Random Thoughts For Today

Why is it when you disagree with the beliefs of a Christian, they call you names and condemn you to hell? Where in the Bible does Jesus say, "Love thy neighbor as yourself... unless he doesn't share your beliefs, in which case it's totally cool to call him a 'dick' and spit on him. I give you my word, dude, it's all good if you do that."

I get confused when I read about a Creationist who don't like the idea of humans having evolved from something else, especially if that something that we came from resembles a monkey. It's not like anyone is saying that monkeys and humans are the same, but they might have had the same starting point. It's kinda like being scared that bread and beer are the same, because they had the same wheaty starting point. But, if you're a Creationist, this obviously cannot be the case, because wheat is still around, and if it had really magically turned into either beer or bread, it would be gone.

I'm pretty sure my mother and father made me through sexual activity. I wonder why, then, Christians want me to believe that God made me when he so clearly did not.

There are many people who believe that we should not teach our children sexual education before they need it (read: when they get married, and maybe not even then). I believe that we should test this theory by forcing all these people to go sky diving without telling them how to do it first. The ones who survive need to be tested to make sure they aren't made of rubber.

Grand Theft Auto is a violent video game that has sold millions of copies over the many years it's been around. Marilyn Manson is a rock group that has sold millions of records over the many years they have been around. Many people like to blame childhood violence and immoral behavior on Grand Theft Auto and Marilyn Manson. I would like to add up the number of copies of Grand Theft Auto that have been sold with the number of records Marilyn Manson has sold-- let's guess it's more than a million-- and then add up all the cases of childhood violence there have been which have been blamed on Grand Theft Auto and Marilyn Manson and make a ratio statement out of those numbers. If we find that the numbers look like this ------>1/2 (one child per two Grand Theft Auto games and Marilyn Manson records), then I think there might be a good case for Grand Theft Auto and Marilyn Manson causing violence. I'd even suggest that if the number looked like this ---------> 1/1000 ------> you could say there was some correlation. However, I'm guessing the number looks more like this ------>14/95,978,338. That number, to me, doesn't really look like a number that might suggest Marilyn Manson and Grand Theft Auto had anything to do with violence in children. But that's me: The Thinker.

Ke$ha vs. Britney

These are two pop stars on today's music scene.

They both have had a lot of success.

When you search online, one of them-- more than the other one-- is thought to be "trashy" and "slutty". This one also wrote a song for the other one which was called "one of the year's best" by Rolling Stone magazine in 2011.

The other one annulled her first marriage after only 55 hours because she "lacked understanding of her actions", drove with her baby on her lap without restraints of any kind, divorced her second husband after less than three years, stayed in a drug rehab facility for less than one day, posed nude on the cover of Harper's Bazaar, lost custody of her children, had to have her children forcibly removed from her because she refused to relinquish custody of them while visibly being under the influence of illicit substances, was involuntarily committed to a mental hospital, and had her vagina photographed while getting out of a car because she was wearing no panties. These shots are still widely publicized. And all of that was before she turned 30.

I like both of these women. Seriously, I have much, if not all, of their music on my iPod currently.

I dislike how we can be presented with a naked vagina, two "marriages" and custody battles involving drugs and alcohol and be fine with it, but condemn a girl who puts on a little black eyeliner and glitter and, miraculously, becomes a slut.

I'm still holding out for a glimmer of intelligence from my country, but I might be holding for a long time. From what I understand, Rick "Frothy Anal Lube" Santorum is well on his way to becoming the nominee for Republican candidate for President of the United States.

I'm totally moving to Australia.

Or The Netherlands.

363 Million

The lottery jackpot is up to 363 million dollars.

I LOVE thinking about winning that jackpot.

I love FEELING those thoughts into reality
the relief in my shoulders and back, stomach and head
as I relax into life

how placid

Welcome Australia!

I just found out I have Australian readers! Welcome, mates!

I'm quite interested in moving to your wonderful continent.

If you feel comfortable responding, I'd love it if you could post some of the best and worst aspects of living in Australia. Thanks, and welcome!

Fuckin' Audition Won't Fuckin' Leave My Head Alone!

