I've got this drawer at my office that has a few plastic spoons in it. Two plastic forks, one plastic knife and several plastic spoons. They're all sitting on napkins that are clean and waiting to be used.
I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one in the world who does this sort of thing. You eat lunch at work, and sometimes you need a spoon or fork, and so you have a few that you keep in your office in case they don't give you a fork at the drive through.
I mention this drawer, though, because it makes me really happy every time I see it or think about it. I have spoons in this drawer because my wife sometimes forgets to put a spoon in my lunch when she packs it. She'll forget a knife and fork, too.
And I'm happy about my Plastic Spoon Drawer not because my wife forgets my utensils, but because I have her in my life. I'm the luckiest man on the planet because I get to be married to this woman! And on top of that, she seems to enjoy packing my lunch for me sometimes! If it were left up to me, I would buy a jar of peanuts from Wal-mart and eat those until they were gone, and then I would buy another jar. And my wife saw me doing this and wanted me to change. I told her that packing lunch like this was what worked for me, and if she had a suggestion as to how we could do it differently, I would listen to that, but until then, I would be packing a jar of peanuts. The next morning she packed my lunch.
What's impressive to me about all of that is just how perfect she is. She didn't nag me about how unhealthy I was being, or tell me I was being stupid. Both of those answers are common. "I'm married to this guy who doesn't take care of himself and that pisses me off enough to bitch about it, but that's as far as I go." Another common response is for the person with the problem to try to force the other person into a solution for something that they don't think is broken. "I'm going to get him out of bed early so that he can make his own lunch, because he doesn't think he's being unhealthy, but I know better." Another option would be to quit. "He's an idiot and I'm riding the Lawyer Train to Divorceville. Toodles, y'all!" But she didn't do that. She had a problem. And yes, it was a problem that she had with me. But the problem wasn't that I wouldn't go to the ballet with her or get her a fancy ring. She wanted me to take care of myself. Because she wants to spend more time with me. Because she likes me! So she's going to make sure that I stick around as long as possible.
She solved her problem.
And in the process of solving her problem, she made me feel really special. Really, really special.
Nobody has ever packed my lunch for me before other than, like, my mom when I was 4. Has anybody packed your lunch? Lunches that somebody else packs for you taste better. No, no that's not true. Lunches packed by your wife who loves you taste better. I've had some of those box lunches they give out at business meetings, and those things taste like Resentment and Mayonnaise. Yuck.
Wife lunches rule.
And I look at that drawer and remember some of the fun that I had trying to eat soup or spaghetti without utensils. The spaghetti was the most fun. I ended up folding the Tupperware lid into a kind of shovel, and then I scooped the spaghetti with the lid-shovel, and caught what I could with my tongue. Messy and funny.
And it makes me think of my wonderful wife. Messy and funny. And I wouldn't trade that memory for anything. And I wouldn't do that differently at all. Not one thing different.
She lets me be me. And she bes her with me. And her and me fit together like two pieces of a puzzle that nuzzle and snuggle fundle each other because I'm so giddy to have her around. She's so the dreamiest!
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Friday, January 14, 2011
Gotta Get Some Cash
Brainstorm:
How To Get Cash:
1. Work
2. Sell
3. Borrow
4. Steal
5. Manufacture
6. Find
Finding doesn't guarantee cash.
I don't know how to manufacture money.
The consequences of stealing money aren't worth the risk.
Borrow:
1. Mom
2. Dad
Will not ask dad to borrow money, as taking anything from him makes me feel absolutely horrible.
Will not ask mom for money, as she has already given us an incredible amount of money and it will make me feel horrible to ask her for money.
Cannot borrow money.
Sell:
1. Cameras
2. Plasma
3. Comic books
4. DVD/CDs
5. Shoes
4. Something else that I can't think of now
Cameras will get me $20 at pawn shop. Will not sell for that little. Require around $50 for each camera.
COULD RE-LIST CAMERA'S ON CRAIGSLIST INDIVIDUALLY TO INCREASE LIKELIHOOD OF SELLING.
Plasma will get me $20 today, with a possibility of $35 on Sunday. This will give me what I need to take my sister to the movie on Monday. The last two times I've gone to sell plasma, however, they have botched the job and given me hematomas which prevent selling plasma until the hematoma is gone. If this trend repeats today, I will have only $20, which is more than I have now, but less than I need, and the possibility of getting more money on Sunday will be taken away. And I do not like the plasma store, although it's very little effort for the money.
COULD SELL PLASMA.
Comic books are not easy to sell. Vintage Stock wants to buy them about 10 at a time, and I need to wait for somebody who knows about comic books to sell to Vintage Stock. Reliability for selling comic books is not great, and the amount rendered from a sale is minimal.
CDs and DVDs sell better. Selling CDs at this point would be selling something that I want to keep, and that would be considered a loss rather than a gain, even if I was to get the $50 I need to take my sister to a movie. Taking a loss for this purpose is not appropriate.
I could sell some of my shoes on Craigslist. Checking on Craigslist shows no listing for men's running shoes, which many of my shoes are. Limited listings for men's casual shoes. Reliability and cash received for each sale not worth the effort.
Will have to look around the house for something else to sell tonight. Resources for something to sell at home are quickly becoming slim to none as we continue to sell our belongings to make ends meet.
