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.

... and this is far as I got.

Sounds like a Saturday

Kuya Rozel’s back from the Philippines. His current project has been putting in wood floors in the hallway which is making me feel like a total shlub. Although, it is a feeling I am accustomed to experiencing around this place. It’s a constant challenge to block out the pounding hammer, whistling I’m-not-quite-sure-what-it’s-called-and-can't-find-it-in-me-to-ask along with whatever swishing and clanking that needs to take place before we have a beautiful, new whatever-it-is.

Now, Che Che’s neurotically organizing the bookcase talking about random things in five-second intervals. She also gets derailed every few minutes when a certain fly comes buzzing around her head and she begins screaming, “Langaw!!! Langaw!!! Daddy, Langow!!!” as though she just noticed through our front window that the Russians were attacking.