I'll be really glad when it's over.

It's fuckin' silly that it's become this big of a distraction in my life. It's just a silly commercial.

Fuck.

Zebra Lady

The following is not my case, but was emailed to me from one of my coworkers from his caseload. It is a real person who has applied for disability in The United States of America.

The [Lady] arrived late for her appointment in a manic mood. She claims she is pregnant by a zebra. When asked to sit down, she states "No, I don't want to hurt my zebra baby." On a few occasions, [Zebra Lady] demonstrated poor boundaries [with her doctor] as illustrated by the statements: "are you going to ask me out for a drink, I'm able to talk about my problems much better when I'm drinking." And, "why did you leave the door open? Are you afraid I'm going to put my hands on you, you don't have to worry... I'm not attracted to you." When asked if she has any allergies, she answers "men". When asked if she has suicidal thoughts, she said "of course not... why would I want to hurt myself. I'm beautiful!"

Man, I wish I had the same kind of self-confidence as a chick who isn't attracted to doctors, talks about her problems openly when you take her to the bar, fucks zebras, and fosters non-human embryos in her womb.

So this Zebra Child... waddaya think... head of a human, body of a zebra? Zebra head, but human body? Enormous zebra penis? When you walk behind him, will you have to pat his haunches so that you don't startle him and he kicks you with his enormously powerful zebra hoofs? Will the X-Men recruit him and what will his super hero name be?! Zebra Boy! Zebran! The Stripe!

Happy Thursday!

Nice Jerk

I have a friend at work. The way he usually interacts with me is with meanness. He doesn't really mean the meanness, but he typically says stuff that's pretty mean. It's the way he is. I don't really listen to it anymore, 'cause sometimes it gets to me. It feels like my friend isn't really friendly, and I don't like that. But some days I can actually have a conversation with him and it's okay. We've gone out for beers, and he's okay. But as a default, he tends to go to the mean place.

Today he came over to my office and showed me that he was wearing a T-shirt from the theatre where I used to work. His wife had gone there a while ago and bought him the T-shirt, which he had asked for, because they knew I had worked there. He proudly displayed it for me today when he first saw me. I smiled.

"I'm kinda nervous about my audition today," I admitted to him. "A lot more nervous than I remember being the last time I had to audition for something."

"That's why I wore the shirt!" he said, beaming.

It was a nice thing to say. It was a nice thing to do. From a guy who can say mean things a lot, it felt even nicer.

I Love To Listen To Journey

I love the rock band Journey. Always have.

I currently have the wonderful song, "Open Arms", lilting through my ears as Steve Perry belts out how he's come to me with love in his arms. Just wonderful.

Last night, I went on YouTube to see some Journey videos. I had never seen a Journey video before. I had never seen Journey in concert before. I really had never seen any of the members of Journey. I kinda knew what Steve Perry looked like. Kinda.

For all you Journey fans, if you're thinking, "I wonder what Journey looks like when they're rocking out. I should check them out on YouTube."-- if you're thinking this, my advice to you is to turn on your iPod, crank "Wheel In The Sky", and avoid YouTube. Because, quite frankly, I've never seen a band who is visually as scarring as Journey. And I've seen Poison live. Please, if you have any love for Journey in your heart, DO NOT go to YouTube and search for "journey", "journey videos", "journey open arms", "journey separate ways", or "steve perry". Do not watch these videos. They will damage you. Badly. Please avoid them as if they will open a direct line to your heart and physically bleed you. Because they will. I'm bleeding currently. Really.

Journey is for people with ears. Journey is not for people with eyes.

Lawnmower

Mom called the 14-year-old Boy.
"Son, I have found a lawnmower for you to take apart," she said, showing him the used lawnmower. "I know you enjoy taking things apart, and you've often expressed how you would like to be given more opportunities to disassemble things, so I found this free lawnmower. It doesn't work. It still has some sharp edges, so be careful with those, but if you would like to, I would like to help you take this apart."
The Boy was pleased, and expressed interest in taking apart the lawnmower.

