Next Stop: Everest

I installed a ceiling fan in the baby’s room yesterday. There are no words. Just that, I installed a ceiling fan in the baby’s room yesterday which is tantamount to me telling you that I performed a successful brain surgery on myself.

The electrician was at our house fixing a number of gross electrical hazards and I asked him if he thought I should try to pick up a trade in order to be more marketable in the job world. I think I was much more comfortable with keeping this discussion on a theoretical level rather than actual reality where the harsh daylight tends to expose way too much. So he asked me if I was handy to which I told him that I was the opposite of handy. A lot of silence ensued (other than my wife laughing in the other room). I took this to mean that I don’t have a chance at either and he didn’t know how to let me down easy.

Later on in the morning, my wife asked him if he would install a ceiling fan for us and he said he would for an extra $50, but he challenged me to do it and told me that he’d be there to walk me through it step by step.

“There’s your chance, “ he said.

At first, the thought of actually trying to do this frightened me, but inspired me at the same time. So I said I would do it.

He said, “Good man,” which made me feel really good about myself just saying yes like I did. I realized how easy it was to say yes to things and decided in my mind to say yes a lot more often. It was really exhilarating.

I went to Lowe’s and bought the fan. Check. I took it home and opened up the box. Check. Then, I started reading the instructions. Wow. Cue the screeching brakes. I felt like a four-year-old trying to decipher the Hammurabi’s code. It took literally seconds before the pool of nay-saying rose to the top of my head and I figured out what to do.

I told the electrician to do it.

He tried to convince me, but I was dead-set on giving up and he made some mention about that probably not boding well for my future in trades to which I agreed and then left the house to bury my sorrows in fast food.

Then I called Richelle to tell her how it just wasn’t happening for me, but with a few pushes and prods from her I decided I would try again.

And then I did it. Thank the Lord. The electrician held my hand through the whole thing and I’m sure it was a little bit like watching a caveman assemble a modern car, but I actually physically installed a ceiling fan.

It’s hard to describe how good that feels.

What to do in case of heavy clawing noises

The other night, Richelle and I were sitting in the living room talking when we heard these heavy clawing noises coming from around the kitchen area. We couldn’t quite place what it was, but it was freaking us out. I was getting visions of a large, pissed-off, human-sized rat trying to dig and chew its way through our ceiling. We were both feeling this mild panic rising up between us. So finally Richelle turned to me, thumbed in the direction of the noise and said, “You gotta’ go check.” “Why me?” I said. I like to imagine myself being incredibly brave and heroic at those moments of my life in which I feel that I’ll need it. But this did not at all feel like one of those moments; because it seems to me that if a rat grows to a certain size that its sounds become indistinguishable from that of a trapped wild boar who hasn’t eaten in a month, that this should be a time when it is perfectly acceptable for everyone, man, woman or child to steer clear. Not only that, but it was disturbing to see how willing my wife was to throw me in harm’s way when she felt our lives might be at risk. It turned out that the noise was coming from a pot in the kitchen where Richelle’s mom was starting to boil some live crabs; apparently the water temperature had moved past the comfortable hot-tub feeling for them so they were requesting a little breather. Actually, Richelle was the one who finally discovered this. Chalk this up for men’s equality, I never moved from my spot on the couch. But I did start to feel really, really bad for the crabs.

On the Bright Side

I keep thinking about my classroom. Carved into the edges of one of my tables is a blaring "Fuck You" which seems to burn its way into the side of my head no matter how hard I try not to look at it. I've racked my brain for ways to get rid of it. I even bought this light blue acrylic paint from the craft section at Walmart and tried to lather over the words in an attempt to blur the message.

But all this has done is left a soft baby blue "Fuck You" almost completing the project- as though the artist was unhappy with the starkness of the message and thought it needed a cheerier look. I have no idea who did it or even when the project was finally completed. I tend to be a little observationally challenged in that way. I feel like I owe someone extra credit based on the amount of work they were putting into this. That had to have taken a lot of dedication.

Sometimes, life can send you a message like this which makes it impossible to look away. I call it the kicked-in-the-face feeling. And the best response you've got is to decorate it with a happier color.

What to do about the dog?

I get nervous about my dog’s chances of survival if I should ever pass away. Richelle seems to talk about him as though he would be a useful way to stave off hunger if we ever had to go without food for any length of time. But whenever I talk about the necessities of feeding him, giving him water, taking him to the vet or the groomer, she gets this sound to her voice like we should seriously be keeping the “putting him to sleep” option on the table.

As I’ve told Jack many times in our private conversations, “If I ever die, just throw yourself on the funeral pyre.”