Work:
1. Work more at my present job
2. Get another job
I can't work more at my present job. Paychecks come at the end of the month and that is past the time when I need the cash. This is not an option.
I cannot look at jobs available on Craigslist to see what might be available for working this weekend with pay on this weekend.
Currently, there are limited solutions:
Re-listing cameras on Craigslist.
Selling plasma.
I am guaranteed to make $20 if I go sell plasma. I cannot go tonight, as I will be out with my brother. I must go tomorrow. Which will mean that I cannot give on Sunday, and Monday will be the earliest that I can go. I am supposed to go to the movie on Monday with my sister.
I cannot go to the movie with my sister on Monday unless I sell one of my cameras for $50 on Craigslist. I will list the cameras on Craigslist tonight when I get home.
Money fucking sucks.
How To Get Cash:
1. Work
2. Sell
3. Borrow
4. Steal
5. Manufacture
6. Find
Finding doesn't guarantee cash.
I don't know how to manufacture money.
The consequences of stealing money aren't worth the risk.
Borrow:
1. Mom
2. Dad
Will not ask dad to borrow money, as taking anything from him makes me feel absolutely horrible.
Will not ask mom for money, as she has already given us an incredible amount of money and it will make me feel horrible to ask her for money.
Cannot borrow money.
Sell:
1. Cameras
2. Plasma
3. Comic books
4. DVD/CDs
5. Shoes
4. Something else that I can't think of now
Cameras will get me $20 at pawn shop. Will not sell for that little. Require around $50 for each camera.
COULD RE-LIST CAMERA'S ON CRAIGSLIST INDIVIDUALLY TO INCREASE LIKELIHOOD OF SELLING.
Plasma will get me $20 today, with a possibility of $35 on Sunday. This will give me what I need to take my sister to the movie on Monday. The last two times I've gone to sell plasma, however, they have botched the job and given me hematomas which prevent selling plasma until the hematoma is gone. If this trend repeats today, I will have only $20, which is more than I have now, but less than I need, and the possibility of getting more money on Sunday will be taken away. And I do not like the plasma store, although it's very little effort for the money.
COULD SELL PLASMA.
Comic books are not easy to sell. Vintage Stock wants to buy them about 10 at a time, and I need to wait for somebody who knows about comic books to sell to Vintage Stock. Reliability for selling comic books is not great, and the amount rendered from a sale is minimal.
CDs and DVDs sell better. Selling CDs at this point would be selling something that I want to keep, and that would be considered a loss rather than a gain, even if I was to get the $50 I need to take my sister to a movie. Taking a loss for this purpose is not appropriate.
I could sell some of my shoes on Craigslist. Checking on Craigslist shows no listing for men's running shoes, which many of my shoes are. Limited listings for men's casual shoes. Reliability and cash received for each sale not worth the effort.
Will have to look around the house for something else to sell tonight. Resources for something to sell at home are quickly becoming slim to none as we continue to sell our belongings to make ends meet.
Work:
1. Work more at my present job
2. Get another job
I can't work more at my present job. Paychecks come at the end of the month and that is past the time when I need the cash. This is not an option.
I cannot look at jobs available on Craigslist to see what might be available for working this weekend with pay on this weekend.
Currently, there are limited solutions:
Re-listing cameras on Craigslist.
Selling plasma.
I am guaranteed to make $20 if I go sell plasma. I cannot go tonight, as I will be out with my brother. I must go tomorrow. Which will mean that I cannot give on Sunday, and Monday will be the earliest that I can go. I am supposed to go to the movie on Monday with my sister.
I cannot go to the movie with my sister on Monday unless I sell one of my cameras for $50 on Craigslist. I will list the cameras on Craigslist tonight when I get home.
Money fucking sucks.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Bathroom Door
I crushed the second-in-charge dude at my work yesterday as I was opening up the bathroom door. Let's say his name is Gaduudafur.
The wastebasket is placed so that you must stand in front of the door to throw things away. And Gaduudafur was washing his hands, and throwing away his paper towel put him in front of the door.
The bathroom door is supposed to be rigged for handicapped people so that you can just push on it and it will open automatically. It's calibrated incorrectly or something, which makes the door about five thousand pounds. I'm a strong guy, and this door is difficult for me to open. So when I go into the bathroom, I have to put a lot of umph into my door-open push.
And Gaduudafur is approximately nintey-seven years old. Approximately.
So I crushed him.
And I appologized.
And he was laughing about it, as he realized that the wastebasket was in a difficult place and the door was heavy.
He knows all the factors going into his crushing.
And today.
I just saw Gaduudafur.
He did not smile at me.
hmmmm...
Maybe his hundred-twenty-six year old eyes didn't focus on me quickly enough for him to know that he should have smiled at me to make me not scared that he's going to fire me for crushing him with the bathroom door.
Goddam Gaduudafur.
The wastebasket is placed so that you must stand in front of the door to throw things away. And Gaduudafur was washing his hands, and throwing away his paper towel put him in front of the door.
The bathroom door is supposed to be rigged for handicapped people so that you can just push on it and it will open automatically. It's calibrated incorrectly or something, which makes the door about five thousand pounds. I'm a strong guy, and this door is difficult for me to open. So when I go into the bathroom, I have to put a lot of umph into my door-open push.