The Boy went to stay with his father and grandmother.
The Father and Grandmother always told the Boy that they loved him.
The Boy's father and grandmother made the Boy feel stupid and incapable, no matter what he did, no matter what he said. It was always wrong, according to them.
Then they would tell the Boy that they loved him.
The Boy returned to his mother and scoffed at the mower.

"This lawnmower is dumb. Taking things apart is dumb. What kind of 14-year-old is given a lawnmower to take apart?!"
"A capable 14-year-old," Mom gently responded. Boy looked at her, not having thought of this. It's difficult to think of yourself as being capable when the people who love you tell you that you're incapable.
Mom smiled. "Being 14 doesn't mean you're disabled."

Reading What The Claimant Writes

My day started with me going to my boss to ask a question.

The prospect of doing this, to me, sounds as much fun as taking a belt-sander to my scrotum. But I went to him, because I had a question that needed answering.

I had a claimant who said that he worked as a "mechanic helper", but he didn't give a description of this job. So, because we have been told over and over that we shouldn't base our decisions on the title of the job the claimant gives, but rather, an actual description of the work done, I called him and said he had to fill out a form describing the jobs he had for the past 15 years, not just giving us a title of the jobs he had done for the past 15 years. He wrote back and said that the ONLY job he had within the past 15 years was a job with the title of "handyman", and this type of job would be described as "lawn care". He then goes on to describe his job of handyman as cutting grass, taking out trash, and cleaning up around the homes of people he worked for. I wrote in my report that, based on his illnesses, he couldn't return to work as a "handyman", as he describes it. It was returned to me by a member of our QA department, who admitted to not really looking at the case before she sent it back to me, but based on a cursory view, she wanted me to change the term "handyman" to "mechanic". I puzzled over this for a moment, then took it to my supervisor. She was admitting she hadn't really looked at the case, and it sounded like she was using the title of the job rather than the description the claimant had given us. So I went to my supervisor, who told me that I needed to change it to mechanic. He, too, hadn't looked at the case. I told him I was just coming by to make sure that was the correct thing to do, as our QA woman said that she hadn't looked at the case and it seemed that she was just basing her decision to change those words on the title of the claimant's work, rather than his description of the work. My boss then opens the claimant's description and reads it to me. "The claimant says," he starts in, already with a very belittling tone, "that his job *title* was as a handyman, but if you read his description-- 'cuts grass, takes out trash, cleaning up around the house'-- that's clearly a mechanic. You see, you can't go off the title of the job, you have to read what he says about it." I looked at my boss for a second, because I couldn't really believe that he was using the words "cuts grass, takes out trash, cleaning up around the house" to describe somebody who fixes engines, and then I said, "I *did* go off the claimant's description, which is why I'm here making sure that I should do what the QA woman wants me to do." My boss got visibly agitated with me, and read the description again, out loud, as if I didn't know what the description was. Then he looked up the description I had cited from our job dictionary. The description in the job dictionary of the job I was sending the claimant back to was described as somebody who, amongst other things, cleans around the house, picks up trash, and cleans heaters and coal-burning stoves. The job dictionary title for this job happened to be "handyman". My boss then said, "We've said over and over, you can't use the title of the job! You have to READ what he actually does! He doesn't say anything about heaters or coal-burning stoves!" I tried to explain to my boss, again, that I did read what he said, and that's why I made the decision I made. My boss then told me that, if I had any questions about what job to send the claimant back to-- "What do you think you should have done?? You call the claimant and find out what he's talking about! If you're case had passed through our QA people and gone on to somebody in the Dallas or New York branch and they had taken a look at it, they would have punched all kinds of holes in it!" I really couldn't believe that he was suggesting I contact the claimant AFTER I HAD CONTACTED THE CLAIMANT! So I said, "I feel ya. And I made the decision I made based on the evidence I received after contacting the claimant and getting a better description on his job. When I have questions, I ask them, and I certainly didn't make the decision I made in an attempt to screw up on purpose. Based on the training you helped give me, I made the decision I made and was just asking if the requested corrections were the correct ones, as the Quality Assurance worker had not had sufficient time to review the case before sending it back to me." As I was leaving, my boss said, "You gotta make sure you read what the claimant writes, don't just use the title of his job and think you can send him back to that work."

