Sick Wife

My wife is sick.
She's been sick for a long time. Months now.
I'm concerned for her.
I'm trying not to be scared for her.
I love my wife so very, very much.
I'm ready for this sickness to be over.
I love my wife.
I love my wife.
I love my wife.
And that's the best and only thing I can do.
I love my wife.
I love my wife.
I love my wife.

Anger, This Stupid State, and My Cool-Ass Keyboard

It's pretty ridiculous how many people in my world wanna tell me what to do, and I'm fucking tired of it.

Yeah, I should probably let it go, but it digs in and doesn't seem to let me go.

This morning, I'm at 7-11.  Standing in line, there is only one person working the counter.  So I'm standing in the one and only open line.  As the line grows behind me, I watch as another employee makes his way to the other register.  As he's opening up the register to get ready to help people, the one person in front of me is wrapping up her transaction.  It's obvious to me that I could either stay where I am, or go to the other line, and either way things would be accomplished at the same time.  So the Other Line guy opens his drawer for business and dutifully yells out, "I can help the next person in line."  I don't move, because I'm about to advance to the person originally at the counter.

But the fucking bitch behind me taps my shoulder with a bony bitch finger.  "Sir," she insistently says, "he can help the next person in line.  That's you."  Don't fucking tell me who is next in line, whore!  YOU go over there!  THAT'S how life works!  The next one in line would be YOU because I'm about to reach my destination.

So instead of saying any of that...
Instead of staying where I am...
Instead of doing what I know to be the THING to do...

I FUCKING MOVED TO THE OTHER LINE!!

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH **ME** AT THIS POINT???

Well, I hurried up with my 7-11 sale, making sure to take as little time as possible so that I could beat that Fucking Bitch out the door (all of this is taking place at 5:45 am, mind you, so there's a definite element to everyone's attitude of "fuck you, it's too fucking early for life."), and as I approach the door, I see some Good Ol' Boy approaching the door from the outside.  He's wearing hunting camo in the city, and it's too clean to ever have been used hunting for anything other than Budweiser in a bucket of ice, and that's how I know he's attracted to his mother's cows sexually.  I stand aside so that he can come inside, out of the freezing, freezing early morning air.  And bitch fucking pulls the door open, steps aside, and says, "Come on, buddy," in a drawl drenched in his brother's freshly produced semen.  This, again, isn't how it works!  "But they're just being polite," you tell me.  First off, why the fuck are you arguing with me??  You weren't there and you don't know!  Secondly, building off your already-established ignorance of the situation, why are you taking THE OTHER PERSON'S SIDE AGAINST ME??  And third, when it's as cold outside as it was, it's important to get people INSIDE BEOFRE THEY GO OUTSIDE.  Even if it's NOT freezing cold, you let people come inside before you let them go outside.  EVERYBODY KNOWS THAT!!

What is fucking wrong with this state and it's people who incapacitate themselves and those around them with their displays of phony congeniality and politeness??!!  It's bullshit!  YOU take care of YOU, and I will take care of ME!  It's like all the people who have obviously arrived at the 4-way-stop intersection before me, but they INSIST on waving me onward before them.  "Go ahead of me," they wave emphatically, like I'M the one who's holding up the world because I'm waiting for them to go first.  I've even run in to people who DO NOT HAVE A STOP SIGN AT THEIR INTERSECTION, yet they FUCKING STOP IN THE MIDDLE OF TRAFFIC TO WAVE ME AHEAD!!  ME, THE GUY WITH THE STOP SIGN, HAS THE RIGHT-OF-WAY IN THIS JACKASS' OPINION, AND HE'S WILLING TO FUCK EVERYTHING UP IN ORDER TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO, EVEN THOUGH HE'S FUCKING WRONGER THAN WRONG!!!  WHAT IS UP WITH THAT?!?!?!?!  I DON'T HAVE BIG ENOUGH CAPSLOCK LETTERS TO EXPRESS MY FURY AT THESE FUCKING CUNTS!!

And what's really, REALLY silly, is that I've let all of this ridiculousness get to me for any amount of time.  AND it's stayed with me through my commute, AND persisted through the majority of my day.

It is possible that I'm just bitching in order to use my new wireless keyboard that I got to allow me to write again.

I've missed writing.  Even the bitching part of my writing.

And the people in this state are backwards and make the world a worse place because they're alive.

And my keyboard is pretty awesome.
It changes color.

Nice To People

In moving to our apartment, my wife and I have been overwhelmed at the amount of stuff we had at our home, as well as how much of it we're having to get rid of as we transition to our smaller living space.

We recently got rid of one of our large chairs. Typically what we've done when we get rid of large items like this is we will put an ad in Craigslist, saying the chair is on the curb and you should come and get it. This has always worked well for us. So we did it again with this chair. We put it outside and put a Craigslist ad up saying come and get it.

And nobody came and got it.

And still nobody came and got it. For days.

Then, yesterday morning as I was walking to my car, I noticed a person in the chair. I was startled, as it was 5:30 in the morning and I wasn't expecting to see anyone at that time. Not even the people I live with wake up at that time. And this person, also, did not wake up. I made noises and cleared my throat, but he didn't wake up. He had a blanket over him and his shoes were off. And that dude was asleep hard! I was slightly nervous that he was dead, but there was no odor of dead guy, so I felt comfortable leaving for work.

My wife texted me later in the day saying he was still there. I asked if he was dead, and she said no, he was moving.

Later, when I got home, my son apologized for locking the door. "I got nervous about the homeless guy," he said to me, laughing. Later that night as we were eating dinner together, my son brought up the homeless guy again. He wanted to move the chair so the homeless guy wouldn't have our parking lot to sleep in. My wife told him that the homeless guy wasn't hurting anybody, the chair wasn't in anyone's way, and it was okay. My son asked me how I felt about it. Now typically when he asks me how I feel about things like this, I feel like he's asking because I may have a differing position from his mother that more directly lines up with his. However, on this point he did not get that response. I told him I felt exactly the same as his mother. My wife seemed surprised. "Really?" she asked.

Yeah. Really.

I think we as a nation stigmatize those without homes. I think we throw huge label-blankets over people. "Homeless", "drug addict", and "criminal" all become synonymous. We have stopped thinking about all of them as individuals, and now they are disposables. Something to be gotten rid of like a chair you don't want anymore. Just get them out away from my house. We start believing that they're all the same. We stop looking at them on the street. We don't see the person with a sign, we just see somebody who is bothering us just by standing there. A nuisance.