And Gaduudafur is approximately nintey-seven years old. Approximately.
So I crushed him.
And I appologized.
And he was laughing about it, as he realized that the wastebasket was in a difficult place and the door was heavy.
He knows all the factors going into his crushing.
And today.
I just saw Gaduudafur.
He did not smile at me.
hmmmm...
Maybe his hundred-twenty-six year old eyes didn't focus on me quickly enough for him to know that he should have smiled at me to make me not scared that he's going to fire me for crushing him with the bathroom door.
Goddam Gaduudafur.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Transubstantiation
I heard this story on NPR this morning about Wikipedia. It turns 10 years old today. And the reporter went around to random people and asked them what they had learned by going on to Wikipedia. One guy said that he looked up transubstantiation on Wikipedia, and once he read about it he believed in it, and once you believe in it, there is no other way to go than the Catholic church. So, not so indirectly, this man said, I'm a Catholic because of Wikipedia.
I'm wanting to make a documentary with religion as a major focus, and I don't really know what transubstantiation is. I'm pretty sure it's the belief that the sacraments of wine and bread are transformed through the power of God into the actual flesh and blood of Jesus. I think.
There's so much for me to know. I just gotta start and let the fear be there. But letting the fear stop me means that somebody else gets to do my idea. And they won't do it the way that I think it should be done, if for no other reason than it won't be me doing my idea.
I'm wanting to make a documentary with religion as a major focus, and I don't really know what transubstantiation is. I'm pretty sure it's the belief that the sacraments of wine and bread are transformed through the power of God into the actual flesh and blood of Jesus. I think.
There's so much for me to know. I just gotta start and let the fear be there. But letting the fear stop me means that somebody else gets to do my idea. And they won't do it the way that I think it should be done, if for no other reason than it won't be me doing my idea.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Boag
The alarm goes off.
It's morning.
I slowly feel the urgency of getting out of my blanket cocoon to get to work on time.
Not pleasant.
Not like a kick in the dick "not pleasant", but more like somebody rubbing mud on the back of your heal "not pleasant". And why would you rub mud on somebody's heal? Not cool, dude.
So I shower, and my eyes try to open, but they can't.
I'm tired.
I slide into my clothing.
The cold makes the skin on my legs tighten and the hair on my thighs reaches out for some warmth.
It's dark.
I don't want to disturb my wife.
Even though she's already awake.
I'm not awake yet.
I kiss her and I feel lucky that my lips found her lips.
My eyes are resisting believing that we're awake yet.
They stay semi-shut in protest of the morning.
I go into the world.
I must eat breakfast.
I must make lunch.
My wife is almost finished with my lunch.
I grab my breakfast soda.
I grab my breakfast bagel.
I grab my mid-morning granola bar.
I kiss my wife.
I hug my 10-year-old. **Time out. He's not 9 anymore!! That's kinda cool! Time in**
I get in the car and turn on NPR.
The world is black with night still.
The sun doesn't want to get up just like I didn't want to get up.
I don't blame it.
I grab my bagel and bite it.
NPR is saying something abou...
Why does my mouth taste like rug?
...ruggy mold...?
...mold...?
my mouth tastes like mold.
oh god.
soda can pops.
swig!
get that fucking taste out!
oh, shit, it's on the bagel, which is getting stuck in my teeth and latching on to my tongue. in those hard to reach areas.
I swish the soda around as best I can, trying to rid myself of the taste of Bagel Gone Bad.
And I succeed.
Until my tongue finds another errant piece of bagel hiding under my tongue.
In my molar.
Stuck to the roof of my mouth.
At which point I have a crumb of a reminder that I have mold in my mouth, at which point, the Soda Mouth Wash gets used again.
I try to calm myself.
"It's just a little penicillin. I'm fine. If anything, I'm healthier now."
And my stomach wants to be upset.
It's trying to be upset.
But it knows that there's really nothing wrong with the mold.
It just tastes like dog fur. Moldy dog fur.
I get to work and eye the bagel.
A large bite has been taken from the bagel. All the way to the center hole.
About half of the bagel is gone.
And still, I can see some of the mold that I didn't eat.
My best guess: quarter-sized to half-dollar sized circle of mold at the center of the bagel that was almost completely consumed by my morning mouth.
My first thought:
"Boag."
My second thought:
"I gotta tell my wife about this."
It's morning.
I slowly feel the urgency of getting out of my blanket cocoon to get to work on time.
Not pleasant.
Not like a kick in the dick "not pleasant", but more like somebody rubbing mud on the back of your heal "not pleasant". And why would you rub mud on somebody's heal? Not cool, dude.
So I shower, and my eyes try to open, but they can't.
I'm tired.
I slide into my clothing.
The cold makes the skin on my legs tighten and the hair on my thighs reaches out for some warmth.
It's dark.
I don't want to disturb my wife.
Even though she's already awake.
I'm not awake yet.
I kiss her and I feel lucky that my lips found her lips.
My eyes are resisting believing that we're awake yet.
They stay semi-shut in protest of the morning.
I go into the world.
I must eat breakfast.
I must make lunch.
My wife is almost finished with my lunch.