I've got ten more hours to work today.

Skyrim

Listening to one of the songs from the Skyrim soundtrack.
Man, what an amazing game that is!
I've been known to, quite literally, play that game all day long and well into the night.
I might need to play some of that soon, like this weekend, after meeting with a talent agent who might represent me.
Skyrim and wife. That's a pretty perfect weekend.
Who am I kidding. "Wife" is a perfect weekend. "Skyrim" is gravy.

Melty Good Some Days

There are some days that I compare my path with others. "Daniel Craig wasn't a big star until he was forty-whatever. And Rachel Dratch is 46 and just had a kid." And some days it makes me feel good. Most days it makes me feel icky. Comparing myself to the progress of others usually makes me feel icky.

Then some days-- on good days-- I don't think about anybody else. And I think about my wife's face. And I can feel the warmth of her face as she snuggled into my chest this morning as I kissed her goodbye before heading out to work. And everything else quite literally melts away, and I think, "nah, I'm glad I'm on my path and not on anyone else's."

Don't Be A Dick

I just pleasantly remembered one of the highlights of this last term's improv acting class I taught.

I was trying to give the students help with how to create successful scenes, and I was telling them all kinds of rules and guides, but they seemed to still have questions. Ultimately, I told them that improv was all about playing with others, and all the guides and rules I was giving to them could be broken or not followed at any time as long as the game the players were playing with each other was fun, not only for them, but for the audience watching. And all the guides and rules I was giving to them were, basically, rules on how to not be a dick when playing with others. So, ultimately, all I was saying was, "don't be a dick."

This phrase, and the intention behind it, seemed to stick with them. For the remainder of the term, they often repeated it, always with smiles, even when they were being serious.

"Hey, don't be a dick," they would say to each other, which would always bring a smile, as well as an adjustment in the way the folks were playing with each other. Or the phrase would present itself like, "I'd say fill-in-the-blank-here, but I don't wanna be a dick." And again, smiles would happen and they would play nicely with each other.

They're a good group of kids (read: adults who I call kids, because they're the "kids" I'm teaching), they're hungry and ready to be pros.

I can't wait until they get good enough at *not* being dicks that I feel I can introduce the concept of *being* a dick, and how much fun that can be, sometimes, too!

Booger Issues

Here's the dealio, yo: I've got a booger stuck in my nose and it's bugging the shit out of me!

Can't pick it out. Can't blow it out. It's just rattling around in my left nostril, like a lose rock in your shoe, except it's a loose booger in your nose. Not quite enough to make me sneeze, but enough to make the left side of my face water. Yup. The entire left side of my face. Watering. At my work desk. At work.

What the hell do you do when you get a loose booger like that?? I'll tell you what I do: I punch a kitten. In the face. Not my kitten, mind you. I like my kitten. No, it should be a small, ugly kitten not affiliated with me or my emotions at all. Let's say... it's your kitten. Your ugly kitten with one, oozing eye. And by "your kitten", I don't mean your kitten, per se, I just mean a kitten that's not mine and nobody really has an emotional attachment to the kitten. A kitten that everyone could claim to be "your" kitten. Not even the kitten's mother claims it. "Who me? No, it's not my kitten. Go ahead and punch it, I don't care. Look, it's got an oozing eye. It's begging to be punched." Even the kitten knows. "Yeah, I'm an ugly, oozing kitten and I should be punched. Oh, no, it's not going to hurt or nothing. Just a way for you to graphically blow off metaphorical steam without any guilt. I actually was made for this purpose: to get punched. In the face. Look at me-- I've got an oozing eye, for chrissake! Punch me already, you pussy!" And when you try to point out that you are not the pussy, but rather, the kitten is the actual pussy, it grabs your hand and forces you to punch it. In the face. At which point, you feel better. And so does the pussy. Pussycat.

/Thuh EH-yund/

Tolerant Tuesday

I'm find myself thinking about intolerance today.

I was reading about Kristin Chenoweth, who has described herself as a "non-judgmental, liberal Christian", and she has gotten into public disputes with "her Christian base" because of her support of homosexuality, as well as upsetting her gay fans because she appeared on The 700 Club once, something she later regretted doing.