Notes to Interrupt the Ceremony

I’m using a lot more four-letter words in my thoughts lately. There are so many things going on that my mind has stopped trying to keep up with them. The plan B’s are needing plan C’s which are falling back on plan D’s and I think a domino effect may be happening (I just saw the movie Adjustment Bureau so my paranoia radar is working overtime).
But I found out I got a RIF notice on Friday from my school district. This is a reduction in force notice meaning they are needing to reduce the number of people who they are employing usually because of financial reasons and I am one of the people they are needing to cut in order to make that happen. That and Che Che and I are starting on our second full round of in vitro this weekend which is a spiritually, financially, emotionally, physically expensive process that has a massive chance at a simple “no, not gonna’ happen” at the end of it.
So we’re going to spend every single cent of our money on a thing that may not really happen for us any way and we also might have a lot of trouble earning a lot of that back because our jobs may be lost. It seems to be that while our heads are on the chopping block that someone needs to interrupt the beheading ceremony to let us know that our present circumstances may not be the only bad news to focus on.

Pete and I at the Taste of Chicago

"I guess I just miss my friend."

Joel T with Three Little Pigs Sandwich at the Silver Palm in Chicago

I'm obsessed with this sandwich now.

I was in so much pain after I was done with mine. And I split with Che Che.

Heater Issues

When I get up in the morning, I keep playing with the heater in the house trying to get the right temperature so it’s a sort of comfortable waking-up temperature. So I don’t get that Siberian gulag feeling that Southern Californians tend to get when the air drops below a painful sixty degrees.

I’ve tried seventy which is incredible for little while, but then eventually starts to make my body feel like it’s imploding; as though a long bath of freezing cold ice water would be perfect right at that moment.

Sixty eight is my next test and I’ll get back to you on that one.

All Glass Deck in the Chicago Sear's Tower

On Behalf of the Responsible Voices in My Head

So I’m trying to get earthquake-prepared which I think part of me is motivated less by the fear of a possible earthquake and more of a possible end-of-the-world scenario. Don’t ask me what that might look like or how many of the voices in my head actually agree on how that narrative could go. Just don’t get me started.

But this ends up making me wonder: if it is the end of the world, what should I be preparing?

All I know is that I have been racking up a boatload of water. Like the opposite of Noah’s situation. ‘Cause I think it’s not death that freaks me out as much as being thirsty while I’m waiting.

I suck at basketball and I can’t seem to bring myself to care. I think I used to care that I sucked at basketball and I think that’s the reason why I keep playing in these pickup games after school with my co-workers. But I’m sure it’s brutal to watch me. It’s brutal to be me knowing that others have to pretend that I’m worth even getting in to the game. I keep hoping that I’m like Seabiscuit. That one of these days, I’ll get out there and suddenly play more like Michael Jordan and less like Barney Fife. So maybe I do care.

Fear of Urinals

It’s sad what fear will drive us to sometimes.

For instance, it kills me to admit this but I've had this ridiculous fear of urinals lately. I don’t know how to express it without sounding like a complete nutcase to my entire audience. But I think women need to understand what men go through when we walk into bathrooms, stand shoulder to shoulder with complete strangers, zip open our flies in front of God and all humanity and start peeing against a completely defenseless wall. This is not always an easy thing for all of us.

The actual act of doing this has started to climb into my head more than it used to and now I’ve begun to psyche myself out to the point where waiting for an available stall sometimes has been my highest hope. It’s the worst at sporting events where a communal trough is all I get and I'm standing so close to people that I feel like I'm posing for a group picture.

I think I’m thinking too much. In fact, I know I’m thinking too much and if I could somehow transfer that thinking activity happening at the urinal to a much-more-useful venue, I probably would have no problem at all.

But the fact that sometimes an entire lineup of men will be standing behind me expecting me to finish promptly within the average thirty to forty seconds allotted, always gives me a little pause. I feel like I have the American Idol judges waiting to give me a performance evaluation as soon I’ve turned around. It’s a lot of pressure.

The self-talk only makes it worse. I stress myself out saying things like “Just relax,” “Don’t think about anything,” “I think we’re taking too long,” "We should be done by now," “This is not gonna’ happen,” “Why didn’t you just look for a stall?” “What’s wrong with you?” and “Do it! Hurry! Now! Now! Now!”

My cousin tells me to try this Zen thing that he does where he finds the smallest little dot on the wall and he focuses on just that while he counts to ten. I still haven’t brought myself to try it, but I think that might be my next step. I’m afraid it’ll only make me laugh which definitely won’t help my case in solemn moments like those. The judges would not respond positively to that one.

Either way, I’ll just save this entry for the next psychiatrist visit. It should give us something rich and meaningful to discuss.

A Resolution to the “Other Days”: The Brainchild of a Massive Dose of Unnecessary Over-thinking

It is Monday, January 3rd and I’ve yet to establish what my new year’s resolutions should be. I thought that possibly becoming more decisive might be one, but I’m still not sure. Also, I do realize that the whole point with New Year’s Resolutions is to start from midnight on January 1st and try to make it the whole year through- like the start of a marathon.

My friend even called me on New Year’s Day to ask me what my resolutions were and I went into a long-enough tirade to make him sorry he even asked the question as to why I don’t think I’ll make one this year. At least not on that exact day.