I grab my breakfast soda.
I grab my breakfast bagel.
I grab my mid-morning granola bar.
I kiss my wife.
I hug my 10-year-old. **Time out. He's not 9 anymore!! That's kinda cool! Time in**
I get in the car and turn on NPR.
The world is black with night still.
The sun doesn't want to get up just like I didn't want to get up.
I don't blame it.
I grab my bagel and bite it.
NPR is saying something abou...
Why does my mouth taste like rug?
...ruggy mold...?
...mold...?
my mouth tastes like mold.
oh god.
soda can pops.
swig!
get that fucking taste out!
oh, shit, it's on the bagel, which is getting stuck in my teeth and latching on to my tongue. in those hard to reach areas.
I swish the soda around as best I can, trying to rid myself of the taste of Bagel Gone Bad.
And I succeed.
Until my tongue finds another errant piece of bagel hiding under my tongue.
In my molar.
Stuck to the roof of my mouth.
At which point I have a crumb of a reminder that I have mold in my mouth, at which point, the Soda Mouth Wash gets used again.
I try to calm myself.
"It's just a little penicillin. I'm fine. If anything, I'm healthier now."
And my stomach wants to be upset.
It's trying to be upset.
But it knows that there's really nothing wrong with the mold.
It just tastes like dog fur. Moldy dog fur.
I get to work and eye the bagel.
A large bite has been taken from the bagel. All the way to the center hole.
About half of the bagel is gone.
And still, I can see some of the mold that I didn't eat.
My best guess: quarter-sized to half-dollar sized circle of mold at the center of the bagel that was almost completely consumed by my morning mouth.
My first thought:
"Boag."
My second thought:
"I gotta tell my wife about this."
Friday, January 7, 2011
Feeling a little better
I'm feeling a little better today.
Last night, my wife and I just sat on the couch and watched television. We Netflixed "The Office". About 10 episodes. And we ate fast food.
We didn't cook. We didn't have to work at making our dinner.
We just sat down with each other.
And, pretty much, she just held me.
I think I really needed that.
Some time-- scratch that, A LOT of time-- to do nothing, which allows my head to focus on the story on television. And while that's happening, a sort of passive therapy for me, my wife is touching me, which still gives me electric shocks in a very, very good way. When she touches me, it's like the intensity is just a little too much for my body to contain completely and lets out a little shock to my system. It doesn't hurt. It feels like a mini orgasm wherever our skin has touched.
So today I feel better.
I'm exhausted and super sleepy and tired.
But my head isn't going crazy like it was yesterday or the days before.
It's resting today. It's letting me rest today.
I'm not completely well. I still hurt like after you're in a fight and the next day your muscles are sore and you feel like you're wrapped in a gauze filled with pain? You know what that's like? Ok. Well, imagine that you know what it's like, and then you'll know kinda how I'm feeling today.
A little worn out.
But overall, sane.
My head has stopped for a moment.
And that's completely relieving.
Last night, my wife and I just sat on the couch and watched television. We Netflixed "The Office". About 10 episodes. And we ate fast food.
We didn't cook. We didn't have to work at making our dinner.
We just sat down with each other.
And, pretty much, she just held me.
I think I really needed that.
Some time-- scratch that, A LOT of time-- to do nothing, which allows my head to focus on the story on television. And while that's happening, a sort of passive therapy for me, my wife is touching me, which still gives me electric shocks in a very, very good way. When she touches me, it's like the intensity is just a little too much for my body to contain completely and lets out a little shock to my system. It doesn't hurt. It feels like a mini orgasm wherever our skin has touched.
So today I feel better.
I'm exhausted and super sleepy and tired.
But my head isn't going crazy like it was yesterday or the days before.
It's resting today. It's letting me rest today.
I'm not completely well. I still hurt like after you're in a fight and the next day your muscles are sore and you feel like you're wrapped in a gauze filled with pain? You know what that's like? Ok. Well, imagine that you know what it's like, and then you'll know kinda how I'm feeling today.
A little worn out.
But overall, sane.
My head has stopped for a moment.
And that's completely relieving.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Battling Voices
I hear voices a lot.
Not necessarily the kind that make me turn to look for somebody calling my name, although I hear those voices too.
The voices I hear the most are the kind that are inside my head and tell me about how bad I am, how ugly or fat I am, or just how big a failure I am. They're the voices that tell me I will never make enough money to feel comfortable, that my wife really hates me, that I'm going to fulfil all the major and minor fears I have in my life. And on a good day, I'm pretty adept at battling these voices. I've been in therapy for some years and some of my therapists have been fairly decent and helped me develop skills to deal with these voices.
Recently, though, the voices have changed tactics. Used to be they would just talk to me. I would ignore or talk back, and then they would shut up. It was a fight, but it seemed winnable. Recently they haven't shut up. When they can't get me on the normal aspects of me they attack, they go after little things: song lyrics I can't stand, musical phrases or passes that irritate me, names of fucking radio personalities that they repeat in my head without stop. Imagine a child-- 4 or 5 years old-- sitting in the back of your car. You're driving. And the child in the seat behind you starts saying the name "Ofeibea Quist-Arcton". Of course, you recognize the name as the news reporter from NPR that you've listened to sometimes. You're remarked to yourself that she has an unusual name. That's as far as your Ofeibea Quist-Arcton actions have taken you. But suddenly, there's a small child's voice repeating the name.