Now imagine you lost your home. And whatever has caused you to lose your home has also caused you to lose everything else. You have no support system, no family or friends that will let you sleep on their couch, not enough money to stay in a hotel. You're completely alone. And you have no clothes to change into that might be more presentable for a job interview. So you're pretty much done. There's not much left. And that's not even mentioning if you have some kind of disability, like a mental or physical impairment that might turn people off from you even more.  It's not a crime to be without a home, but now people are treating you like a criminal. Trying their best to just sweep you away. And you have nowhere to sit. Nowhere to sleep. Nowhere to go to the bathroom or make yourself more presentable so people might see you as something more than a pile of shit. Can you imagine that? Really try to put yourself there. You have nobody. Now... how are you gonna get drugs? Drug dealers aren't going to give you free samples because 1) that only happens in movies, and 2) you're a lousy investment, as you have no money you could use for return business. So you can't get high. You certainly can't afford liquor. So you're not altered on any substances. What would it take to turn you into a criminal? Can you see yourself breaking into somebody's home? Can you see yourself breaking into somebody else's car? I'm no saint, and I can't picture myself doing either of those things. There are far easier ways to take care of yourself. Like shoplift a whole bunch of stuff, obviously, get caught, then go to jail. Bingo, now you've got a bed, shelter and food. You also have people who are looking at you. Sure, they think you're shit still but at least they look at you while judging you. You are, after all, in jail. People in jail are deserving of our judgment, right? I mean, wasn't it Jesus who said, "judge all those in jail, and all those who have lost everything, for they are but shit in my eyes and smell shitty"? Sounds like Jesus to me. And Gandhi. And Martin Luther King, Jr. Or does it sound more like Donald Trump?

Who would you rather use as a moral compass? Donald Trump or Jesus?

And think about this, while you're at it... Think about how quickly you dismiss those disposable people. Do you think you dismiss them as quickly as you dismiss my words that you don't agree with? Is it because it's more comfortable to live with your own flawed thinking rather than actually admit that, maybe, your thinking is flawed? It's easier to live incorrectly, rather than make changes that are positive and good.

My wife didn't say all that to our son. Neither did I. But it felt nice to be reminded, again, that I've married a super decent person. And I like her a lot.

I'm So Done

If you don't have enough money, you can expect to hear somebody somewhere tell you it's your fault. You didn't save enough. You didn't work hard enough. You spent too much. You don't have enough money? You're to blame, I don't feel sorry for you and, in fact, I condemn you for things you've done in my mind.

Today, my wife's car won't start. That's because the ignition key has worn down to the point that it won't turn the ignition anymore. Nothing anyone in my family could possibly be blamed for. And now she's getting a locksmith to come out and fix her car. For him just to arrive is $130. And while he's doing that, she's missing work. And she gets paid hourly. So while she's spending money, she can't make money. That's this month, and it's not even half-way over.

Last month the air conditioner in the house we're trying to sell broke. Our realtor told us that we could either fix it or it would come out of the price of the house. She recommended if the fix was less than $300, we should go ahead and fix it. The repair was $250. No one has bought our house yet.

August saw us spending money on movers, and eating out because our refrigerator was unplugged or being moved, and all the associated costs of moving. We were moving, mind you, in order to save money and get ourselves in a more financially secure place.

July saw me spending $200 on registering my car. My mother purchased a car for me, saving me and my family so that I could continue to go to my job (aka the financial backbone of my family), because my previous car had been totalled by a hit and run accident occurring in my neighborhood, at night while I was asleep, and the car was parked on the street where I had been parking it for the past five years.

And all of these expenses come unexpectedly and cause me and my wife to scramble. Work overtime? Can't, it's not being offered right now. More hours at her job? Can't, not being offered. So... we cut expenses in order to spend what we need to on our priorities.

I am so utterly done with all of this bullshit.

So completely done.

Too Many Bullies!!

Gotta say, I'm getting pretty fucking sick and tired of people being mean and cruel to my wife.

First it's her family.

Then she escapes her family to marry a man who is worse.

Then you've got school parents, teachers, and then lawyers and neighbors and Child Protective Services gets pulled in, and it's a pretty fucking shitty world she lives in.

And now, her co-worker.
In front of her son who works with them both.
And her boss who is fully aware of the issue but doesn't have enough employees hired so that she can fire the co-worker.

So my wife, again, gets beaten up, again, and feels like there's nothing she can do to take care of the issue. If she leaves her work, she doesn't get paid. She needs money for, you know, everything. If she stays, she gets beaten up. In front of her son. Who has already spoken to their boss about this treatment.

What the fuck is wrong with this whole goddam planet??!!

The ABCs of Psychosis

Today I find myself thinking about A.

1. I hadn't seen M in 2 years, and I called A on the phone, asking for M.  A said that M was in the house, and M was taking a shower and would call me back when M was done.  I told A that I would wait until she was out of the shower.  A laughed and said no, she would take my number and M would call when she got out of the shower.  I left my info and begged A to make sure M got that, because I had been trying to get in touch with M for 2 years.  A said she would.  Many years later, I find out that A did not deliver that message, and even more shocking, M was not in the house and did not take a shower there, so that part wasn't even true.
2. A got angry at M for some reason, and stayed that way for multiple years, allowing those feelings to prompt her to tell the attorney for the boys that M's abusive ex was a better parent than M. 
3. A supported M's abusive ex with gifts of time, love, vacations, furniture, plants and flowers, food, financial assistance, assistance caring for the boys, kind words, emotional support, and companionship.  A gave none of this to M, her own daughter.
4. A actively refused to listen to M when she was trying to tell A about the horrors that were going on during the divorce.  This included refusing to listen to spoken words, cell phone texts, emails, and court documents.
5. A decided that she wanted to give M and her family a vacation, which would include JC.  M said that it would be pointless to ask the ex for JC to join us but she would give it a try.  M asked the ex for some time for JC to spend with us so we could take a vacation, and even offered several options.  Ex not only turned down the request for extra time, but when he found out that the family was going to schedule a trip around that time, he scheduled time for JC to be away from M, then told JC that it was "mandatory" for him to be away, thus shortening JC's already short time.  A heard about this, and spoke with the ex.  She was flabbergasted, not because ex was taking away time JC could spend with his mother, not because her daughter was being bullied out of being a mother to her youngest, but because the ex had denied time that JC could have been spending with A, and that part wasn't okay.  Even after this talk, ex said that he wasn't going to change things.  And A decided that was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Now she has given us money to move.  She has specifically said the money is for me, also, and not just my wife.  It was a very kind gesture.


She has started talking with my wife more than she ever has, which is probably nice for my wife on some level to have her mother wanting to be in her life.  It's never easy when a parent doesn't want to be in your life, even if that parent is abusive.


She has spent time with our eldest and given him gifts, some of which he has enjoyed.  And during these times she hasn't actively made him feel bad about himself, like telling him to get over his fears and phobias to the point of traumatizing him.






And last night, I saw my wife get a little excited as she told me about their talk.  It wasn't huge excitement, but it was excitement.  And it very likely could have been excitement over the good things that were happening to us.  She's good at compartmentalizing things, much better than I am, and sometimes that's a great quality.  Perhaps she was focused on the good elements, and her excitement was a result of those good things.  And I suggested that she go to her mother.  She said it was an option, and I said that's where we should start.  And now here we are.


I get very nervous that my wife is going to be pulled into her mother's world of crazy again.  I get nervous that my wife only sees the possibility of moving, and doesn't see that it's being offered by Satan.  I have taken Satan's wares before.  I am well-versed in the ways of taking shit from Satan without welcoming Satan into my home.  My wife believes in etiquette more than I do, which could lead her to see Satan standing outside our house in the rain, and she would open the door to him.  "The weather is horrible out there, there's no reason for you to stand out there.  Come inside now, you silly Prince of Darkness!  I'll make you some tea."


