normal person buried deep within me somewhere. The problem is, I think he’s been hog-tied by a maniac who walks around screaming “Hey!” at people while smiling too much and nodding too vigorously.
I don’t know why I get the instinct to run the other direction every time I see a room of people. I’ve always had trouble following the “just act like yourself” rule because, when the pressure is on, I can’t remember what “yourself” acts like. There's no script.
The normal guy inside me is pleading with me to just smile, shake hands, and say “How’s it goin’?” in a calm voice. The nod isn’t even necessary.
But, even before I enter the room, the maniac is already panicking and hyperventilating with sweaty palms thinking, “Oh geez, oh geez. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. We’re under attack! Abort the mission! Bravo! Tango! Echo! Pull back, men!”
For some reason, I started to think about my inability to maintain even a shred of normality in social situations. Or at least my perception of this.
I’m an introvert which means I look at parties or get-togethers the way many might look at war. My aim is not to have fun. My aim is to survive, keep all of my limbs in tact, keep all of my vital organs fully functioning, to not be dragged away in a straight jacket to an insane asylum, and to keep the odd misbehaviors from drawing so much attention that you don’t get invited to the next war.
From the looks I see on faces, I am absolutely sure I’ve frightened a lot of people out there. I would like to say that I don’t know myself half as well as I would like, but I do believe there is a normal person buried deep within me somewhere. The problem is, I think he’s been hog-tied by a maniac who walks around screaming “Hey!” at people while smiling too much and nodding too vigorously.
I don’t know why I get the instinct to run the other direction every time I see a room of people. I’ve always had trouble following the “just act like yourself” rule because, when the pressure is on, I can’t remember what “yourself” acts like. There's no script.
The normal guy inside me is pleading with me to just smile, shake hands, and say “How’s it goin’?” in a calm voice. The nod isn’t even necessary.
But, even before I enter the room, the maniac is already panicking and hyperventilating with sweaty palms thinking, “Oh geez, oh geez. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. We’re under attack! Abort the mission! Bravo! Tango! Echo! Pull back, men!”
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Grandma
Okay. I haven’t been back to this thing forever. I’ve been slacking. I admit it. There are extenuating circumstances but there are always extenuating circumstances.
As John Lennon once said, “Life is what happens when you’re making other plans.”
I will give myself a tiny little pass on these past few weeks though. My grandmother died and I’ve been having trouble putting my thoughts into words about it. It was only about a month ago that my Dad called to tell me that she had cancer. I cried a lot that day and I think I outcried everyone at the funeral. Not that there’s any competition for these things.
But I’ve been feeling like I need to write something about it. About her. And I just can’t think of the right words.
Any words that I have to write about her just seem so trivial.
It feels like it’s so long till I’m going to see her again.
My Dad once told a story about his own grandmother when he was a child. She was coming to visit the whole family on the train and he had so much excitement to see her. But several weeks would pass by and when it came time for her to leave, she would have to board the same train and wave good-bye. Being only a child, it was difficult for him to understand that he was going to see her again someday.
That’s how I feel.
I love you, Grandma.
As John Lennon once said, “Life is what happens when you’re making other plans.”
I will give myself a tiny little pass on these past few weeks though. My grandmother died and I’ve been having trouble putting my thoughts into words about it. It was only about a month ago that my Dad called to tell me that she had cancer. I cried a lot that day and I think I outcried everyone at the funeral. Not that there’s any competition for these things.
But I’ve been feeling like I need to write something about it. About her. And I just can’t think of the right words.
Any words that I have to write about her just seem so trivial.
It feels like it’s so long till I’m going to see her again.
My Dad once told a story about his own grandmother when he was a child. She was coming to visit the whole family on the train and he had so much excitement to see her. But several weeks would pass by and when it came time for her to leave, she would have to board the same train and wave good-bye. Being only a child, it was difficult for him to understand that he was going to see her again someday.
That’s how I feel.
I love you, Grandma.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Bad Decision
Sunday morning. The Portillo’s polish sausage last night was amazing, but combined with a few too many fries and a chocolate shake large enough to bathe in while I’m sucking it down was a bit too much.
As Miss Piggy once said, “Never eat more than you can lift.”
As Miss Piggy once said, “Never eat more than you can lift.”
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Our TV is Digging Itself a Hole in Our Backyard
Saturday morning. Our massive, big screen TV in the living room is slowly dying which is breaking my heart. You realize how attached you get to things after they start packing their bags and showing you the tickets of places their going to be traveling in the world. We had so many good times!! Don't leave!!!
I still watch a little Fox News for the political commentary but it looks as though everyone I’m seeing has just crawled out of a pool of a highly toxic pink jello. On a Saturday morning coffee high, this only increases the levels of paranoia one can experience.