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
And it's not a normal voice. It's a child's voice.
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
That voice that comes from a fresh body in the world. Not yet a smoker. Not yet a drinker.
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Not yet somebody who has developed laryngitis from going to a Poison concert and yelling his head off.
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Brand new throat with brand new vocal cords. Healthy. Stong. And just high enough in pitch to really annoy you when used repeatedly. Like a fork sliding along a porcelain plate and giving a little metal-to-plate squeak. That, but contained in a voice, and housed in a body with a face that is cute and cherubic, so you feel like an absolute asshole for being beyond annoyed by the voice. But you're going crazy.
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
You're losing your ever-lovin'-mind!
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
So you give yourself some tasks to help your mind overcome this hurdle.
You start the thought processes that are supposed to take up most of your brain power, focusing it on what you want it to be focused on and taking it's focus away from that which is slowly driving you mad: Is it Oh-FAY-bee-ah or Oh-FEH-bee-ah? And where is that name from do you think? Africa? Egypt? What's the geography there? You can find Egypt ok, but where are the rest of the African countries?
And about this time, you remember that you have to ask yourself questions that you can actually answer, because if you get overwhelmed by your own questions you lose control over the focus and your brain goes back to paying attention to the crazy thing.
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Yeah. So there's Africa. And a lot of black people come from Africa. You know a lot of black people, too. Who are some black people? Quincy Jones. Denzel Washington. George Washington Carver. A lot of people don't know that. He invented peanut butter. And Whoopie Goldberg who dated Ted Danson until it became public, and then Ted married that other chick. Or was it the other way around? What's her name? And was he cheating on her with Whoopie?
And you're back to asking questions that you can't answer, so you lose your focus, and The Voice comes back.
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
And this time, just to remind you that he's in charge of your sanity on this meaningless road-trip to nowhere, he starts kicking the back of your imaginary seat as if he was sitting behind you on a plane, intent on ripping your soul out of your body through your asshole.
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
And now you're having a hard time remembering where you stopped. Something about dancing. Wasn't it dancing? Who Wants To Dance With The Stars and Be a Survivor? Some reality show. Or are they game shows? There's a difference between reality TV and game shows, and I think all these reality TV shows are really game shows. What the fuck was the thing about Dancing with Whoopie?
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Fuck.
The Voice takes control.
And you're out of steam to think of anything else.
Your coccix is bruised. Your psyche has left your head. You remember how to drive the car because you're used to doing that while drunk or asleep or both. But you're not really there. And The Voice knows you're down like Rocky's first fight with Mr. T. You're not getting up. And The Voice takes **fulll** advantage of you being down. It's not happy that It has defeated you. It doesn't want defeat. It wants destruction. So now that you've been weakened by this meaningless repetition of Ofeibea Quist-Arcton's name, it starts in with the really horrible stuff, except that this time you're powerless against it, as you've been drained to the point of helplessness.
~~~you're fat and stupid and worthless and nobody loves you and your wife is only tolerating your existance because you have money and she can't stand you and you completely understand why, you can't stand yourself, i mean look at you, you can't even keep your composure when you hear somebody's name repeated over and over, you're completely weak and sick and you should be locked up but it's a shame you're so fucking fat becuase they don't have an insane gown for somebody your size, you've flown completely over jerry springer sizes and landed in airplane tarp sizes you fat piece of shit, your father hates you and you won't ever make a movie or be in another show becuase you're scared and nobody wants to work with you because you suck and are difficult to work with...~~~
And you know that a lot of this isn't true.
But your strength is gone.
And then you start to realize that life has been going along without you while you've been dealing with your Head and The Voice and The Road Trip.
And how do you tell somebody about all this?
They're going to lock you up.
You're certifiable.
And now, The Voice has actually moved from your head and put his words into your conciousness and now you're thinking what The Voice was saying. Even though you know it's not right.
Which makes you even more tired and even more crazy.
But somehow, you gather yourself off the floor.
Like sweeping broken tiles into a dust... thing. Pan? Basket? I think it's "pan". Dust pan. Sounds ok. And you try to put one foot in front of the other. And you head over to the waste basket and throw away your dust pan contents. And you start again.
Bejewled is a quality game. Moving gems. Creating different patterns. How many patterns have you experienced?...
And this is what I go through on a daily basis.
I probably could use some therapy.
I probably should do that.
Because this thing, Battling Voices, is just overwhelming some days.
Tidal wave over my head and I need to breathe but I gotta make my way to the surface of the water. But the tide just keeps pushing me down. Dragging Me Down. And my body is aching to breath. To release the pressure. The aching.
Fucking.
Shit.
I said something funny last night.
I don't remember what it was.
My wife laughed.
I live for those moments.
They're the best.
Wife laugh.
That's the best.
Not necessarily the kind that make me turn to look for somebody calling my name, although I hear those voices too.
The voices I hear the most are the kind that are inside my head and tell me about how bad I am, how ugly or fat I am, or just how big a failure I am. They're the voices that tell me I will never make enough money to feel comfortable, that my wife really hates me, that I'm going to fulfil all the major and minor fears I have in my life. And on a good day, I'm pretty adept at battling these voices. I've been in therapy for some years and some of my therapists have been fairly decent and helped me develop skills to deal with these voices.