Yeah, I guess I'm drawing parallels between my wife's mother and Satan.  And I don't think I've gone too far with that.  So far, A hasn't done anything to suggest she cares any more for M or me or her grandchildren than she ever did(n't).  What she has done is given a gift a money, and given it without strings (for now), and said it's for all of us, including me.  I worry that my wife will find herself in a situation in the future where her mother does something that she's always done-- hurt my wife-- and my wife will think, "wait, this is my mom... she had been acting so nicely.  What happened?"


Nothing happened.  Nothing changed.
That's important.
Nothing Changed.


The ONLY thing that changed is that I became open to the idea of taking money from her for the gain of my family, myself included.  That's the ONLY thing that has changed.  Everything else remains the same.  So even though it may feel like she's doing something nice for us, saying nice things, she's not.  They're all very selfishly planned things.

1. She decided she was done with X when he wouldn't give JC time with A.  It was all about A being denied time when she wanted it, and because she was denied time, she now doesn't spend time with X.
2. She honestly asked if M would "allow" JC to stay with us if that was what he chose.  M, of course, said "Why in the world would I not allow my son to come and stay with me?"  And A's response was, "Well, X said that JP couldn't stay with him anymore."  She somehow decided that because X demonstrated that he didn't believe in unconditional love that M must also be that way.  Which also shows a total ignorance of how M lives her life and mothers her children.  It's also disturbing to think that A, who is a mother, might say "why aren't you doing something when somebody else is doing that bad thing?"  I would expect A to have a more firm grasp on what is appropriate behavior and not be so easily swayed by the horrible actions of others.  But she never has been that way.  She has always played right into the drama.
3. A started telling stories about X and X's wife P.  Personal stories.  Stories that had been private and not for my wife's ears.  She was not telling my wife these stories because of a sense of what was just or right.  She was telling these stories because she was angry at X for denying time with JC.
4. A said that she hoped JC would find his voice, and then in a couple of years decide he wanted to live with M full time in order to get away from that situation over there with X.  When M said that probably wasn't going to happen, A said, "isn't there anything you can do as a mother?"  My response to that was, "yeah, there is something she can do as a mother, and you totally fucked her, A, by saying that X was a better parent that M, you fucking cunt."

There's a famous story of a frog and scorpion.  The scorpion needs to get across a river, and so he asks the frog for a ride.  The frog says, "you're a scorpion.  You're going to sting me and I'm going to die."  The scorpion says, "no, I'm not going to sting you.  If I do that, and you die, then I would drown.  It's in my best interests to keep you alive."  The frog, deciding that sounded logical, agreed to give the scorpion a ride across the river.  The scorpion hopped on the frog's back.  In the middle of the river, the scorpion stung the frog.  Shocked, the frog turned to the scorpion.  "You've killed us both!  Why would you do that?" asked the frog.  "Because I'm a scorpion," said the scorpion.  "That's what I do."


This situation is a lot like that story.  But I'm going to change it around to fit our situation. 


There was a mirror who was obsessed with her glass.  She believed she was pretty, and important, and worthy of grand things.  Other things in the world showed up in her glass, and she believed she had those things, too.  Other people had buffalo ranches, and when the mirror saw them in her glass, she believed they were hers.  And other people said they respected her, and because they said that to her glass, she believed she had respect.  The mirror was aware that her backside wasn't pretty at all.  It was cold, and black, and the wood of hadn't been fully painted even.  But she didn't focus on that side of herself.  She was only concerned with what was in her glass.  She often turned her back on people so that others could not share in her greatness.  She turned her back on those who would not join her in obsessing about the drama that filled her glass, but that was mostly because she was so consumed with the drama that she was turning to face the drama, and not so much turning her back to those not in the drama, although that was an aspect of her actions.  She turned her back on those who told her the truth.  She turned her back on those who said different things than the drama said.  At one point the drama told her glass that her daughter was having an affair, and she believed it despite her daughters pleas to listen to reason.  "Do you understand what it's like, as a man, to have this happen to you?" the mirror spat at her daughter, as if the mirror thought she was a man because a man had showed up in her glass talking of the affair.  And when her husband died, she was sad because she wouldn't have his constant drama in her glass, and she didn't know what to do.  So she looked around that there was another man.  Men are the best, as they can carry heavy things for me, thought the mirror's subconsciousness.  After all, I don't have arms and I need everybody to do things for me.  She found another man to show her drama in her glass, and she was fine with that.  She turned her back on her daughter plenty during this time, because her daughter wanted to take away her man and take away her drama.  Silly daughter.  Then, one day, the man turned the mirror away.  Well!  The mirror was being rejected!  And that hurt the mirror's feelings.  The mirror thought about who would bring the most drama, how she could exact the most revenge against the man who rejected her, and that brought her to his enemy.  "Ah," said the mirror to the man's enemy, "I'm ready for you to look at my grand glass."  "I'm your daughter," said the man's enemy.  "Yes," said the mirror, "let me tell you about the man's secrets."


I don't trust her.  And I'm very grateful for her gift.  And if this ends up hurting my wife in the end-- WHEN this ends up hurting my wife in the end-- I'm gonna lay down a decree that this woman will have no part in our family ever again.


I am not a mirror.
I do not care about anyone's drama, nor do I get caught up in it.
I do not find it difficult not to get caught up in other's drama.
I find it easy to spot other's drama and sidestep it.
I often am able to separate a person's words from his actions.
I believe that people's actions create the person, not the words.  A person who says they love you as they punch you does not love you.  A person who punches you is abusing you, whether or not he says anything about love. 
Trust happens when your actions support your words.  When you say you love somebody, and then you stay with that person when they are sick out of concern for their well-being, your words are supported by your actions and you have helped build trust.  When you say you love somebody and then you stay with that person at the hospital when they are sick and you wear your most revealing, red, shear dress showing off most of your breasts in the hopes that others will comment on your figure and want to have sex with you, your words are not supported by your actions and you have helped destroy trust.
It is easy for me to see when people's actions are not supported by their words.
I am feared by X, in part, because he cannot fool me with his words.  His words have never supported his actions, and thus, his words have zero meaning to me and it's a waste of time to listen to any of them.
A has not apologized to M, JP, or me.  She has not recognized the harm she has done.  She doesn't care about me, M, JP, or even JC.  She cares about herself, the mirror, and all that she can put in that mirror. 
And I have given her the opportunity to put me in her glass.
I will dance this line.
And we'll see what happens.