It was mildly disheartening to me to think about just how many people have issues with judgment and intolerance. It feels far too rare a thing to come across somebody with genuine compassion and empathy.

I feel that intolerance stems from an inability to identify yourself in the person or behavior you are intolerant of. The Christians didn't like it when Kristin supported homosexuality because they don't see themselves as homosexuals. The homosexuals don't support Kristin's choice to be on The 700 Club because they don't identify themselves as... I don't know what... hate- and fear-mongering conservatives?

I think it might be helpful if we could all try to see ourselves in the people we don't like. Try to figure out why we might act or behave in those ways. Maybe if we did that, we might be able to understand and tolerate each other a little better.

I know that's super hard to do, too. I don't want to see myself or any qualities of myself in, say, my boys' father. Even my own father. There are days I look in the mirror and see the horrid mess of crap on my head that some might call Male-Pattern Balding Material, and I see my father's head and hair, and I shudder in disgust. On a weekly basis, I try to identify with why he does what he does in the hopes of becoming a little more empathetic. I do the same with my boys' father. Ultimately, though, I end up saying something like, "well, the biggest difference between me and them is that I'm self-aware enough to take a step back and alter my actions. I'm self-aware enough to change aspects of myself that aren't working as well as I'd like. I'm intelligent enough to be able to see what's not working-- what's causing discomfort and hardship-- and know that I have no control over anyone else, and therefore, the only thing I can do is change myself." Yup, ultimately, I judge them as being idiots for not changing who they are.

And then I think about my weight that I'm uncomfortable with.
My hair that I'm uncomfortable with.
My job that I'm uncomfortable with.
My financial situation that I'm uncomfortable with.
And I think, "yeah, they're dumb for not changing that which causes them discomfort?? What about you, self? If you're so smart, why haven't you changed??"

And those thoughts help to temper my intolerance. I see some of myself in them. Or, what feels a little better, I can see them taking actions that I take, too. In that way, if I judge them, I must also judge myself, and that never feels good.


...wow...
this feels a little heady and heavy for a Tuesday morning.

To get rid of the stale, stuffy taste of this intellectual posturing, I'll leave you with some dirty jokes I heard yesterday:

(if you're a boy)
You wanna hear a dick joke? I've got a good one, but it's too long.

(if you're a girl)
You wanna hear a vag joke? I've got a good one, but you'll never get it.

Happy Tuesday Everybody.

Of Mice and Crocs

I've worn out my Croc shoes!

Let me explain one thing first: Crocs are the ugliest shoes I've ever seen. And I typically don't register things like "ugly shoes" in my brain. Very rarely does anything stand out in my mind with such a strong label as UGLY. And Crocs are ugly. Very, very ugly. And I would not wear them if they were not the single most comfortable shoe I have ever worn. Period. It's worth being ugly when it feels that good.

My wife and boys got me a pair of camo Crocs last year for father's day. I was touched that they would think of me, I would doubly touched that they would purchase a gift for me, I was triply touched that they would purchase a gift they knew I would like (I had previously worn out my black Crocs and they were getting me a replacement pair), and I was quadruply touched that they would do this for father's day. It was a great gift, and I wore those shoes every day since then. Happily. Even when it was cold and rainy. I wore those ugly, ugly Crocs with a smile on my face, thinking of my family's gesture and how good my feet felt.

And today, during Yard Time, I actually felt the pavement through my shoe.

Poor, poor Crocs.

It's time to take the Crocs out back, ask them to look across the pond as I tell them about the rabbits...

Children With Speech Impediment's Should Give Up??

A mother applies for disability for her 7-year-old son because of a speech impediment. She writes, "You really have to take the time to understand most of what [my son] is talking about. And you said what you said to [him]. He gets mad sometimes and cry because his feelings are being hurt. So if he talk to people I just tell him never mind. Just leave it alone. Stop repeating yourself over and over."

So mom's suggestion to her son, who-- according to her-- is disabled because he can't be understood when he tries to communicate with people, is to stop trying to communicate with people because it hurts his feelings.