Recently, though, the voices have changed tactics. Used to be they would just talk to me. I would ignore or talk back, and then they would shut up. It was a fight, but it seemed winnable. Recently they haven't shut up. When they can't get me on the normal aspects of me they attack, they go after little things: song lyrics I can't stand, musical phrases or passes that irritate me, names of fucking radio personalities that they repeat in my head without stop. Imagine a child-- 4 or 5 years old-- sitting in the back of your car. You're driving. And the child in the seat behind you starts saying the name "Ofeibea Quist-Arcton". Of course, you recognize the name as the news reporter from NPR that you've listened to sometimes. You're remarked to yourself that she has an unusual name. That's as far as your Ofeibea Quist-Arcton actions have taken you. But suddenly, there's a small child's voice repeating the name.
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
And it's not a normal voice. It's a child's voice.
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
That voice that comes from a fresh body in the world. Not yet a smoker. Not yet a drinker.
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Not yet somebody who has developed laryngitis from going to a Poison concert and yelling his head off.
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Brand new throat with brand new vocal cords. Healthy. Stong. And just high enough in pitch to really annoy you when used repeatedly. Like a fork sliding along a porcelain plate and giving a little metal-to-plate squeak. That, but contained in a voice, and housed in a body with a face that is cute and cherubic, so you feel like an absolute asshole for being beyond annoyed by the voice. But you're going crazy.
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
You're losing your ever-lovin'-mind!
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
So you give yourself some tasks to help your mind overcome this hurdle.
You start the thought processes that are supposed to take up most of your brain power, focusing it on what you want it to be focused on and taking it's focus away from that which is slowly driving you mad: Is it Oh-FAY-bee-ah or Oh-FEH-bee-ah? And where is that name from do you think? Africa? Egypt? What's the geography there? You can find Egypt ok, but where are the rest of the African countries?
And about this time, you remember that you have to ask yourself questions that you can actually answer, because if you get overwhelmed by your own questions you lose control over the focus and your brain goes back to paying attention to the crazy thing.
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Yeah. So there's Africa. And a lot of black people come from Africa. You know a lot of black people, too. Who are some black people? Quincy Jones. Denzel Washington. George Washington Carver. A lot of people don't know that. He invented peanut butter. And Whoopie Goldberg who dated Ted Danson until it became public, and then Ted married that other chick. Or was it the other way around? What's her name? And was he cheating on her with Whoopie?
And you're back to asking questions that you can't answer, so you lose your focus, and The Voice comes back.
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
And this time, just to remind you that he's in charge of your sanity on this meaningless road-trip to nowhere, he starts kicking the back of your imaginary seat as if he was sitting behind you on a plane, intent on ripping your soul out of your body through your asshole.
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
And now you're having a hard time remembering where you stopped. Something about dancing. Wasn't it dancing? Who Wants To Dance With The Stars and Be a Survivor? Some reality show. Or are they game shows? There's a difference between reality TV and game shows, and I think all these reality TV shows are really game shows. What the fuck was the thing about Dancing with Whoopie?
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Ofeibea Quist-Arcton
Fuck.
The Voice takes control.
And you're out of steam to think of anything else.
Your coccix is bruised. Your psyche has left your head. You remember how to drive the car because you're used to doing that while drunk or asleep or both. But you're not really there. And The Voice knows you're down like Rocky's first fight with Mr. T. You're not getting up. And The Voice takes **fulll** advantage of you being down. It's not happy that It has defeated you. It doesn't want defeat. It wants destruction. So now that you've been weakened by this meaningless repetition of Ofeibea Quist-Arcton's name, it starts in with the really horrible stuff, except that this time you're powerless against it, as you've been drained to the point of helplessness.
~~~you're fat and stupid and worthless and nobody loves you and your wife is only tolerating your existance because you have money and she can't stand you and you completely understand why, you can't stand yourself, i mean look at you, you can't even keep your composure when you hear somebody's name repeated over and over, you're completely weak and sick and you should be locked up but it's a shame you're so fucking fat becuase they don't have an insane gown for somebody your size, you've flown completely over jerry springer sizes and landed in airplane tarp sizes you fat piece of shit, your father hates you and you won't ever make a movie or be in another show becuase you're scared and nobody wants to work with you because you suck and are difficult to work with...~~~
And you know that a lot of this isn't true.
But your strength is gone.
And then you start to realize that life has been going along without you while you've been dealing with your Head and The Voice and The Road Trip.
And how do you tell somebody about all this?
They're going to lock you up.
You're certifiable.
And now, The Voice has actually moved from your head and put his words into your conciousness and now you're thinking what The Voice was saying. Even though you know it's not right.
Which makes you even more tired and even more crazy.
But somehow, you gather yourself off the floor.
Like sweeping broken tiles into a dust... thing. Pan? Basket? I think it's "pan". Dust pan. Sounds ok. And you try to put one foot in front of the other. And you head over to the waste basket and throw away your dust pan contents. And you start again.
Bejewled is a quality game. Moving gems. Creating different patterns. How many patterns have you experienced?...