1. She said that X had to work a second job as a security guard in order to pay for his legal fees.  Every Saturday he works a 12 hour shift as a security guard to pay for his legal debts.
2. X has had to take out a full mortgage in order to pay for his debts.  When he and M were married, they had purchased the home with cash.  When they divorced, M was given part of the home, and X took out a half a mortgage in order to give her the cash equivalent of half the home.  He's now had to take out a full mortgage.
3. A said it was obvious to her that promises had been made by X towards JC and JP which hadn't been fulfilled.  JP told M that when X was getting married, he took JP out to lunch to ask him to be in his wedding.  JP said that he didn't know X's new wife, and didn't want to be in the wedding.  X then said he wanted to tell JP what things would be like JP decided to live with X rather than M: there would be more opportunities for him at X's house than at M's house.  JP asked what kinds of opportunities.  "You know, you'll go to college if you want to if you live with me.  Your mom can't afford to send you to college.  You'll get a car if you live with me.  You'll go on vacations.  You know, opportunities."  JP said that the vacations he had taken with X had been the worst times he'd had in his life, and that was not an opportunity.  He said that college was not an interest, and neither was a car if it meant that he would have to live with X.  And with that, X decided never to speak with JP again.  JC came to M and me and told us that he wanted to live with X more, and one of the biggest reasons he gave was that there would be "more opportunities" at X's house.  When asked what kinds of opportunities, he wasn't able to say what opportunities.  Later, he was able to say that his father had promised to give him his truck when he turned 16.  That truck has long since gone away without any talk of replacement or fulfillment of that promise.  A said it was obvious to her that other promises had been made to JC that had not been fulfilled by X.
4. A said that she was "disturbed" by their treatment of JC.  They actually touch him constantly in a kind of pecking motion, touching his shoulders as if directing him where to go, how to walk, and are constantly directing him as he moves through life.  She said that they are constantly telling him things that don't need to be said.  "Take your fork to the kitchen.  Tuck in your shirt.  Wipe your mouth.  Wash the fork in the sink.  In the other sink.  Wash your hands.  Say thank you to Mimi.  Say thank you now."  She said that they text him constantly when he is away.  She said that she was afraid his head was going to explode.  She was encouraging him to find his voice to say that he didn't want to be treated that way, and she hoped that he would find his voice in a couple of years so that he could say that he would prefer to live at M's house full time.  "Would you allow him to do that?" she asked her daughter.  "There is nothing in the world that would make me say my child couldn't live with me anymore.  That's absurd," responded the daughter.  "Well that's what X said to JP," A said.  "I am not X," said daughter.  "And my children will always have a home wherever I am no matter what they do."
5. A said that she hadn't seen M at JC's football games.  M explained that she was always there, but that she often couldn't afford to actually go into the games, so she would stay outside the gates, either in her car or in a chair, and find a place where she can see as much of the game as possible.  And she would take pictures and send them to JC, and tell him she had been there and supported him.  A then said that wasn't how it was coming out of X towards JC.  She said that X was telling JC that "mom hadn't come to his football game because she doesn't care about football, and she doesn't care about him enough to get over that and support him at his games.  I'm sorry that mom doesn't care about you as much as we do."  M assured A that JC knew she had been there and was very supportive of him.  "JC didn't correct his father, though, when he said that you hadn't been there," said A.  "That would've been bad for JC," said M, "X wouldn't have been happy with that and would have made an issue out of it in a lot of ways.  Besides, I don't need to advertise what I'm doing to X.  As long as JC knows I'm there and I support him and love him, that's all that's important."  A said she wished that she had known that information when she had heard X talking to JC so that she wouldn't have gotten caught up in the badmouthing of M to her son, JC, publicly.  Later that night, M texted JC just to remind him that she would be at his games, and if she wasn't in the stands it was because she couldn't afford it, not because she didn't support him, because he was her favorite athlete.  "You know that, right?"  And he responded that he did know that.
6. A said that X and wife P buy all the most expensive football gear for JC and insist that he wear it, which she says is stupid because you can play football in less expensive equipment.  In fact, you can rent equipment, which is actually better for a growing boy, as the equipment you buy today won't be usable when he grows. 

X and P are crazy, and JC is being raised by crazy people now.  And A is supportive of anything as long as she gets the drama to fill her glass, including crazy abusive people who abuse her daughter and grandchildren. 


There is a criminally negligent amount of people who care about the content of a person's character in my life right now.  Absolute insanity.

Tark and Splerp

Splerp punched Tark.
Tark looked crossly at Splerp.


Splerp punched Tark.
"I haven't done anything to you," Tark said.  "There is no reason for you to behave this way.  It's not okay to punch people."
And Splerp punched Tark again to get Splerp to shut up.
Tark had to sit down, because that punch really hurt.


Splerp punched Tark.
And Tark told somebody.
"Splerp punched me!" Tark said.
But Somebody did nothing.


Splerp punched Tark in the back.
And Tark stood confused.
Tark was having a hard time breathing.
Being punched in the back really knocks the wind outta ya.




Questions:


What do you think Tark should do?
Should Tark punch Splerp?  Do you think Splerp would punch Tark harder if Tark punched Splerp?
Should Tark walk away from Splerp?  What if Splerp and Tark work together, should Tark walk away from Tark's job just to get away from Splerp?
Should Tark talk with Splerp?  Knowing that Tark already talked with Splerp and there was no change, what could Tark say differently to make things turn out differently?
Should Tark speak with somebody else about Splerp?  Since nobody did anything before when Tark spoke, what could Tark say differently to make things turn out differently?  Whom should Tark talk with?
Should Tark shank Splerp with a prison shiv Tark fashioned out of a chicken bone?  If so, how many times should Tark stab Splerp to ensure death?
If you were Splerp, what are some reasons why you might be punching Tark?
If you were Tark, what are some things you would do to not get punched in the future?
If you are Tark, what do you need to do in order to feel okay about your situation?

Safe

My wife's co-worker told her not to let me go to the midnight showing of Star Wars because there had been so many shootings at movie premiers and she wanted me to stay safe.


What a good idea.  I didn't even think about that.


You really can't be too safe these days.


So I thought about other ways I could be safe.  You gotta pay attention to what's going on around you, ya know?


It wasn't difficult to figure out pretty quickly that American streets are death traps.  So many people die every day!  People text and drive, drink and drive, there are teenagers who don't know how to drive, old people who don't adjust their driving quickly enough, Asians, blacks and gangs making things difficult.  It was better to just not drive anymore.  So I stopped driving.  You know, to make sure I stayed safe.  I would have to figure out how to get to work some other way.


Then I realized that the workplace is a death trap!  So many people get injured or die at work every day, they even have a thing called Worker's Compensation for workers who have become so injured on the job that they can no longer work!  Just think about how many things can go wrong!  Carpal tunnel syndrome, being shot by cops or blacks or gangs while working as a cop or black or gang, finger amputations in the roast beef slicer, finger amputations from dropping a girder on them while building the new building, finger amputations while trying to perform a surgical finger amputation on somebody else but slipping and performing it on yourself.  There are so many things that can get you at work.  So I decided to stay at home.


Then I realized that the home is a death trap!  There are so many ways to die while you're in your house!  Slip and fall getting into or out of the shower, carbon monoxide poisoning that you don't even know about, sleep apnea stops your breathing and you'll never know you're dead until you're dead, getting shot during a home invasion by a gang of Asian blacks, being set on fire by the dragons in your basement.  There are so many dangers that I had never thought about!


I couldn't go to a movie, I couldn't go on the streets, and I couldn't stay home.  Life was so dangerous, and I really just wanted to stay safe.  Some people would say I was living in fear, but I know I'm just being cautious.  Fear is not the same thing as caution.  Fear is "a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain, etc., whether the threat is real or imagined; the feeling or condition of being afraid", while caution is "alertness and prudence in a hazardous situation; care; wariness".  I am obviously not distressed or afraid, I am prudent ("wise or judicious in practical affairs; sagacious; discreet or circumspect; sober")-- or wise-- in a hazardous situation.  The movies are a hazardous situation!  The streets are a hazardous situation!  My home is a hazardous situation!  I needed to get away from hazardous situations to make sure I was safe!


