Power Nap

I don’t know what’s happening to me. I feel like I’m doing all I can to just maintain my job and keep the house from falling apart. Or at least keeping people from noticing that the house is falling apart. Or that English could better be taught by someone who does not speak the language.

There’s mold growing on the ceiling in one of the bedrooms. I know I’m supposed to bring myself to look at it and check it out. Investigate the matter somehow. But I’m having the same reaction I would have if the government informed me that Iran had nukes and I personally needed to do something to take care of it. I would put one finger to my mouth, shush them quietly, and go lie down on the couch for a long, serious power nap.

Disturbingly High Forehead Here

I just worked through $12 Japanese food with Che Che. It was magical. I don’t know why cheap food makes me feel so elated. Cheap everything makes me feel elated. Is that okay? I mean, I’ll spend on things when it comes down to the real nitty gritty. I’ll spend if my life is in danger. I’ll spend to keep the necessities is in order. I’ll even spend when I really want some things. But the thought of saving money has always been a big thrill.

I save like an old hermit hiding in the mountains. I keep shoving change in an old pickle jar that I’ve converted into a piggy bank and all of these one-dollar bills and five-dollar bills in envelopes. It’s a little bit of a bail-out fund I keep for Che Che and I. But really it just gives me a thrill to keep socking stuff away day after day. I’ve done this since I was a kid. And it’s probably not that healthy. I know the positive reasons already. But I’m thinking that deep inside, I’m putting my hope and thoughts into money instead of God for really coming through for me when I need it most.

My stomach is seriously starting to alarm me. It’s not a full-fledged beer belly but it’s at least more prominent than it was. I’m pressing the edge of my limits with the pants I was wearing. Like Santa Claus in his teenage years. I shouldn’t be worrying about this. There are so many other things to be stressing about. In fact, I stress about those things too but more in a general sense. Like stressing about the fact that I should be stressing about more things.

I’m still sore from the rock climbing wall.

Issues

I’ve been gaining weight lately and it’s disturbing to me. I know men are not supposed worry about things like this or they’re not supposed to admit they’re worried about things like this. But I guess that’s what writing inevitably does. It makes you admit the things that you’re doing your best to hide away from people.

Also I blame the fact that I’m an English teacher. We’re sensitive people, us English teachers. We read and write way too much. Or we force other people to read and write way too much and then stress about the fact that we’re not making ourselves do the same, which is usually my case.

I’m actually not allowed to be worried about a thing like eating too. Because I know there’s people out there that have weight problems that supercede my own which makes them scowl at me if I ever imply that I’m stressing about a thing like that. As though I’m implying that they should be stressing about a thing like that. But I’m not. This is purely self-evaluation. The fact that my stomach is beginning to bulge over my pants is no reflection on any one else.


I took my students on a field trip yesterday where I dared myself to climb a rock climbing wall. This didn’t start out well. If only I could accomplish things the way I’m envisioning them in my mind. Now my muscles are screaming with every little movement that this is all my fault. But this is not fair. We’re all in this together. It’s a team effort. It’s not like my muscles can just turn on me and say that I’m the one that’s keeping them from exercise. My muscles are completely willing participants in the not exercising. Explaining this to them has quieted somewhat. They’ve now resorted to a dull whimper.

9:21 A.M. Still trying to talk myself into taking my dog for a walk. This requires getting myself out of the sweats and into jeans which takes a whole new level of psychology that I am not equipped to deal with.

The main road near our house has so many cars and so many lanes that I feel like Frogger as I’m trying to get across it. Jack doesn’t know any better so I always put him on the side where the most traffic is coming from. Somehow, I’ve convinced myself that driving over one living speed bump might encourage them to stop before they hit the second living speed bump.

Prison of the Mind

Spring break this week. No. I’m not going any where: Che Che’s still working and we’re broke. A full week. I’m trying to register the time for myself the same way I do when I’m teaching. I'm having trouble turning the teacher survivalist mode. I've taught the last two and a half years the same way a prisoner in a dungeon would notch out days and hours in his cell. He uses a large rock to keep track out how much time he’s got left; I use a planner from Walmart. Monday will be day 40, 10 weeks till the summer. 48 school days. Don't mention summer school. As Napoleon said, "We'll burn that bridge when we get there."

I know this is not healthy. You’re not supposed to count things. I know this but I do it any way which is sad. Get up in the morning and drink water and count the gulps I’m taking from a water bottle. Count the number of days I’ve got left in the week. Once I’m done, I’ll do it again. Psychiatrists say that means you’re probably depressed. Or like talking or writing about yourself in the 2nd person.

But no! No need. I’ve got spring break this week. I’m free. I’m just having a hard time convincing my brain and body to do something other than what my routine has been for the last 7 months. I’m writing this blog. A little out of the ordinary.

This is the reason for vacations, I guess. It takes a little time for the neuroticism to wear off. I have to actually logically think and plan out deliberate things that are out of the ordinary. Out of my pattern that I had built for myself. Get home from work. Dump the trash. Walk the dog. Water the lawn. Give the dog his medication. Feed the dog. Watch the O’Reilly Factor for entertainment and a little bit of knowledge about the world. Freedom is in the mind. And it helps if you’re not physically locked in chains because I bet the visual contradiction would be a bit confusing.

I just had a bean burrito from Taco Bell. Sounds like prison food to some of you, but this is actually high up on my list of things I would actually choose to eat more than anything else on earth. Sad, I know. Now, I will go read a book. Slowly easing into the recreational mode. I’m hoping to be sky diving by Friday. Or walking my dog all the way to the park and back. Something crazy like that.

Insurance Fights

Richelle is seething right now. She’s gone through another bout with our medical insurance company over paying for these simple tests she wants to have done. I usually get lost somewhere in her play-by-play of what’s going on. But just the sheer length of the description and the fact that she refuses to skip over even the minutest detail in the on-going saga makes me break down in tears begging her to let me just pay for the “freakin” tests. She will not.

“How are we going to pay for it? With the money we don’t have?” Of course, I’m silent at this point. It would make more sense to me to pay for it with the money we do have, but I know better than to bring this up.

My wife is a fighter. She will carry this flag to the United States Supreme Court if she has to. I’ve learned this lesson all too well in the three years of our marriage. There have been times where we will have been fighting about something for hours on end. The conversation itself will have taken multiple right and left turns to the point where I will have completely lost my way. Enough time will have passed and enough complicated topics will lead into other complicated topics and eventually I will not be able to remember what it was we were fighting about in the first place. Just that I’m supposed to be mad.

I’m wanting to warn the insurance people. I don’t know who to talk to, but I just want to tell them, “It’s easier if you just go along with it in the first place.” Smile and nod. Just smile and nod.