It's not to try to communicate in other ways, like, oh, say sign language, or to write down his words, as is often the case with mutes, or to even use a device like those used with people who have their vocal chords removed. It's to stop trying. Oh, and did I mention that the son hasn't taken any kind of speech therapy? He can't do it right, so he should stop trying.

Fuck that mother right in her fuckhole. If you're not able to do something, you figure out how to do it or you work around it. If you give the fuck up and blame other people, you deserve to be shot in the knees. And then have fire ants dumped on your bloody knees so they bite your bloody knees and then you should probably give up, because you're feelings are hurt. So just stop trying.

Fuckin' people.

i hate falling

today i fucking hate falling
the stupid fights and sleepless nights
the stupid kid who saw the flick
the stupid class the stupid laughs
the stupid fucks can suck my dick

today i fucking hate falling
the stupid price that hit new heights
the stupid crack the stupid glass
the stupid kids and stupid quips
the stupid fucks can lick my ass

today i fucking hate falling
the stupid gift that's always missed
the stupid shiny smileless bitch
the stupid test to see who's best
they all can stupid eat my shit

today i'm fucking falling
and i did it to myself
i fucking hate falling
and i'm falling

Re-fucking-lax

On a regular basis, I read disability applications from parents who claim their children are disabled because of speech delays. Now, maybe it's just me being all thinky and whathaveyou, but I'm not gonna freak out about my kid having a speech delay if he hasn't even turned 2 yet. I'm serious: more parents than you might think apply for disability for their not-yet-two-year-old child because of speech delay.

Ok, so let's say that these people AREN'T trying to scam the taxpayers of their country, and let's say they AREN'T trying to get money for nothing, and let's say that they AREN'T filthy, fucking liars, because there's nothing we can do about any of that. Let's start from a baseline of compassion and say They Are Trying To Care For Their Child.

Taking all of that into consideration, I would like to know why we aren't better educated so that parents know that, even if their child has a speech impediment-- even a severe one-- their child is not COMPLETELY UNABLE TO WORK because of that impediment? Especially a 1-year-old!! How fucking stupid are we, as a country, that we apply for disability for these reasons, we are allowed to apply for disability for these reasons, we allow people to apply for disability for these reasons, we don't teach people that it's fantastically wasteful to apply for disability for these reasons, and we actually debate if we should cut funding to our education programs??!! How fucking dumb are we??!!

I wanna make a graph of just how stupid we are. Something that can chart our monumental stupidity as a nation, maybe as a species. You know, where the Y axis is something like "Amount of Stupidity (in decigrams)" and the X axis is a timeline in years, starting back with Adam and Eve. I'm going to say that there simply isn't enough paper or ink to chart just how fucking stupid we are, because here's the deal: Adam fucked Eve, and they made two boys. One boy killed the other one (I can never remember if it was Cane or Abel, but it doesn't matter, really), so now there are three people on the planet-- only ONE of them has a Human-Bearing Womb. From those three people, the planet was populated. SOOOOOO... everyone came from incest. Pure and simple. And from THAT fine stock to choose from, God selected the MOST Un-Dumb, Noah, to spare. God was SO unhappy with everyone, that he decided to kill all the animals, just cuz they were hanging out with all us dumb fuckers. So Incesty Noah brought along his Incesty Wife-Of-Noah, and their immediate Incesty Family. The rest of the world dies in a flood. The water drains, and Incesty Noah and his Brood of Genetic Mutations proceed to populate the planet, and here we are. Just the product of millennia of Moms fucking their kids, Dads fucking their daughters, Brothers fucking their Sisters, Infants fucking the Wombs They Popped Out Of... and from all of that, you get legislation stating that science isn't real and we need to teach Creation as a reality... which says that we're all the product of incest because God couldn't figure out that mothers and sons fucking each other was a bad idea. How limited is your fucking God?! He can't even look down and go, "Oops! Eve is supposed to populate the Earth with only her husband and son's seed! I gotta make a few more chicks to prevent horrible diseases and disgusting sexual acts!" And then *bamf* or *bonk* or *thunk* or whatever celestial noise God makes when he plucks ribs from dudes to create chicks... he makes more wombs to prevent unwanted incest babies and genetic mistakes. This is the God people fight and die for. This is the God people created and condemn others for not believing in.