So I built a room for myself.  No one could get in, protecting me from people on the outside.  And the inside of the room had a kind of padding to protect me from the hard, hard walls.  It was a kind of padded room, if you wanted to call it that.  And I made sure that my arms and fingers were safe from flailing around, so I wore a white jacket with buckles and straps around my arms and hands that kept them held straight and tightly close to my body, protecting them from all around me.  I suppose you could call it a straight jacket.  But before you get any ideas, this wasn't a straitjacket, because that is defined as "a garment made of strong material and designed to bind the arms, as of a violently disoriented person", and I am not violently disoriented.  I am safe!


I am completely safe and happy in my padded room, isolated from society and others, protected by my straightjacket.


Man, it's tough to stay safe these days.  But well worth it.  Nothing's going to hurt me now! 

Nice

It's really quite nice to have slept well and feel rested. Really, really nice.

Can't Keep It In Any More

I tried not to put this in the world.  I'm trying really hard to be more positive and focus on good things and things that are happy and not grumpy.  But I'm really overwhelmed right now.


Last night was a horrible night for me.  This weekend was kinda difficult.


Our 19-year-old turned 19 last week, and this weekend his brother and my mother and step-father came to celebrate him.  On his birthday, my wife texted our 14-year-old to remind him it was his brother's birthday and he might think about texting him birthday wishes to make him feel good.  Our 14-year-old did that.  Then my wife asked him what he would like to do for a gift for our 19-year-old.  She didn't hear anything at all from him.  On Friday, he came over, and again she asked what he wanted to do for his brother.  He didn't know.  She told him that there would be a celebration on Saturday.  My wife went to him three times, and all three times he didn't know what he wanted to do to celebrate his brother and he was given time to come up with something.  You might have already guessed, he didn't come up with anything.  Our 19-year-old celebrated his birthday this year, and his gift from his brother was a text prompted by a mother-reminder.  That really makes me angry that that was his choice.  Even more frustrating is that there are no natural consequences for this action, because our 19-year-old was truly moved by the text gesture, and vocalized this when his brother came over.  Which means this will happen again the next time our 14-year-old needs to think about somebody else, which means this behavior that infuriates me will persist without consequences and continue into the future where it will again infuriate me.


It is highly likely that one of the major reasons why this behavior is so infuriating to me is because I acted this way when I was a child.  I needed reminders.  I was selfish.  I was inconsiderate.  I was a big fat fuck.  And I am still embarrassed and mad at myself for those actions.  I am disappointed in myself and truly regretful of who I am.  And to see these qualities reflected in a person who then uses them against the woman I love and have married is a lot for me to take without vomiting in disgust.


Then I'm told that our 14-year-old has some ridiculous football practice from 11pm until 2am on Sunday evening into Monday morning.  This is yet another example of the dangerous fanatical way of life that passes for okay in our country.  14-year-olds practicing football until 2am is absolutely ludicrous.  Absolutely insane.  And my wife feels she has been stripped of any kind of motherly powers over this kind of thing because she's had multiple attorneys tell her as much, as well as her ex-husband.  If she makes the sane choice and says, "today you will be taking care of your body and sleeping during the hours your body most-readily uses sleep to recover and make you strong instead of practicing to play a game with a ball," this then comes back to her in the form of legal action.  "Since you have refused to promote school activities, a healthy lifestyle of physical activities for the child, as well as obvious antagonism against the child's father, we will be suing for sole custody of the child."  Then that action gets taken to court, where she gets grilled about how she is preventing the child from exercising, participating in school activities, as well as participating in activities he says he wants to do.  Doesn't matter why he's saying he wants to do the activities.  Just matters he's saying he wants to do the activities.


--Time out.  You give a kid a choice: say you want to go to the midnight football practice or don't.  Either choice is okay.  The kid says, "I don't want to go to the football practice."  He gets berated and beaten.  He's given that choice again, say you want to go to practice or say you don't, whatever you say is right.  He says he doesn't want to go, and gets beaten and berated for longer this time, because he's made that choice twice now.  He's given that choice again.  He chooses practice and doesn't get beaten and berated.  Now he's saying whatever his abuser wants him to say in order to avoid being beaten and berated.  Time in.--


So my wife takes him to this ridiculous, dangerously fanatical (as all fanatical activities are) bullshit fuck, and guess who's there... his father, the abuser.  The Abuser will be taking him home at 2am, because he's going to be staying at the practice that whole time.  What kind of sick twisted alternate reality have I slipped into where this is okay and accepted on a large scale??  Where people don't just say it's okay, but they promote it?! 


I couldn't sleep last night.  All of this was weighing heavily on me.  And I had intentionally stayed up with my wife in order to help keep her mind off all of it, which she doesn't talk about with me because she reads my blogs and knows how furious I get.  But I know she's injured by all of this still.  I know she's injured by it all on a daily basis.  Every time her phone makes the sound for You Have Gotten A Text From Your Youngest, I know she will be hurt.  Another event is taking him away from her, and he wants to go to it.  Another party, another practice, another "work out" with his father that somehow has been defined as a school activity.  Or just a non-responsive answer to "How was the last party you went to?", or "Did you do anything interesting this weekend?"  Often she will get no response.  Then, when she does get a response, it's useless.  "No."  "I honestly don't remember."  "I didn't do anything."  And she is very good about suppressing that injury.  Repressing it.  Pushing it down.  Meaning it will resurface later for more injuries that haven't been dealt with.  And reminding her of just how inexplicably it hurts to have her child stolen from her, legally, not only by her ex-but his lawyer, the child's lawyer, and her own lawyers.  Everyone: "it's okay.  It'll work out one day."  Yes, it will work out that one day that the child wakes up and says, "You know, all this shit that nobody told me about and I never knew about and never affected me... all this shit that I have no clue about... suddenly, I realize that my mother was always there for me, helping me, standing beside me, even though my father, step-mother, and aunt blame her for everything bad and say bad things about her and have trained me to not listen to my mother, brother or myself.  They have trained me to disrespect my mother.  But today is the day that, suddenly, I break free from that training and I realize the fallacy of all of that and regret my ways and will start to build the relationship with my mother that she always wanted and deserved for so long.  Because even though I was never taught critical thinking skills, one day I will magically use them to critically analyze this situation and realize the truth." 


This shit makes me furious because, again, it reminds me of horrible mistakes I've made and horrible hurts I can't undo that I really, really wish I could.  And, in my estimation, the biggest difference between me and our 14-year-old is that both my parents pushed me to think for myself and supported that critical thinking that is so essential in healthy growth for humans, and our 14-year-old has had a support for static thinking, along with an almost universal dismissal of any kind of critical thinking.  After all, if he were able to analyze his situation, he probably would be speaking out against it.  Slaves are kept slaves because they are told things will be worse if they aren't enslaved, and they aren't given the proper tools to actually think about what it would be if they had freedom.  My heart weeps for our child.  My heart weeps for my wife.  And I'm so unbelievably enraged that the most I can do is stand on the sidelines watching the entire tragedy play out before my eyes. 