And this is what I go through on a daily basis.
I probably could use some therapy.
I probably should do that.
Because this thing, Battling Voices, is just overwhelming some days.
Tidal wave over my head and I need to breathe but I gotta make my way to the surface of the water. But the tide just keeps pushing me down. Dragging Me Down. And my body is aching to breath. To release the pressure. The aching.
Fucking.
Shit.
I said something funny last night.
I don't remember what it was.
My wife laughed.
I live for those moments.
They're the best.
Wife laugh.
That's the best.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Older Ladies
I was just accosted by Jane and another woman... let's call her Jan.
Jane is talking excitedly to me before Jan sticks her head into my cube.
"You know Miss Jan, don't you??"
*Time out* What's this deal with calling people "Miss" and "Mister" before their first names? It happens a lot with school teachers and as a mild, formal title. Not quite the formality you would use with, say, a generational gap kind of meeting or when you're meeting your girlfriend's parents for the first time and you use the last name. But "Miss Jan" or "Mister Christopher" or "Miss Steven" should go away. Along with, "I know, right?" What the fuck is that all about?! If you break that sentence down to it's elements, you are essentially saying that you comprehend a situation, and then asking the listener if you comprehend the situation! I know=I comprehend. Right?=Do I comprehend? If you wanted to be forgiving, the "right" part might be asking if the other comprehends, thus changing the meaning to "I comprehend, do you comprehend my comprehension?" Which is just assininically retarded! Yeah! "Assininically"! That's just how retarded "I know, right" is! *Time in*
"You know Miss Jan, don't you? Well she used to do some theatre, just like you!"
At which point, Jan sticks her head into my cube and starts to rapid fire questions at me: am I Equity? Have I looked into the local theatre's around town? Do I know whose-y-who's daughter's son's brother who did this-and-such movie in yadda-yadda village on the northern peninsula of Whogivesafuck. And she's going on and on about how I should get hooked up with this person and that person and then she asks if my wife would like to do the craft fair in February, and I say that my wife certainly would like to do the craft fair, not because my wife has told me that she wants to do the craft fair-- to the contrary, actually-- but because I was so excited not to have her asking me questions about where I worked and who I knew that I just blurted out yes to the first question that was offered off the subject.
"Does your wife want to the do craft fair in February?"
"I'm certain she would," I responded with enthusiasm. It took me about 30 seconds to realize that I meant the opposite of what I said, but by then it was too late. Jan and Jane were gone.
Jan has a waddle like a turkey. A huge, white, delicious turkey.
There's something about my former life that I don't like. I did some really great things and was involved with really great places. Like Jan said, "Your wife must be a really wonderful lady to pull you away from all that." I wish that I could say that I stopped acting for my wife. But I didn't, and people don't really want to hear that I stopped acting because I didn't think I wanted to act anymore because all the people I was running into were horrible, horrible people who made me want to kill myself on a daily basis. And even as I type that, I know that is an exageration. I was thrown by how horrible people could be. And I thought that the only place where those people existed was in theatre, where it's common to tell lies about people to gain position and favor in a movie or a theatre. Where back-biting and name-dropping are every-day occurances. People would rather actively throw you under a proverbial bus than say a word that might be kind. And it was making me depressed. Especially since it was happening to me. And hard. People were coming after me and it was scary and hurt. A lot. So that's why I stopped. And I moved back home and the day I moved back home I found my wife. But I didn't stop for her. But I'm certainly thankful that I did stop, as it brought me to her. And I wouldn't give her up for anything. Not for all the movies in the world. Not for a sitcom. Not for a theatre. Not for anything. I'll struggle and never make it and never win the lottery every day. Gladly. As long as I can be her husband.
But Jan doesn't get that. And Jane doesn't get that. And I feel alone.
My wife was watching George Carlin last night, and I realized that when I listen to George Carlin, I feel understood. And I feel like he's talking right to me. With all his radical, insane ideas, I feel gotten.
I don't really remember where I was going with all this. Except that I don't want to talk about my former career with anyone. Except maybe my wife. And I only want to talk with her about it because she can help me figure out what I want to do. And I don't want to talk to anyone at my work. They all suck. All of them. And people suck. The only people who don't suck are my wife and George Carlin. I know, right?!
Jane is talking excitedly to me before Jan sticks her head into my cube.
"You know Miss Jan, don't you??"
*Time out* What's this deal with calling people "Miss" and "Mister" before their first names? It happens a lot with school teachers and as a mild, formal title. Not quite the formality you would use with, say, a generational gap kind of meeting or when you're meeting your girlfriend's parents for the first time and you use the last name. But "Miss Jan" or "Mister Christopher" or "Miss Steven" should go away. Along with, "I know, right?" What the fuck is that all about?! If you break that sentence down to it's elements, you are essentially saying that you comprehend a situation, and then asking the listener if you comprehend the situation! I know=I comprehend. Right?=Do I comprehend? If you wanted to be forgiving, the "right" part might be asking if the other comprehends, thus changing the meaning to "I comprehend, do you comprehend my comprehension?" Which is just assininically retarded! Yeah! "Assininically"! That's just how retarded "I know, right" is! *Time in*
"You know Miss Jan, don't you? Well she used to do some theatre, just like you!"