...where the fuck was i?...

Oh right, we're all a bunch of idiots. A plague on this planet. The sooner the huge asteroid crashes into us and ends us the better the universe will be. Until that time, I'm gonna make every effort to move away from this Sinkhole of Humanity where I live. Maybe Australia would be a good place to move to. They're chill there. Or The Netherlands. They get it there.

Don't apply for disability if your child can't speak at age 1. Just wait for a second. Take a nap. Drink a beer. Relax, motherfucker. Just. Relax.

Falling Asleep At My Desk

We have two rival universities where I live. One of them is a "State" university, the other is not. The State university is located a little further away from major cities and population than the other university. It's primarily an agricultural university, whereas the other university has a long proud history of graduating kids who can tell you all about football, but who can't spell "football". I spent two years at State, and transferred and graduated from Other. My supervisor graduated from State, and is fiercely proud of that fact. I rarely wear booster clothing or apparel. He rarely goes without sporting the colors and logo of State.

Today, I have on a hat from the Other university.

As I was trying to stay awake at my desk, I fell asleep for a moment and had this dream:

My supervisor walks into my office for something... let's say he wants to yell at me because his neck doesn't work. So he walks into my office and sees my hat.
"I thought you were an Other supporter," he sneers.
"I thought you would've picked up on that much sooner," I said.
"Why's that?"
"Because I don't smell like incest and cow tipping."
Then he walks away without firing me, because you can't fire somebody for telling the truth about how much you like to sleep with your granny after getting drunk in a field and punching a cow until it falls over.

Now I smell like bitterness and snide.
Gross.

Difficult Morning

The first case I looked at today was a 15-year-old boy who had brain cancer that metastasized to his spinal cord. In the process of trying to treat his cancer, his doctors harvested bone marrow (ouch), which caused deep venous thrombosis. As of Valentine's Day of this year, his doctors were giving him months to live. He denied radiation and chemo treatments, because he wanted to spend his last days living rather than dying. He almost denied a wheelchair for the same reason, but his doctors convinced him that he would be able to do more with the chair than without it. Currently, he cannot walk.

My 15-year-old loves to walk. He'll go out in the back yard, or in our side yard, someplace private, and just pace back and forth and wear a path into whatever strip he's pacing. While he's walking, he'll create characters, screenplays, stories, video games, ponder politics and current affairs. He calls it fantasizing. He's thinking about the future that he will be a part of.

I can't seem to shake this case this morning. I've been fighting increasing depression every day that I continue to come to my job. But then to be greeted with this kind of thing... it was almost too much to take this morning.

The Punisher

The 2004 movie The Punisher was so good that, half way through, my wife chose to clean kitty shit out of the litter box rather than finish watching the movie with me.

Fuckin Hollywood.

Weird Events

A 27-year-old man kills his 29-year-old wife and infant daughter. He then gets on a plane to Vegas, where he rents a hotel room and proceeds to slash his wrists and ankles, killing himself.

A co-worker tells me he knew this man in high school. They were, actually, fairly close in high school.

Another co-worker suggests the wife had cheated, and that was the reason the man snapped.
It takes a weak-willed man to kill his cheating wife and infant daughter. I wonder if this co-worker is just a weak-willed.
I suggest that the man was bipolar and didn't take his medications.
It takes a mentally unstable person to believe a man kills his wife and infant daughter because of a mental instability. How mentally unstable am I?
It's revealed that days before her murder, the wife posted on Facebook that she has the most loving husband ever.
My co-worker said that he had met his high school friend's wife and daughter weeks before the incident, and they all looked perfectly happy together.

What makes something like this happen?
There won't be any answers.
Kinda like a chair leg that gets chewed on by a puppy, it can't be fixed and there's nothing you can do about it. It's gonna stay with me and gnaw at me for a while. I'll forget about it, maybe, and maybe think about it again in the future, like rubbing my hand over that chewed chair leg and being reminded of the unfixable damage.

It's kinda hanging on me like a cloud. Like smog in the top of my skull. Like an accidental spider web.