I couldn't sleep last night, and I was sorta awake around 1am.  And I thought I was still sorta awake around 2am.  So I moved to the couch.  And as I left my room, I noticed our 14-year-old's room light was still blazing.  And I was furious again.  "His father has taken him to his house rather than our house.  And there's nothing my wife can do about it."  And I stayed on the couch, trying to sleep and not be enraged until my alarm went off.  I got up, thought about call in to work, but decided I needed to go in.  I got dressed, and as I was leaving the house, I saw out 14-year-old's light snap off.  He was in there the whole time, lights on just like so many other nights.  And I became incredibly embarrassed of what I had done jumping to conclusions, borrowing trouble for myself, wasting time being angry when I could have been sleeping.  And I was enraged at my own stupidity, along with the insanity of the situation.  Why would anyone choose to have children if this is what waits for them on the other side of the fantasy?


By the time I got to the Circle K, I was almost calmed down.  Then my old supervisor walked in.  I hate that fuck.  And I gave the girl one dollar bill and six pennies to pay for my ninety-six cent drink, expecting on dime in return, but instead getting two nickels.  Why are you all so fucking retarded??!!


Then I got to work, and a co-worker told me the story of how she is going to a divorce attorney on Thursday because her current husband has beaten her truck with his bare hands, causing expensive damage, and she suspects him of starting an inappropriate relationship with a woman because my co-worker has looked at his phone and taken pictures of texts between the two.  And she has talked with him about divorce, and he has said that he's not going to divorce her because he has no money.  And she's concerned that if she tells him she's leaving him she will become the victim of a murder suicide.  And all of her choices are stupid and short-sighted and dangerous and stupid as hell.  And maybe if I were in a different place, I would have a different reaction.  But right now, I just want her to make the right choices, and then see the choices she needs to make in order to prevent a murder/suicide.  She is so dumb.  But more than that, the situation is so very ugly.  And her husband is so very ugly.  And my wife's ex-husband is so very ugly.  And our 14-year-old is making choices that are ugly. 


And I feel painfully naïve.  I feel stupid that I thought there were good people around.  My feelings about my wife have grown stronger now.  She IS the one for me, because she's the ONLY non-ugly person in this world.  My mother and step-father, also, are non-ugly people.  And my 19-year-old is not ugly.  And while he angers me and frustrates me and pisses me off a lot, my 14-year-old is not ugly, and I hope he does not grow up to be ugly. 


I WANT THE GODDAM UGLINESS TO FUCKING STOP NOW!!


And while all of this was going on, I had this super-depressing thought: even if I did win the lottery, it wouldn't make anyone less ugly.  It wouldn't make our 14-year-old make different choices, it wouldn't make my wife be less injured by those choices or the people our 14-year-old continues to associate with that continue to injure her.  It wouldn't change my wife's ugly ex-husband, or his ugly attorney who lives ugly right across the street from us.  It wouldn't lessen the ugly.  And I don't know that it would allow me to build a fortress deep enough in the earth to blind me and protect me from the ugly.  In fact, thinking that, I'm not really sure that I even want the lottery anymore.  I'm don't know that I want anything anymore.  At some point, the salmon says, "I'm fucking tired of trying to swim up this stream.  The stream keeps pushing me backward, and I'm making no progress, and I see no end in sight.  I'm done."  And the salmon stops.


I just want it to stop.  I'm so tired.

Don't Help People With MY Money!!

A man calls me about a letter we sent him regarding his disability. I try for a good ten minutes to find his case, but I can't. I ask him repeatedly to simply read me the letter, from top to bottom, so I can know what he's looking at and talking about, but instead of reading me the letter he simply insists the letter is for his disability claim. Finally, he reads the letter, which clearly states we are trying to reach another person but have been unable to do so, and they indicated this gentleman might be able to help us locate him. I have an extraordinarily labored conversation with him, finally trying to tell him my name, but he can't understand or even say my name. The phone call ends, and I hang up.

Much later, I receive an email from an out-of-state colleague who is trying to schedule an appointment for the original person in the above story, not the individual I talked to. My colleague stated that she had scheduled an appointment for the original applicant, and hey, by the way, I read your report about the guy who couldn't say your name. Funny stuff! I wrote back and said that I felt compelled to include all of that in my report as it could ultimately affect the outcome of the case if, for example, the original Perth couldn't be contacted we might have a better idea about why contact wasn't able to become established as it was being held up by an individual with comprehension problems. I mentioned to her that it had taken me forever to get him to realize the letter was in reference to another person and it wasn't about his claim. My colleague responded in email form, "I guess some families/friend groups are all on Gov. Assist of some sort. Not good for us tax payers!"

It's common for my colleagues to have the impression that there are "pockets" of the country where people get together and talk. "You're on disability?! But you do meth all the time and you're pain free! How do you get free money to live without working?! I wanna do that, too!" And then the fraudulently sick person explains the intricacies of disability to the Soon To Be On Easy Street person, and soon both of them are fraudulently receiving disability checks. And then their whole apartment complex is receiving disability, and soon it's all of St. Louis and no one is working and everyone is a faker and a cheater and my taxes are being wasted on these liars! And it's true that once in a while people apply for benefits who are obviously lying and trying to scam the program. But that's where I come in and say, "this person is a liar," and then I make my point, and most of the time it's right and the person doesn't get a check. Because I don't want my tax money to be ill-spent, so I do my job to make sure it's spent well. After all, it hasn't been my money for a very long time, I've managed to live without it, and it would be good if it went towards some good.

But many of the people I work with want their money back. Everybody, to them, is lying and their taxes are being squandered on liars and cheats. Why aren't they doing anything about it, I wonder. Or, more often than that, I wonder why they're not joining those people on Disability Easy Street, since it's so easy to deceive the system. I never get a straight answer when I ask that question.

In fact, most of the time if I don't simply agree with the person's point of view, I get strange looks or silence. At first I thought it was because people were thinking about what I had to say and they were thinking about life in a new way. Until I realized these people don't have critical thinking skills, so they're definitely not thinking about what I've said. They are simply confused. Like creating the Mona Lisa right before the eyes of a dog. "What," the dog would say upon your completion.  "I got balls to lick."

"I guess some families/friend groups are all on Gov. Assist of some sort. Not good for us tax payers!"

So I responded in the affirmative, and tried to infuse some humor.

"Quite possibly. Although I shudder to think of what might happen if that guy were to work the front counter of a McDonald's. 'Why are you ordering? This is MY Big Mac!'"

I said she was quite possibly right. And then I walked down the street she was paving. The street where she gets her money back, and the social net we all agreed be put in place to help the elderly and those in need be taken away, forcing the disabled people to attempt to care for themselves rather than die under a rock or by walking out in the ocean and drowning. At least the ocean drowners are  considerate enough to dispose of their corpses before they die rather than leaving them on the street so that WE, the poor put-upon living are forced to deal with their human detritus. Fuckin' dead, inconsiderate fuckers. You know why they died, don't you? Cuz they're lazy and don't want to work. Which is why we should close down the border.

But my colleague didn't know what to do.
She was confused by the English writing.
It wasn't in agreement with what she was saying... But I was saying she was right.
...migraine from thought loop feedback...

Ten minutes later, her email response came.
"I guess I better get back to taking care of your cases."