I start to feel a sneaking suspicion that liberals may have something to do with the fact that O’Reilly looks like his hair is playfully on fire.
I still watch a little Fox News for the political commentary but it looks as though everyone I’m seeing has just crawled out of a pool of a highly toxic pink jello. On a Saturday morning coffee high, this only increases the levels of paranoia one can experience.
I start to feel a sneaking suspicion that liberals may have something to do with the fact that O’Reilly looks like his hair is playfully on fire.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Grief
Grief comes like throw up sometimes. Your thoughts start to bottleneck like cars on a freeway and all it takes is one unusual thing to focus on.
My grandmother has recently been diagnosed with terminal cancer. She’s actually been taking the news really well but it’s sending the rest of the family through a loop. We’re all in a slight-panic mode running trying to do something helpful or trying to look like we’re doing something helpful.
But my Grandma keeps saying that the only thing she wants is to go peacefully in her sleep.
My Dad called to tell me while I was at the park and I took the news really hard so I thought I’d drive myself straight home before I started to lose it. I always think I’ll take things like this better than I do.
Grandma was laughing in the background as my Dad was talking. He said, “She says she’ll take Obama care.”
I assumed that was probably a resignation toward the end since our family has always assumed that acceptance of democratic, political measures is tantamount to death and destruction in the slowest, most illogical ways known to man.
I spent last weekend with her and she is adamant that she can’t go fast enough. But I know the rest of us are not at all ready to see her go.
I’m having trouble spelling out to her how much I love her.
My grandmother has recently been diagnosed with terminal cancer. She’s actually been taking the news really well but it’s sending the rest of the family through a loop. We’re all in a slight-panic mode running trying to do something helpful or trying to look like we’re doing something helpful.
But my Grandma keeps saying that the only thing she wants is to go peacefully in her sleep.
My Dad called to tell me while I was at the park and I took the news really hard so I thought I’d drive myself straight home before I started to lose it. I always think I’ll take things like this better than I do.
Grandma was laughing in the background as my Dad was talking. He said, “She says she’ll take Obama care.”
I assumed that was probably a resignation toward the end since our family has always assumed that acceptance of democratic, political measures is tantamount to death and destruction in the slowest, most illogical ways known to man.
I spent last weekend with her and she is adamant that she can’t go fast enough. But I know the rest of us are not at all ready to see her go.
I’m having trouble spelling out to her how much I love her.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Nine Days
12:08 AM. Again, I can’t sleep. And I’ve run out of money to buy the sleepy generic Tylenol PM’s to guide me safely back downstairs so I’ve resorted to experimenting with 6-month-old doctor-prescribed Tylenol/ codeine pills which do not actually put me to sleep. But they do make me not mind at all. I’ve never been calmer about hearing nothing but crickets.
And they kind of slow things down a bit. I realized that I’m at a huge advantage when I can’t sleep. I literally have “all night.” Not that I want to take the entire night, mind you. A few extra half hours or a couple hours and hopefully I’ll get a heaviness to my brain which spells out that it’s time to get to bed.
Sadly, I don’t even remember what the Tylenol with codeine was for. I’ve had so many medical misadventures over my life that my brain has resorted to repressing most of them.
School starts in nine days. This is both good and bad for many many reasons. The pluses: I have a job, I have a paycheck, I have something to wake up to every morning, I can sleep at night because I have to wake up every morning, I have a schedule that keeps me busy and makes me feel relatively important in my own small square in the world, and I’m not feeling like the molecules of my body are floating out into thin air without a rigid schedule I’m chaining myself to for survival.
The minuses: well, I can see them in just about every plus I just wrote down. But it’s really a matter of perspective or choice. What am I choosing to look at? The positive or the negative. I’ll let you know about a week after school starts.
And they kind of slow things down a bit. I realized that I’m at a huge advantage when I can’t sleep. I literally have “all night.” Not that I want to take the entire night, mind you. A few extra half hours or a couple hours and hopefully I’ll get a heaviness to my brain which spells out that it’s time to get to bed.
Sadly, I don’t even remember what the Tylenol with codeine was for. I’ve had so many medical misadventures over my life that my brain has resorted to repressing most of them.
School starts in nine days. This is both good and bad for many many reasons. The pluses: I have a job, I have a paycheck, I have something to wake up to every morning, I can sleep at night because I have to wake up every morning, I have a schedule that keeps me busy and makes me feel relatively important in my own small square in the world, and I’m not feeling like the molecules of my body are floating out into thin air without a rigid schedule I’m chaining myself to for survival.
The minuses: well, I can see them in just about every plus I just wrote down. But it’s really a matter of perspective or choice. What am I choosing to look at? The positive or the negative. I’ll let you know about a week after school starts.
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