It’s just the thought that- knowing my history- I’m doomed if I make one. It’s as though I’m announcing to the world all of the things that will definitely NOT happen to me this year. Which almost makes me wonder if I set my goals to be the opposite of everything I’m wanting, then that “NOT happening” idea might cause the things I am wanting to happen to actually happen. Like I want to gain 10 pounds. Something I may have already achieved. Or do I want to make more money? Abolustely not. I’ve seen and contemplated enough advertisements to know how to answer this without a second thought. I want to make as little as is humanly possible.

This is not to knock the act of goal-setting for myself in any way. I think this is just more of an aversion to January 1st itself due to the past let-downs. So let me dedicate this resolution to the other days I tend to ignore. January 3rd, or February 8th, or August 17th, or December 30th for instance.

Because I think the time for myself to get started on a goal is always the day I’m thinking of that goal. Or even the minute I’m thinking of it. There is no time like the present.

The irony is that January 1st might be the one day in the year where I might just want to put off making a decision until tomorrow.

I neurotically turn down all sales pitches no matter how great the offer. I’ve gotten good at cutting people off before they begin.

“Hi. How are you?”

“I’m good. How are you?”

Little head nods. Little smile exchanges.

“I wonder if you…”

“No thanks.” The head nods move to an immediate, blocking maneuver. Sometimes, even hands are necessary.

“Well, it’s just...”

“I’m good.”

I’m not wanting to be mean about it, but I just want to save them time. Whatever it is… free, diamond-encrusted, solid-gold, life-changing, take-your-breath-away, never-work-again, never-exercise-again, never-lift-a-finger-to-move-again, never-move-again yaddi yadda yadda.

All I know is that I do not want it.

I’m in the zone. I’m a sage whose reached fiscal enlightenment.

Although I still get suckered in sometimes. I still have those moments where my gaze catches that gimmicky thing and it’s like being caught in the clutches of the death star. I will pay whatever I have to pay to have that thing that I did not even know existed before this moment because I just know everything will be different from this point on now that this thing is a part of my life.

Little Kidney Punches

So I was just dumping coins into the Coinstar machine at Albertsons when this old man passed by me with a grin and said with a strong, New York accent, “Too lazy to count your own money?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” I said.

Why do I love people like that?

Sleep Deprivation

3:35 a.m. Can’t sleep. I don’t know why my brain does this. 3:00 in the morning rolls around and my brain flips on like a light bulb factory. So I wrestle with it for a half hour trying to lull it back to the netherworld, but I know it immediately as my eyes pop open. It’s like an untrained dog. He breaks free of the fence and he ain’t comin’ home. I don't even fight it any more. This is why I'm here.

I love how quiet it is in the early morning though. Nothing’s turned on yet. Except the ticking clock and the fridge buzzing to me from the kitchen which almost adds to the silence like these little departures that remind you of how quiet it is.

Extremely Boring Blog About the Fact that I Can't Think of Anything to Blog About- Please Don't Ask Me Why

So I can’t think of anything to write about and it has been seven long months since I’ve sat down to write anything. I have been remiss. To top it off, I am writing an extremely boring blog that even I am going to have trouble reading after I’m done.

You know it’s bad when you’re writing about the fact that you have nothing to write about.

My goal here is just to get something down on page and getting something logged into the site. I want back in your guys’s club.

Wow. This writing thing is extremely painful. I’ve forgotten. I think I’m kind of going through a sort of winter in my mind. My imagination has lain dormant for so long that it’s become frozen and packed in ice. I’m like Han Solo at the beginning of Return of the Jedi. And the only way I know to free myself is actually to do the reading and writing. Turn on the mental TV again as I keep trying to describe to my students.

I would like to say thank you to this new writing group I am working with. Without you guys, I would not be pushing myself to do this. But I know I have a meeting with you guys on Monday and I wanted to get something down on paper even though it might just be the worst thing I’ve ever written although there may be some heavy competition for this category if you'll just scroll down a bit.

3:09 p.m. I am alone in my little bungalow classroom located on the outskirts of campus next to the tennis courts- a little area I like to call “outer Mongolia” but I love it and I would never want to change this. As I write, there’s a band playing Spanish music outside. I have the door closed, but the drums are making it hard to hear myself think. This is my world. I also have softball, cheer, and soccer going on in different places to my left. It’s a barrage of noise I’m going to have to compete with when I write these blogs because I think this is where I will honestly get the most writing done. At home, I become active with everything under the sun. Jack never takes no for an answer when it comes to the walks.

3:37 p.m. The band has quieted now and I’m left to only a few sounds to compete with- bouncing basketball (somewhere straight ahead of me) and an extremely high-pitched whistle which may or may not be inside my head.

So I will say good-bye for today with hopes that I will be able to come back again and do this more often.

The adventure begins again.

They have everyone sign their name beforehand because it's too difficult to do it when you're unconscious and bleeding profusely.