Fucking passive-aggressive bitch.

People like her are why we need a huge population purge.
Like cutting out the cancer so the healthy body can remain.
Or vomiting the sickness out so the healthy body returns to health.

I hate her and most everyone.
Happy Wednesday!

Judgmental Thoughts

My father is obese. Really, really obese. For all of my life, essentially.
I vividly remember my child-me thinking the words "how did he let himself get to this place?"
I was so judgmental. I had such contempt.

And now, I'm the exact same way.
One more way I look in the mirror and see myself becoming that wretched, horrible man.

Depression or Reality

I don't think it should be considered "depression" when you're repeatedly shown the people who should be caring for you really only care about your money and they won't listen to you.

There Once Was A Miserable Fuck...

Once Upon A Time...

There was a Miserable Fuck who lived in the Town.

"I love Jesus," said one of the people in the Town.
"I have my doubts," said the Miserable Fuck.
"You're a Miserable Fuck," said one of the people in the Town, obviously hurt.
The Miserable Fuck didn't want to hurt anyone, so he moved away from that people.

"I think more people should own more guns," said another people in the Town.
The Miserable Fuck started to say something, but then stopped.
"What do you think, Miserable Fuck?" asked one of the people.
"I don't really believe that people should own more guns," said the Miserable Fuck.
"It's our Constitutional right!" screamed the people.  "You're a Miserable Fuck!"
So the Miserable Fuck moved away from those people, too.

"I use the word 'nigger', and I think it's funny to say that blacks are animals," said one of the people in the Town.
The Miserable Fuck knew what was coming, so he just moved away from those people without saying anything at all.

"I think women should be told what to do with their bodies, when they can and cannot receive medical treatment, when they can and cannot receive medication which is either over the counter or prescribed, should not make as much money as men, be blamed for the religious Fall of Mankind, should shut the fuck up, and should generally know their place."
The Miserable Fuck moved away from those people, too.

"I loved the movie Fireproof."
"I think Johnnie's makes a delicious burger."
"Support Chick-Fil-A and Hobby Lobby!"
"I can't do anything on Sunday or Wednesday because I go to church."
"I think Sarah Palin has some good ideas."
"What is Occupy?  And why are they stupid?"
"Football!"
"Trucks!"
"Fracking doesn't cause earthquakes."
"Nobody's learning anything anyways, so lets cut funding to our schools."
"It's pronounced 'nucular', 'supposubly', 'purty', and 'revelant'.  I literally died when I heard you talking American so stupid!"
"Stop the Mexican's from taking away our jobs, but I don't want to mow my lawn... where's my Mexican?"
"I don't have to listen to anyone else."
"Fat people are evil until they're thin people."
Miserable Fuck moved away from all of those people. 

The Town was growing smaller and smaller for the Miserable Fuck.  He was running out of places to be.

Miserable Fuck's wife's mother and father hated him.
They actively prevented him from contacting their daughter by lying to him and then telling their daughter they felt good about it.
After giving everyone else presents, they gave him a 16oz. bottle of water for Christmas one year in front of his family.
They actively tried to prevent him from wishing the father well during his time in the hospital.
And there was never any reason why they were behaving this way towards the Miserable Fuck.
They just did.
He thought it was good enough to make their daughter happy.
But he was not right.
He was wrong.

The Miserable Fuck went to sleep.
In the middle of the night, his wife woke him up.
"You're snoring and I can't sleep," said his wife.
So the Miserable Fuck moved to the couch, away from his wife.

The Miserable Fuck made doctor's appointments in an attempt to move back into his own bed with his wife again, but he was unable to afford these appointments without accepting his mother's help to pay for them.  The Miserable Fuck had insurance, but he was still unable to afford health care.

"Insurance really helps people pay for health care," said Miserable Fuck's mother.
The Miserable Fuck tried to explain how he felt that introducing a Middle Man, like insurance is, into any situation actually increases the cost of health care and decrease the care of health care, making the statement "insurance helps people pay for health care" fundamentally incorrect on at least two different levels. 
But Miserable Fuck's mother insisted that, sometimes, insurance helped.  It had, after all, helped her.
Miserable Fuck stopped talking.

Miserable Fuck used to be an actor.
But lawyers told Miserable Fuck that being an actor would be a liability, and his wife's children could be stripped from her if he continued to say he was an actor and act like he was an actor.

Miserable Fuck used to be a comedian.
But lawyers said Miserable Fuck's wife's kids could be stripped from her if he continued to attempt to be funny, which, they ultimately decided, he was not.

There was no place that Miserable Fuck felt he could be around other people without hurting them or being a liability.

Miserable Fuck hated his job, but he couldn't stop or change because he had a family to support.
Miserable Fuck wanted to receive health care for his snoring and mental health issues, but he didn't have the money to pay for those things.
Miserable Fuck was working a job he hated, with no end in sight, in order to make not enough money to care for the people he needed to care for.
Not only did Miserable Fuck feel poor, but he also felt incapable.  Dependent.  Bad.

Miserable Fuck felt really alone and stuck.  He didn't know what to do, which direction to walk, how to change his situation.

Then, one day, Miserable Fuck died.
And nobody in the Town gave a shit, because nobody cares about Miserable Fucks.

The Continuing Saga...

THE CONTINUING ATTEMPT TO NOT GET SCREWED OVER BY THE PEOPLE I WORK FOR
By Zon


SONYA enters ZON's office.

SONYA: I got your email, asking for a letter. 

ZON: We had spoken about a letter months ago, and you said you'd get something to me, and I was just checking back with you because I hadn't heard anything and I still haven't received a letter.

SONYA: Did Rose send you any paperwork about your promotion?

ZON: No.  Not yet, at least.

SONYA: Okay.  See, what it is is that you haven't been officially promoted yet.  You've been placed on what they call a Detail to Duty.

ZON: Right.  I knew that.

SONYA: And what that means is they work you for some months before they officially give you the promotion.  Did your pay increase?

ZON: Yes.  So far, everything is fine except that I was told I would receive a letter or email saying that I had been placed on Detail to Duty and that's when it would become official.

SONYA: Okay.  See, what it is is that there is no paperwork for Detail to Duty.  You actually fill out your paperwork when you get made official.

ZON: Well, I understand what you're saying.  Except that my supervisor told me there would be a letter, Amy told me there would be a letter, and one of my colleagues showed me her letter telling her she had officially been placed on Detail to Duty.

SONYA: Okay, according to Amy there is no paperwork.

ZON: When I spoke with Amy personally, she told me there was paperwork.

SONYA: Well, I have never seen any letter telling anyone they've been put on Detail to Duty.

ZON: I have.

SONYA: Who?

ZON: Let's go see her.

ZON and SONYA walk to COLLEAGUE's office.

ZON: Hey Colleague.  You were sent a letter telling you that you'd been placed on Detail to Duty, right.

COLLEAGUE: I sure did. 

SONYA raises her voice and is obviously defensive.

SONYA: Who sent it to you?  Who was it?  Who, when did you get it?  It wasn't for Detail to Duty!

COLLEAGUE pulls out her letter and shows it to SONYA.