At which point, Jan sticks her head into my cube and starts to rapid fire questions at me: am I Equity? Have I looked into the local theatre's around town? Do I know whose-y-who's daughter's son's brother who did this-and-such movie in yadda-yadda village on the northern peninsula of Whogivesafuck. And she's going on and on about how I should get hooked up with this person and that person and then she asks if my wife would like to do the craft fair in February, and I say that my wife certainly would like to do the craft fair, not because my wife has told me that she wants to do the craft fair-- to the contrary, actually-- but because I was so excited not to have her asking me questions about where I worked and who I knew that I just blurted out yes to the first question that was offered off the subject.
"Does your wife want to the do craft fair in February?"
"I'm certain she would," I responded with enthusiasm. It took me about 30 seconds to realize that I meant the opposite of what I said, but by then it was too late. Jan and Jane were gone.
Jan has a waddle like a turkey. A huge, white, delicious turkey.
There's something about my former life that I don't like. I did some really great things and was involved with really great places. Like Jan said, "Your wife must be a really wonderful lady to pull you away from all that." I wish that I could say that I stopped acting for my wife. But I didn't, and people don't really want to hear that I stopped acting because I didn't think I wanted to act anymore because all the people I was running into were horrible, horrible people who made me want to kill myself on a daily basis. And even as I type that, I know that is an exageration. I was thrown by how horrible people could be. And I thought that the only place where those people existed was in theatre, where it's common to tell lies about people to gain position and favor in a movie or a theatre. Where back-biting and name-dropping are every-day occurances. People would rather actively throw you under a proverbial bus than say a word that might be kind. And it was making me depressed. Especially since it was happening to me. And hard. People were coming after me and it was scary and hurt. A lot. So that's why I stopped. And I moved back home and the day I moved back home I found my wife. But I didn't stop for her. But I'm certainly thankful that I did stop, as it brought me to her. And I wouldn't give her up for anything. Not for all the movies in the world. Not for a sitcom. Not for a theatre. Not for anything. I'll struggle and never make it and never win the lottery every day. Gladly. As long as I can be her husband.
But Jan doesn't get that. And Jane doesn't get that. And I feel alone.
My wife was watching George Carlin last night, and I realized that when I listen to George Carlin, I feel understood. And I feel like he's talking right to me. With all his radical, insane ideas, I feel gotten.
I don't really remember where I was going with all this. Except that I don't want to talk about my former career with anyone. Except maybe my wife. And I only want to talk with her about it because she can help me figure out what I want to do. And I don't want to talk to anyone at my work. They all suck. All of them. And people suck. The only people who don't suck are my wife and George Carlin. I know, right?!
Christmas Tires
My wife bought me tires for Christmas.
They weren't ultra fancy-- you know, like the kind with spinning rims or the kind that can't get flat because they are made completely of rubber without any air in them. Nothing like that. They're just tires.
Except that after they had been installed by the service guys, I could tell a noticeable difference in how the car handled. The steering wheel didn't vibrate like it used to. It was completely still. When I applied the breaks, the whole car used to shake. Not after New Tires. And my wife asked me if they were quiet. I told her they were, but I didn't *really* notice how quiet they were until I took them out on the highway and noticed the silence! Unbelievable! The radio was only turned up half way rather than all the way. It was really amazing!
I asked the service folks if I could keep my old tires. My wife had been talking about making something out of all the tire scraps on the highway, and I though I could help her by bringing home my old tires. I knew that my old tires were bald, but what I didn't know was that the steel belt was exposed and porcupine-ing along one of the tires.
I really didn't realize just how bad things had gotten until they had been fixed. I'm so glad that they were able to get fixed rather than stay the way they were. I wasn't in any real hurry to get new tires, especially with our family's financial situation being the way it is. But to see that tire with the steel spines coming through the rubber really affected me and made me realize just how lucky I was to get the new tires before something serious had happened.
So the moral for today, kids, is: don't do drugs. Unless you know your dealer, in which case it's fine.
They weren't ultra fancy-- you know, like the kind with spinning rims or the kind that can't get flat because they are made completely of rubber without any air in them. Nothing like that. They're just tires.
Except that after they had been installed by the service guys, I could tell a noticeable difference in how the car handled. The steering wheel didn't vibrate like it used to. It was completely still. When I applied the breaks, the whole car used to shake. Not after New Tires. And my wife asked me if they were quiet. I told her they were, but I didn't *really* notice how quiet they were until I took them out on the highway and noticed the silence! Unbelievable! The radio was only turned up half way rather than all the way. It was really amazing!
I asked the service folks if I could keep my old tires. My wife had been talking about making something out of all the tire scraps on the highway, and I though I could help her by bringing home my old tires. I knew that my old tires were bald, but what I didn't know was that the steel belt was exposed and porcupine-ing along one of the tires.
I really didn't realize just how bad things had gotten until they had been fixed. I'm so glad that they were able to get fixed rather than stay the way they were. I wasn't in any real hurry to get new tires, especially with our family's financial situation being the way it is. But to see that tire with the steel spines coming through the rubber really affected me and made me realize just how lucky I was to get the new tires before something serious had happened.
So the moral for today, kids, is: don't do drugs. Unless you know your dealer, in which case it's fine.