COLLEAGUE: Whoa, whoa, whoa!  It's way too early to be speaking like that!  Here's my letter that I got telling me I had been placed on Detail to Duty.  Sent to me by Rose.

SONYA: Was it sent through the mail?!

COLLEAGUE: It's okay.  Everything is okay.  I'm pretty sure it was in an envelope placed on my desk.

SONYA: It wasn't sent through the mail?!

COLLEAGUE: No, I don't think so.  And this is the letter I got, also placed on my desk, telling me that I had officially been promoted to a level 4.

SONYA: I had never seen anything like this before.  I had never seen this kind of letter.

COLLEAGUE: Well, there it is.

SONYA (quickly turning to ZON): I'll get you something to ya.

ZON: Thanks.

Gregor and Mike

Mike was in conveyor belt-mode.  Government employees came to him one at a time.  He took their photo IDs, as well as one other government-approved means of identification, scanned them into his computer, took the employee's picture, and then called for the next government employee to sit in his chair so the process could start all over again.

Zon sat waiting to get on this conveyor belt.  He observed Mike making the same joke, employee after employee.  "I take your ID," said Mike, taking the ID cards from the employee, "and put them into the scanner and then send them to Gregor in Russia so that he can steal your identity and post it on Facebook."  The employees then would laugh uncomfortably, and shake their heads "no" as Mike assured them that he was just kidding.  Zon watched this over and over again and saw the opportunity to play.

"Next!"

Zon made his way to Mike's chair and sat.  Mike was kind, with the socially-appropriate amount of eye contact as he asked for Zon's ID cards.  Zon gave them to Mike as Mike put the needle back at the beginning of his record.  "I take your ID, and put them into the scanner and then send them to Gregor in Russia so that he can steal your identity and post it on Facebook."  Mike smiled to himself and was so accustomed to having the uncomfortable laughter that he almost missed Zon's response.
"Gregor's really a decent guy once you get to know him."
Mike spun to stare at Zon.
Zon smiled at Mike.
...Mike... didn't quite... know what to do.
Mike stared.
Zon smiled as he thought, "Is this like the airport where you can't make any kinds of jokes at all?"

Mike then shook his head.
"Don't do that," Mike told Zon, his smile gone.
Zon stopped.
Mike stared at Zon.
Mike was really not playing.
The awkward moment lingered.
Zon let his smile drop, and nodded as if to punctuate the moment in the hopes they all could move forward.
Mike then turned away from Zon, and returning to his scanner he said, under his breath, "Gregor's really a decent guy once you get to know him.  He's got a wife, Sonya.  She's nice, too."
Then Mike and his helper talked about football.  Mike had coached defense.  Both men wore lots of gel in their balding coifs.

Purpose and Action... yawn...

I'm having a new light shined on religious services and churches recently.

When I was a child, I went to Sunday school where I was taught about the Bible.
I went to regular school, where I was taught whatever they wanted to teach me.
I went to violin practice, soccer practice, tae kwon do practice, etc., because I was engaged in those activities.  I didn't go to violin practice to hang out with my friends because the purpose wasn't to hang out, it was to practice violin.  Socialization was a byproduct of being around people, but it wasn't the focus of the activity.

My wife has been telling me about her religious/church experiences as long as we've known each other.  She's told me that people in her world go to church mainly to socialize.  This doesn't just include the Sunday "message" (service), but also a "pre-service hang", and Wednesday "outreach" services.  Last night I heard our youngest talking with his cousin about going to service today (Wednesday) and neither of them expressed interest in going if the other one wasn't going.  This told me that neither of them really cared about the "outreach", they were primarily focused on socializing.

I have no problem with socializing.  I like to do it every once in a while myself.

I don't fucking know.
I've bored myself again.
Just bitching and complaining.
Going to church to socialize is fucking stupid.
Religion is stupid and dangerous.
I hope my son is happy.
I wish he would stop hurting my wife.
Correction: I wish my wife could stop hurting.
I wish everybody could be happy.
Church can bite it.

The Death of Blockbuster Blues

Been on Effexor and Trazadone for 5 days now. 

Yesterday I thought I could feel the positive effects.  It was nice.

Today, I'm exhausted from too little sleep.  When I got to work this morning, something got me thinking about Blockbuster Video, so I looked them up and got really sad when I read about how they used to be huge and now they're not.  I think more than that I got sad that DVD ownership is going away, like VHS ownership before it.  I got sad about that, too.  I've loved owning movies since the 80's, and I've loved all the special features you could get on some VHS tapes, and even more DVDs.  I love movies, and I love hearing about the making of those movies.  And I think it saddens me to think that we're moving to digital copies of movies that won't have special features.  There won't be any boxes anymore.  I mourned my LPs when they died.  I owned CDs and cassette tapes for a long time, each one with a purpose: CDs were for my home, cassettes were for my car.  And cassettes were just what I was forced to go to when LPs died, so when they left, I didn't mourn them so much.  But when I sold all my CDs, realizing it was more practical for me to turn my music collection into a totally digital beast, I mourned my CDs.  So I suppose Blockbuster's death sounds the death of my DVD collection.  I entertain the idea of one day having a place people will come to in order to watch movies, new and old, and be entertained.  I have titles in my collection like "Schizopolis", "Ran" by Kurosawa, "Run, Lola, Run", "Run, Ronnie, Run", and a VHS copy of the American release of "The Big Blue".  These movies aren't common in America, and "The Big Blue" in it's American theatrical release format is no longer in print anywhere in the world.  I love having those things, not just for their rarity, but thinking about sharing them with others later in life, or even just watching them myself one day.  I love them.  I love movies.  Reading about the death of Blockbuster and DVDs made me really sad today.  And I haven't been able to get focused since.  My sadness seems to have snowballed and has now made it difficult for me to think about much else besides my sadness.  I feel like I missed a time when people were making film on film, and then making film on tape, and then making film on disc.  If I ever make a film, and I'd really like to, there will probably be no physical proof of my labors.  Maybe a poster, or a flier, but the actual movie will probably only exist as a collection of ones and zeroes being processed by some really fast machine that wouldn't know what to do with a 35mm piece of film, or tape, or even a disc.  I'm really sad, and I want to go home and go to bed.  And, of course, I feel stupid about feeling sad.  "People in China are starving."  Or as one of the sisters in my high school used to say, "people in hell want ice water."  Jeez, that's a fun thing to go around telling high school kids in a Catholic school.  Whatever.  I wish Bruce Lee would take me out for a sandwich.  I'll be he could make me feel better.  And kick my ass.

Feeling Okay... Until...

Woke up at 5 today feeling pretty good.
Back pain continues to get better, and I'm more mobile than I was yesterday.
Mood is pretty good.
Feeling pretty rested.

Texted with my wife about money and finances, and remained in good mood.

Feeling pretty focused, productive.


Then...

...I read this...

"She does not believe she is depressed.  However the vendor states he thinks she is minimizing her symptoms of depression to avoid losing her children, as her ex-husband is trying to get full custody of her children."


And I actually felt my heart sink a couple of inches in my chest and hit my stomach.  And I broke out in a cold sweat with shallow breathing.

We're never going to get over this, are we?

So stupid

I'm fucking mad as hell right now.
Just pissed as fuck.
And I don't know why.
I fucking hate that shit.
Fucking a lot.